Third person's POV
The next morning, George heard a knock on his door. He barely had time to process being awake before the door opened, his father stepping inside.
“Up,” his father said simply, tossing something toward him.
George caught it instinctively, his reflexes still sharp even through the haze of sleep, his fingers curling around it before he fully registered what it was. A pair of gloves. Not his usual ones, but worn just enough to show they had history, the leather softened from use.
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair as he blinked toward him. “It’s barely morning.” he groaned.
“That’s the point.” His father didn’t wait for a response, already turning toward the door. “Be outside in five.”
There was no argument left in the room after that.
By the time Geor
