Eternal Grind Boxing Gym.
Eleanor spent the entire afternoon inside, hitting the bag until her knuckles bled.
Some old kickboxing training had left her with basic boxing form, though most of it had gone rusty with disuse.
The heavy bag swung back and caught her square across the face, hard enough to leave it burning red.
She sank to the floor, tears streaming.
Drugged. Assaulted.
By a bloated, disgusting man like Dale Quinn.
Rage and revulsion twisted together in her chest, sick and consuming.
She hadn't gone back to the office after leaving the hotel. Hadn't called in either just come straight here and stayed until her body gave out.
The physical exhaustion did nothing to touch the deeper ache that wouldn't shake loose.
That evening, walking out of the gym, a friend request came
