FREYA
The ground beneath me was already slick with sweat, mine mostly, though Killian barely looked like he was breaking one. Training with him felt like being thrown into a storm and told to hold my ground.
Every strike he threw, even when he was clearly holding back, forced me to scramble, block, or stumble out of the way. I knew he wasn’t giving me half of what he was capable of, but even his “easy” was brutal enough to leave me gasping.
I hated how obvious my inexperience was. He moved like a predator who had been trained since birth, every muscle remembering lessons I had no chance of catching up to in a few days. Me? My body only knew how to hold a paintbrush, not a fist. But I refused to give up...not when I was standing here, face-to-face with him, drenched in sweat, trying no
