Elena was waiting on the porch before the SUV even came to a full stop. She stood with her arms crossed, checking the position of the sun against the treeline like a drill sergeant checking a stopwatch.
As soon as Finnegan killed the engine, she was at the driver's side window. "Did you get the training clothes?" she demanded, skipping hellos.
"Yes, ma'am," Finnegan answered, popping the trunk. "And the boots. And the rest of the inventory."
"Good." Elena’s nod was sharp. "No time to put things away. That’s for later. The sun is dipping, and we have daylight to burn." She pointed a gloved finger toward the house. "Take the bags up. Find something to train in—something flexible, something durable—and meet me back here in ten minutes. Do not make me come get you."
Finnegan saluted lazily
