After the endurance run, where Anthony deliberately lagged at the back, finishing last with an exaggerated wheeze and a theatrical flop onto the grass, the morning drills bled into afternoon. He kept up the same infuriating performance: slipping every serious strike like it was choreographed, taking hits on purpose with dramatic grunts and theatrical staggers, even letting a fourteen-year-old juvenile land a clean if weak, jab to his ribs. The yard rang with laughter, jeers, muttered insults “weak,” “coward,” “even the pups can take him.” Anthony played along, flashing sheepish grins and shrugging like it was all good fun. By the time the sun hung high and merciless, Hazel’s patience had burned away.
She waited until Vance dismissed the group, then caught Anthony’s eye across the dusty ri
