Book 8: Ghost

Evander

The nondescript warehouse in the Crescent City commercial center smells like cleaning solution and sweat. 

I rerack my weights, panting, catching my reflection in the dirty mirrors overlooking the makeshift gym in one corner of the massive building. Above me, light pours from several half-broken windows at the juncture of the galvanized roof. A single pigeon flies from one rafter to the other. 

I take off my headphones, the thrumming music giving way to the sounds of my colleagues, my brothers in the Ghost forces, continuing their workouts. 

Flynn walks into view, his reflection in the mirror coming to rest beside mine. His dark hair is brushed away from his face, his dark eyes locking on mine as he nods and asks, “You still using those fifties?”

“No.” I shake my head, motioning for him to take the dumbbells I just reracked. 

He pulls them off the shelf and sits on a weight bench, rolling his shoulders.