Andre's Point of View
I had visited the Callahan mansion today, even if I hated being in it because of my father, there was a pull to be there now.
The gym smelled of leather and antiseptic.
I welcomed the scent; it meant I had the space to myself. The heavy bag rocked with every punch I threw, the thud of my gloves drowning out the thoughts I didn't want to entertain.
A faint shuffle behind me broke the rhythm.
"Still throwing your shoulders into it like you're in a street fight," a calm voice said.
I turned, catching sight of Talia, standing with her arms loosely crossed. Her hair was tied back in a practical braid, uniform shirt tucked neatly into black tactical pants, always ready for anything. She wasn't here for a workout—she was never off duty.
"Good morning to you too," I muttered, jabbing once more at the bag.
Talia stepped forward, adjusting the strap of the holster at her waist.
