2
Perry Mercator pulled himself up once more, muscles bulging as he touched the lintel of the door with his chin.
“14 … 15 …”
Sweat ran down his back, his breath ragged as he counted the repetitions, embracing physical pain as the best way to dull the screaming in his mind.
“29 … 30.”
He dropped to the floor and bent over with exhaustion as he fought to regain his breath. Nausea rose in his stomach as his body rebelled at the harsh treatment, hours every day, pushing himself to physical extremes.
For most of his life, Perry’s fire magic had been out of control — sometimes a tiny flame, sometimes an inferno — and yet on the last mission, he had finally found a way to channel it. He had saved the Mapwalker team at the Eagle’s Nest, and in those moments, he had felt most alive. But the
