Chapter 99 Ava: Life in Westwood (IV)

A plastic thud startles me awake. I crack open an eye to see Lisa's alarm clock skitter across the floor, her arm still extended from the throw.

"I can't do this anymore," she moans into her pillow. "Everything hurts. I think my eyelashes are sore."

I laugh, but it turns into a groan as I slide out of bed, my muscles screaming in protest. Four days of Jericho's training from hell, and my body still hasn't adjusted. I'm not sure it ever will.

"Do you think the bodyguards would murder Jericho if we asked nicely?" Lisa's voice is muffled, her face still buried in her pillow.

"Stop dreaming." I limp to the bathroom, each step an agony. "And get ready. You know he'll just make it worse if we're late."

Lisa's groan follows me as I shut the door, a smile tugging at my lips despite the pain. As much as I hate the early mornings and the constant ache in my muscles, there's a part of me that relishes the challenge. Each day I push myself further, each day I grow stronger.

Selene would be proud.

The thought sobers me as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Four days, and still no sign of her. I'm starting to wonder if she'll ever come back. If I'll ever be whole again.

I splash water on my face, the cold shock chasing away the melancholy thoughts. I can't afford to dwell on what I've lost. Not when I have so much to gain.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom, Lisa is up and dressed, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She shoots me a baleful look as she tugs on her sneakers.

"I hate you for being a morning person."

"I'm not a morning person," I protest, grabbing my water bottle. "I'm just better at pretending than you are."

of amusement in

breath, steeling myself for another day of torture.

Lisa stands, wincing as she stretches out her legs. "But let's do this

unison. We don't have to check. Of course it's Kellan. Here to pick us up, just like every godforsaken

eyeing Kellan with exasperation. "Don't you have anything better

"There's nothing in my

cheeks. Well, well. What do we have here?

stomach. Jericho. Another day of his disapproval and disdain. I'm really starting

he's waiting for us, his scarred face

make it up to you. How about we bring donuts tomorrow? All you can

scowl deepens. "You want to play games? Fine. Run another mile.

a glare. She shrugs, unrepentant, and takes off at

to hate us. But as

Selene. For myself. For whatever comes

my teeth and keep running, pushing through the pain. One foot

as fucking snails, Jericho points out, like he does every damn day—my legs burn. Lactic acid (something I've learned about in recent days) scorches my muscles, a deep, throbbing ache that pulses with each labored breath. I'm convinced my limbs have liquefied, reduced to

chest heaves, her face flushed crimson from

Now." Jericho's command cuts through the haze

whimper.

movement sends a fresh wave of agony through my body. "Sorry, Jericho. My

lip curls, his scarred face twisting into a sneer. "Well, aren't you

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