Harper
By the time Thorne finally called an end to training, my arms felt like they might fall off entirely.
“Again,” he had said at least three times, completely unmoved by my increasingly dramatic attempts to look like I was dying.
I bent forward with my hands on my knees, breathing hard.
“Bloody hell..I am starting to think,” I said between breaths, “that your evil...”
He gave a quiet snort.
“If I wished to watch suffering,” he replied calmly, “I would ask Jackson to supervise your sessions.”
Despite myself, I laughed weakly. “That is genuinely terrifying,” I muttered.
He offered me his hand, steady and warm, helping me straighten. “You are improving,” he said simply. “Your balance is better.”
The quiet certainty in his tone made the exhaustion feel worthwhile. “Does improving
