By the time I left the hidden training field, my whole body felt wrung out and heavy, and every bruise Ezra had put into me seemed to wake up all at once the second I stopped moving.
My shoulder ached and my ribs burned every time I breathed too deep. There was fresh dirt on my hands and knees from how many times he had knocked me flat and told me to get up again. My legs still worked but they felt unsteady in that dangerous way where exhaustion tried to pretend it was calm. My mind, though, felt sharper than it had when the morning started. That was almost worse because now I could see more clearly what was waiting for me. This was not about pride. This was not about proving I could stand in a ring and survive long enough to feel brave.
This was about John. This was about how he fought
