Lila rolled her sleeves, her movements deliberate, slow, like a cat toying with its prey. The training room was just a few doors down, but the tension between us was palpable, the air thick with unspoken challenges and promises of pain.
The training room was bathed in harsh fluorescent light, the mats beneath our feet soft but unyielding.
Lila cracked her knuckles, her eyes locked onto mine, her posture low and balanced, like a predator ready to strike. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the promise of pain and the thrill of battle. Beth stood off to the side, her arms crossed, her eyes flickering between us, watching, waiting.
Lila lunged first.
Her fist shot toward my jaw like a bullet, the speed of her attack blinding—but I was faster. In what felt like slow motion, I twisted my head to the side, her knuckles grazing my cheek as I ducked beneath her arm.
