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?”

take a deep breath, steeling myself for another day of torture. “Ready?”

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Ava: Life in Westwood (IV)

she stretches out her

unison. We don’t have to check. Of course it’s Kellan. Here to pick

open the door, eyeing Kellan with exasperation. “Don’t you have

nothing in my life more important than

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

grounds is mercifully 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

he’s waiting for us, his scarred face set in

“You’re

the antimist aring at

in Westwood (IV)

you can eat, if we can just

play games? Fine. Run another mile.

She shrugs, unrepentant, and takes off at a jog. I follow, my

Early mornings, aching muscles, and a trainer who seems to hate

I need this. Need

For myself. For whatever

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

recent days) scorches my muscles, a deep, throbbing ache that pulses with each labored breath. I’m convinced my limbs have liquefied, reduced

in

crimson from

Jericho’s command cuts through the haze of exhaustion, his

argument.

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

my body. “Sorry, Jericho. My legs have officially died. I’m going to have to pass.

a sneer. “Well, aren’t you

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

narrowing to icy slits. “Practice or spar. You’ve got

choose.”

a leaden weight in my chest. Neither option appeals, not with my

the alternative–incurring Jericho’s

in

far worse. He likes coming up with

dry as I force the words past

nods, her expression grim. “Practice,” she echoes, her voice

razor’s edge,