The ground was soft from last night’s rain, still damp beneath the worn soles of Xander’s boots. Mist clung to the edges of the clearing as the sky hovered between dull gray and reluctant sunlight. But none of it mattered. Not the sting in his arms, not the cold air biting his skin—only the rhythm of motion, the need to outrun the noise in his head.
He was already drenched in sweat by sunrise.
Each punch against the sandbag landed with a sharp, brutal snap. His knuckles were torn open, blood mixing with sweat, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The silence she’d left behind echoed louder than any scream. That look on her face, the quiet finality in her voice as she closed the door—he couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unhear it.
She had been calm. Not angry. Not begging. Just... done.
That was wha
