Shirley
The warehouse smelled of old wood and iron dust, the kind of place where secrets felt safe to bleed. The windows had been boarded up years ago, letting only thin slants of moonlight cut across the floor. This was where Cassandra insisted we train. Out of sight, out of mind. Away from Dante’s watchful gaze and away from Tessie’s scheming eyes.
My palms were sweaty as I tugged at the bandages wrapped around my knuckles. “Remind me again why this feels more like punishment than training?” I muttered, eyeing the weighted bag swinging lightly in front of me.
Cass rolled her shoulders, stepping into the circle of dim light like she owned it. Her hair was tied back, jaw tight, but her eyes softened when they found mine. “Because resilience doesn’t come easy. You want control over that
