IRIS' P.O.V.
Somewhere between dodging a lightning strike and almost choking on blood, I decided I didn’t hate Blake.
I loathed him.
"Again," he barked from across the clearing.
My lungs felt like they were full of broken glass. “I hope you trip on your own ego and faceplant into lava.”
“Charming,” he muttered, tossing me the wooden staff that had flown out of my grip when he sent me sailing across the field five seconds ago. “Too bad, there's no lava here. Now pick it up.”
I rolled to my side, spat out a mouthful of snow, and glared at him. “Just so we’re clear, if I die mid-training, I’m haunting you. Forever.”
He crouched beside me, that infuriating calm expression on his face. “You think this is hard? Wait till Eos comes after you and starts playing.”
I groaned. “You know, for
