Tangled

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. O

“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

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99 Ava: Life in Westwood (IV)

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.”

Lisa snorts, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Fake it till you make it, right?”

steeling myself for another day of torture.

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wincing as she stretches out her legs. “But let’s do this anyway.”

to check. Of course it’s Kellan.

Kellan with exasperation.

expression remains impassive. “There’s nothing in my life

we have here? But before I

short, but not short enough to avoid the dread pooling in my stomach. Jericho. Another day of his disapproval and disdain. I’m really starting to like him, but also I hate him more than anyone

waiting for us,

“You’re late.”

aring at him “We’ll make it un

in Westwood

you. How about we bring donuts tomorrow? All you can eat,

play games? Fine. Run another mile. Both of you. Now.”

unrepentant, and takes off at a

aching muscles, and a trainer who seems to hate us. But as much as

to complain, I know I need this. Need

Selene. For myself. For

grit my teeth and keep running, pushing through the pain. One foot in front of the other. One mile.

in recent days) scorches my muscles,

Life in

crimson

sit–ups. Now.” Jericho’s command cuts through the haze of exhaustion, his tone

argument.

groans, the sound a pitiful whimper. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ

shake my head, wincing as the movement sends a fresh wave of agony through my body. “Sorry, Jericho. My legs have officially died.

face twisting into a sneer.

glance, a silent acknowledgment that we’ve pushed our luck

icy slits. “Practice or spar. You’ve got two seconds

choose.”

sinks, a leaden weight in my chest. Neither option

the alternative–incurring Jericho’s wrath-

in Westwood (IV)

likes coming up with punishments.

I force the words past

grim. “Practice,” she

edge, sharp and