Tristan
My father had ordered me to participate, so I participated. That was the whole of my relationship with the training camp. I showed up, I did what I was told, I kept my head down and waited for the four weeks to end so I could go back to my books and my quiet and the comfortable invisibility I’d spent my whole life perfecting.
What I had not planned for was Lily.
She was on the field when I got there, and she was already losing.
The first hour was conditioning. Hill sprints, the long way up the slope behind the training hall, then a set of drills that left even the strong ones bent over with their hands on their knees.
I was middling at it, the way I was just average at everything physical — not embarrassing, not impressive, forgettable, which was how I liked it. I finished my
