Elena's life had narrowed down to a rhythm that was both exhausting and grounding.
Sleep when Anya slept. Feed her. Bathe her. Rock her until her cries quieted into coos. Sometimes the weight of it all pressed hard against her chest, but when Anya's little fingers curled around hers, the storm inside her eased.
But the fire inside her hadn't gone out. Every afternoon, when Anya napped under the careful eye of the nurse Valerie had arranged, Elena trained.
The basement of the villa had been cleared and refitted with mats, weights, and a heavy bag. Jay was her sparring partner, and he never treated her like porcelain. He couldn't afford to she'd kill him for it.
"Again," Jay barked, circling her. Sweat rolled down his shaved head, his eyes locked on hers.
Elena feinted left, then lunged forward, her fist slicing through the air. Jay blocked, pivoted, and swung a counterpunch that clipped her jaw.
She staggered back, spat blood onto the mat, and smirked. "Sloppy."
