The private training floor of Sterling Tower was a cavernous expanse of reinforced carbon fiber and dampening fields. Located forty stories beneath the penthouse, it was a place where the rules of polite high society were discarded in favor of raw, kinetic truth. The air here was cool and smelled of ozone and floor wax, a stark contrast to the heavy sandalwood of the living quarters above.
Astra stood on the observation gallery, her fingers gripping the cold steel railing. Below her, Leo stood in the center of a circular combat ring. He had traded his school uniform for a tactical compression suit of charcoal gray. He looked smaller than usual in the vast space, a solitary figure illuminated by the overhead floodlights.
Across from him, Dante Sterling was shedding his shirt. The billiona
