CHAPTER 18
For the next few days, the sparring became a brutal, relentless ritual. Every evening, as the sun dipped toward the horizon and cast long, sharp shadows across the deserted sand pit, Lauren found herself waiting for Ryle. The main arena remained empty, only her and him.
Ryle was her relentless, heartless teacher. He never offered a word of encouragement, only the sharp, cutting corrections of a technician observing a faulty mechanism. His punches, towards her, were always calculated—never quite a knockout blow, but always landing hard enough to demand a precise reaction and ensure her entire body ached with a dull, throbbing pain.
Lauren’s body was a roadmap of fading bruises, but her mind was sharpening. She was internalizing the lessons of the dart, forcing her feet to list
