Chapter 10. Breaking Point

She didn’t sleep. Not after the alley.

The medal still felt damp in her pocket, the ribbon cold against her skin.

Every sound on the walk home had a shape. A threat.

The gym was still dark when Lia arrived. The front door stuck again, handle tacky with dried sweat. She yanked it harder, metal scraping against metal, the sound too loud for morning.

Her breath came out white. Chicago hadn’t decided on spring yet; the air still a bit like winter.

She dropped her bag by the wall, rolled her shoulders. Everything hurt—the good kind of hurt, the kind that reminded her she hadn’t quit.

Cassian didn’t look up when she entered. He was kneeling beside the ring, taping the torn canvas with strips of duct tape. His movements were clean, measured.

“You’re early,” he said without turning.

“So are you.”

“I live here.”

“Maybe I do now, too.”

He looked up then, one brow raised. “You planning to start paying rent?”

She smirked. “