Chapter 11. The Guilt Question

By Thursday, Lia’s body had stopped belonging to her.

The bruises had turned the color of storm clouds. Her wrists ached with each jab. Every inhale scraped her lungs raw. Still—she didn’t stop.

Cassian hadn’t said good once that day. That was how she knew she was improving.

“Again,” he said.

She moved.

The bag hit back harder than expected, swinging into her shoulder. The jolt shot down her spine, and she lost pulse for half a breath.

Cassian’s voice came sharp. “Reset.”

She did.

“Breathe.”

“I am.”

“Not enough.”

Her heartbeat was so loud it drowned his voice out.

The gym lights buzzed overhead, the kind of flicker that made everything pulse in and out of focus.

Sweat stung her eyes. Her skin felt too hot for her own bones.

She swung again, missed, pivoted too fast. The floor tilted.

“Stop,” Cassian said.

“I’m fine.”

“Stop.”

“I said I’m—”

Her tongue tripped over t