Lyra
My legs are ready to give out by the time I make it to my room.
I closed my door behind me and leaned against it, letting the door hold my body up for a bit.
Grass and mud stains cover the length of my training wear, my hands are red and bruising from all the times Levi hit me during the test, and every bone in my body has suddenly discovered new and creative ways to ache.
I have never been so tired.
I pushed away from the door and walked across the room.
My legs protesting with each step.
“Never again,” I mutter.
But even as I say the words, I know they are not true.
Yes, the exercises had been tough, and I had almost given up several times due to pain and exhaustion.
But I didn’t.
Oddly enough, I had enjoyed parts of it. I never engaged in activities in my old p
