The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, the breath knocked out of me. The training mat beneath me was firm yet springy, its faint rubbery scent mingling with the tang of sweat that clung to the air. Overhead, the high ceilings of the training hall loomed, crisscrossed with exposed beams that cast faint shadows under the glow of the fluorescent lights. Kane loomed over me, his hands firmly pinning my wrists to the mat. His weight pressed down just enough to hold me in place, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that left no room for escape.
“You need to learn to fight smarter, not harder,” he said, his voice sharp but not unkind. The deep timbre of his words seemed to resonate in the quiet, broken only by the faint squeak of boots on the mats and the occasional low murmur
