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."

amusement in her eyes.

breath, steeling myself for another

stretches out her legs. "But let's do

apartment, and Lisa and I groan in unison. We don't have to check. Of course it's Kellan. Here to pick

Kellan with

nothing in my life

brow at Lisa as a blush creeps up her cheeks. Well, well. What do we have here? But before I can needle

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

waiting for us, his scarred face

How about we bring donuts tomorrow? All you can eat, if we can just take a

"You want to play games? Fine. Run another mile. Both of you.

unrepentant, and takes off at a jog.

seems to hate us. But

myself. For

and keep running, pushing through the pain. One foot in front of

time we manage five miles—slow 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

heaves, her face

the haze of exhaustion,

a pitiful whimper. "You've got to be kidding

my body. "Sorry, Jericho. My legs have officially died. I'm going to

a sneer. "Well, aren't you two

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