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The vision dissolved from the glass, replaced by the familiar shapes of the shop beyond the window.

She turned away. And this time, she didn’t look back.

Eventually, she reached the townhouse, boots heavy, skin frozen to the bone. She collapsed onto the bench in the coatroom, head hitting the wall. Just for a second. Just to rest her eyes.

But in the darkness, the grimble waited, eyes blazing.

White. Lifeless.Endless.

She jerked upright, heart pounding wildly.

Rising on unsteady legs, Taly stood. Each step through the silent house dragged heavier than the last.

She wasn’t sure if it was late, but it felt that way as she peeked into Ivain’s office. The curtains were drawn, and a fire roared merrily in the hearth.

Ivain sat quietly behind his desk, eyes darkening with concern as she sank into the chair across from him.

“I need a favor.” The words scraped out, rough and quiet—the first she’d spoken in hours.

Ivain’s gaze softened with understanding, even sadness. “I had a feeling you’d be by,” he said, reaching for a black leather folio on the edge of his desk as Taly rolled up her sleeve.

Chapter 45

With a very unladylike grunt, Aimee dropped the barbell, barely missing her feet.

Pain pulsed through every part of her. Her legs burned, her arms trembled, and there was a sharp ache in her back she couldn’t stretch out. Exhaustion draped over her like a too-heavy gown, souring her mood further.

Aimee was no stranger to discipline. Dance required strength in ways most people didn’t appreciate. But this… this was different. Weights, squats, rows—everything about it felt awkward, graceless, and undignified.

She glared at the barbell, its polished surface gleaming under the training hall lights. It looked far too smug for an inanimate object.

Taly’s barbell, by comparison, was loaded with plates so big they looked like wagon wheels. She’d added them, lifted them, and stripped them off again without so much as a huff.

“Now pushups,” Taly said, lounging on a nearby bench.Resting between sets, she called it.

Meanwhile, Aimee wasn’t allowed to stop. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“No complaining,” Taly reminded her, never opening her eyes.

Aimee bit back a growl, muttering, “It’s not complaining to point out how wildly unfair it is that I’m over here sweating my soul out while you lounge around.”

“Supersets save time,” Taly said, unmoving and utterly unrepentant.

It was a convenient enough excuse.

Wincing, Aimee eased herself to the ground. Her arms trembled, her elbows wobbling like they might give out at any moment. “This,” she panted, “is not training. This is humiliation.”

“You have to crawl before you can walk.”

Aimee gritted her teeth and pushed against the floor, every muscle in her arms and shoulders shaking. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate”—she sucked in a breath—“everything.”

“That’s one,” Taly said. “Nine more.”

Aimee didn’t curse. Out loud. But in her head, she burned through every foul word Taly had ever taught her.

“Holy shit,” Aiden said, coming up the stairs, damp with sweat. His hair curled messily against his forehead. “Taly, tell me I’m hallucinating. Aimee is doing pushups. The world has officially turned upside down.”

Aimee attempted a glare, though with her arms shaking so violently, it lacked any real heat.