The sound was dry. Rhythmic. Violent.
Hands against stone.
Short breaths.
Impact.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The mansion's inner courtyard still bore the scars of the invasion. Part of the side wall had only been provisionally rebuilt; new blocks contrasted with the old structure, like poorly stitched patches on wounded skin. The stone floor, once polished and clean, still had deep impact marks—cracks that resembled petrified lightning.
In the center of the courtyard, Damon did push-ups with his hands resting directly on the bare stone.
No gloves.
No protection.
Each descent was controlled, but aggressive. Each ascent demanded more than just physical strength.
His body was overloaded.
