Celeste is perched on a low bench, downing a bottle of water. Her brows arch as I collapse beside her, stretching out my aching legs with a groan. My fingers instinctively move to my ankles, kneading the soreness from my overworked muscles.
“This physical training thing is crap,” I mutter, the words escaping through gritted teeth.
“Girl, tell me about it.” Celeste slides her water bottle back into her silky backpack, her eyes scanning my face with concern. “Everything okay with you and Elijah? Nate told me what happened.”
“Not even close,” I reply, my tone as flat as the tiles beneath us.
“I suppose I can’t blame you.” She falls quiet for a beat before a hiss of irritation escapes her lips. Her head swivels toward the group of students staring in our direction. “What are you all lookin
