Amara had been searching for Lila for nearly an hour, the echo of her own footsteps following her down the corridor that opened to the outside sparring mats. She had checked the armory, the small gym, and even Luke’s recovery room, only to find her still unconscious and the place silent. The sound of repetitive, sharp cracks, flesh meeting the wooden dummy, guided her toward the side yard.
There, under the dying light, Lila was a blur of relentless movement. Her fists, wrapped in stained bandages, struck the wooden training post again and again. Splinters stuck to her knuckles, thin streaks of blood ran down her wrists, staining the pale mats beneath her feet. Sweat dampened her hair, plastering it to her cheeks, but her eyes burned... a storm of rage and grief.
Amara stepped closer, her
