The private training grounds are tucked behind the main complex, surrounded by tall pines that filter the morning light into golden shafts. It's secluded. Quiet. The kind of place where no one will see if I accidentally do something impossible.
Raul stands in the center of the platform, arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing black training pants that sit low on his hips and a fitted tank that does absolutely nothing to hide the carved muscle of his shoulders and arms. His dark hair is slightly mussed, like he ran his fingers through it, and those dark eyes track my every movement as I approach.
"We start with assessment," he says. "I need to see what you can actually do, not what you think you can do."
"I thought we were training alone," I say, dropping my water bottle at the edge of
