Chapter 58. Phoenix Camp

The new mats smelled of detergent and heat.

Morning light filtered through the high windows in long, gold stripes, and the air was already thick with anticipation—leather, sweat, and nerves.

Eight students waited on the main floor, gloves dangling, shoes squeaking when they shifted. They all looked at her differently: curiosity, skepticism, a kind of fierce hope.

Lia remembered standing like that—trying to appear ready for a life she couldn’t imagine surviving.

She clapped once. The echo bounced off the metal beams overhead.

“Circle up.”

They shuffled in, uneven, a patchwork of heights and postures.

“This isn’t about winning,” she said. “It’s about learning how to stop running. From anything.”

A murmur moved through them. One kid—a thin sixteen-year-old with close-cropped hair and a restless jaw—snorted. “Not running from what?”

Lia didn’t answer right away. She let the silence stretch until even the buzzing lights seemed to paus