The sun rising in the morning painted golden rays over the sprawling courtyard of the estate, heating the marble flooring under Ryan Ashworth's naked feet. The gentle wind had little effect in calming the turmoil raging inside his chest. Though his injuries were healed, there was an emptiness that gnawed within him, etched by Hazel Hargrove's departure. He glanced at his shaking hands. Courage—he had none when he needed it most.
Jane Blackwood stood back, arms folded, face impassive. "You keep keeping your fists clenched like that, you'll wear skin off," she said icily.
He turned to her, brows furrowed. "I feel useless, Jane."
She moved towards him, heels clicking softly with authority. "Then stop feeling and act."
Ryan winced at her bluntness, but she relaxed a little as she reached out and put a hand on his arm. "You asked me to assist you in getting justice. That's not something you can accomplish lying in bed or drowning in sorrow."
Ryan's voice was raspy. "What are you saying?"
Jane took a step back and swept her arm across the estate. "You're going to train, Ryan. Martial arts. Combat drills. Conditioning. Everything your body wasn't built for. Because what's next… won't be easy. And I don't want to lose you too."
He blinked at her, incredulous. "Train? You think I can—"
"You will," she interrupted him, voice unshakeable. "I've already made plans. From today on, your body starts to become a weapon."
Ryan hesitated, and she raised an eyebrow.
"If you don't want it, say the word. I'll keep you safe forever. Lock you away where no one can ever touch you," Jane breathed, moving in close, possessiveness flashing in her eyes.
"No," said Ryan softly, bunching up his fists yet again. "I want it. I must."
There flitted briefly over her mouth the ghost of a smile. "Good. So we start then."
The ensuing days were infernal.
The instant Ryan crossed the training grounds behind Jane's mansion, a deluge of orders, physical exercises, and brutal routines hit him. His entire body cried out in protest. He fell more times than he knew how to count. His body—weak from being in a coma for months—struggled against him, each inhale a struggle.
But Jane stood there each day, observing. Sometimes she offered water. Sometimes she merely stared, silently challenging him to quit.
"You can't save anybody with that body," she told him one night as he fell after a sprint. "You're weak. Hazel died trying to save you. Do you want the next woman to die, too?"
Her words cut deep, sharper than a knife. But Ryan never winced. He crawled to his feet again.
Jane didn't praise him. Jane didn't sympathize. She only trained him more.
Two weeks went by, then four.
Finally, Ryan no longer fell.
One night, when the sky was amber-colored, Jane stood next to Ryan with a slight smirk on her lips. "You're learning faster than I expected."
Ryan wiped sweat from his forehead. "Still think I'm dying every day."
"That's a good sign," she replied curtly.
"But physical strength won't do it," Jane continued, taking a step closer. "You'll need technique, precision. and discipline. That's why I'm hiring someone else."
Ryan cocked his head. "Who?"
A couple of hours later, the gates of the estate swung open to a shiny black vehicle. Out of it emerged a tall woman with straight black hair pulled back into a sharp ponytail, dressed in a long coat and boots that clicked with authority. Her eyes were knife-like—cold, calculating, but calm.
Ryan gawked. "She looks. intimidating."
Jane smiled with a soft laugh. "That's Mei Lin. You'll be training under her for the next step. She does traditional martial arts. I owe her a couple of favors—she's willing to assist."
Ryan arched a brow. "Who is she, exactly?"
Jane's eyes lingered on Mei Lin for a full minute before responding. "She was only seventeen when I met her. Running from bad people. People who wished to use her for the talent they believed she had. I rescued her. Offered her shelter. For this, she became loyal to me."
"She began working for me shortly afterward. Through the years, she studied with three masters—one in Shaolin fighting, one in Japanese jujutsu, and the last in Thai kickboxing. Now she's one of the deadliest individuals I know—and one of the most disciplined."
Mei Lin walked over, sizing Ryan up with one look.
"So this is the one you asked me to shape?" she said, tone crisp.
"Yes," Jane answered. "He has potential. And a purpose."
Mei Lin eyed Ryan from head to toe. "He's weak."
Ryan's jaw clenched, but he remained silent.
"Good," Mei Lin sneered. "Weakness indicates you have space to grow."
Jane observed the exchange in silence. She wasn't accustomed to relinquishing control to another, but for Ryan, she'd make an exception.
"You'll start in three days," Mei Lin instructed. "Let your body recover. It's been beaten enough. We'll start afterwards with good stance, breathing control, movement, and weaponless fighting. When you no longer move like a dying deer, we'll go faster."
Ryan smiled wearily. "Sounds. great."
Mei Lin arched a brow. "I am not your friend. I am your instructor. You won't be laughing for long."
Once she headed off to set up her training gear, Jane strolled over and handed Ryan a towel.
"I'm not surprised you didn't shatter yet," she murmured, eyes softened.
Ryan accepted the towel and regarded her, grave. "I need to get stronger. Not only for Hazel. For myself."
Jane moved closer, her fingers tracing along his jaw. "Just don't lose sight of who's standing here with you."
There was something menacing in her look. Possessive. Wild. And while Ryan didn't yet comprehend it, he knew that Jane Blackwood was no longer merely his childhood friend—she was becoming his lifeline in a storm he hadn't yet even started to weather.
Standing there, battered, bruised, and hurting in places he didn't even know he had, Ryan made a silent promise.
No more weakness. No more fear.
He would rise.
Even if it had killed him.