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?”

I take a deep breath, steeling

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Ava: Life in Westwood (IV)

stretches out her

through the apartment, and Lisa and I groan in unison. We don’t have to check. Of course

Kellan with exasperation. “Don’t

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

we have here? But before I can needle her about it, she shoves past Kellan, leaving me to

drive to the training grounds is mercifully short, but not short enough to avoid the dread pooling in my stomach. Jericho. Another day of his disapproval

predicted, he’s waiting for us, his

scowl. “You’re

antimist aring at him “We’ll make

Lile in

tomorrow? All you can eat, if we can just

“You want to play games? Fine.

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

aching muscles, and a trainer

need this. Need to be

myself. For

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

he does every damn day -my legs burn. Lactic acid (something I’ve learned about in recent days) scorches my muscles, a deep,

Life in Westwood

flushed crimson from

cuts through the haze of exhaustion, his tone

argument.

Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ

a fresh wave of agony through my body. “Sorry, Jericho. My legs have officially

a sneer. “Well, aren’t you

we’ve pushed our luck too far. Jericho’s patience, it seems, has reached

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

choose.”

Neither option appeals, not with my body screaming

alternative–incurring Jericho’s wrath-

in Westwood (IV)

far worse. He likes coming

dry as I

grim. “Practice,” she echoes,

a razor’s edge, sharp and