Page 52 of Cara

I throw myself into the bag, punching with vigor.

The usual noise echoing through the warehouse has faded at night, leaving just a few engaged in personal battles.

I shift my foot forward, my weight transferring onto it just as Xavier taught me. I initiate a swing with my right arm before launching my left into the leather.

I fight the pain, the exhaustion.

After so many years alone, I’d forgotten what it feels like to connect with people again, others who have faced similar struggles. Or worse. They don’t even need to discuss it. Their dedication speaks for itself. I’m desperate to be like them, to experience some kind of improvement.

I now have a sense of purpose that I didn’t before.

But I’m weak. My body is weak, and my soul is weaker.

This is all I have.

"Engage your core," a deep voice reverberates in the empty space. Turning, brushing back the hair that has escaped my braid, I spot Isaac leaning against the staircase railing, a towel draped over his shoulder. He descends, stepping into the room with me.

I’m too alone in here with him. My eyes dart to the door. “I'm done. I’ll let you work out.”

He drops his towel by me. “Come stand at the bag.”

My feet instinctively retreat. “What?”

“Come stand here. Hold your fists up as if you were going to swing right.”

I do it, waiting inanticipation.

“Hit the bag.”

“Just… hit it?”

“Yes, as you normally would.”

The moment it connects, I grimace and see him nod out of the corner of my eye. I flinch when his hands grip my hips. I try to breathe through it, unaccustomed to the touch.

“Hit again,” he commands.

I strike the bag like usual. But this time, he keeps me steady. I feel the punch ripple through my arm like a shockwave, the impact of my fist against the sand louder than I’ve ever heard it before.

My brows shoot up in surprise. “Wow.”

He releases me. “Better, right? You aren’t grounding yourself. If you throw your entire body into the punch, the hit will be weak.”

“I see.” I look down at the bruises peeking through my taped knuckles. “Thanks.”

He nods, tilting his head to get my attention. “Listen, youhaveimproved since you arrived despite the beatings. Don’t get discouraged.”

“I'm not.” I square my shoulders, meeting his gaze. “I'm going to be the best.”

He smiles without seeming condescending. Like everyone else here, his face is bruised and scarred beyond repair. “I’d like to see it.”

He will.

I’ll make sure of it.

“It’s good to get out.”

My eyes are on Victoria, who is currently three drinks in, hanging from the edge of the bar. Her unhinged laugh could wake the neighborhood.