TENNA.
The training room was in the basement.
Of course it was.
I followed the directions Margaret had given me—down two flights of stairs, through a hallway that smelled like sweat and violence, until I reached a set of heavy double doors.
I could hear voices inside. Male. Female. All of them sounding way too awake for six in the f*****g morning.
I pushed open the doors.
The room was massive. Padded mats covered the floor. Weapons lined one wall—everything from wooden practice swords to what looked like actual f*****g knives. Punching bags hung from the ceiling.
Dorian stood near the center, arms crossed over his chest, looking like he could bench press a car without breaking a sweat. His dark eyes tracked me the moment I entered, assessing and calculating.
Past him, I caught
