The gym was dark, lit only by the soft amber glow of the low wall lights. It was long past midnight, and the clanging of weights or the echo of warrior banter was long gone. Silence settled around Kyson like a heavy fog. The punching bag swayed gently in front of him, untouched. His hands rested on his knees, sweat still clinging to his skin from earlier training, but now… he couldn’t move.
He couldn’t stop thinking.
Why did he feel like this?
He had been asking himself that question all night. Ever since she looked at him—with fire in her eyes—and told him she didn’t want his pity.
And maybe she was right.
Was it pity?
Or was it guilt?
Kyson exhaled and let his head fall back against the wall, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
He remembered the first time he saw her.
A scrawny
