Narrator's POV
To the left of Leo sat Richard, scowling out into the distance, his legs crossed and his elbows braced on his knees. His jaw hadn’t unclenched since they arrived. Max had called him out twice during training—once for losing control, once for treating the ground like it was beneath him. He hated how right she’d been. Richard had always believed power could carry him. If he hit the hardest or moved the fastest, he’d be the last one standing. But today she’d dropped low, swept his legs, and pinned him before he could blink, leaving him staring up at the sky like a rookie who didn’t know which way was up. The frustration had hit him fast and hot, that familiar burn in his chest that made everything narrow until all he could see was the next swing he wanted to throw.
He dragged
