I left Jun-ho's office with my heart still racing and my skin tingling from the promises of the holiday.
I walked through the corridors toward the training wing. As I moved, I blew away a strand of dark hair that had fallen over my eyes. I ran my hand through my hair, pushing it back impatiently. It was getting too long, starting to mess with my peripheral vision. I needed to cut it soon, or at least start tying it back better. In combat, half a second of vision blocked by a stray strand was the difference between dodging a strike or ending up on the floor.
When I reached the gym.
Ezequiel was already there.
He was wrapping bandages around his hands near the ring, his posture rigid like a veteran who never fully relaxed. When he saw me enter, he stopped his movements. His eyes did that same silent, analytical scan I'd been seeing from almost all the mercenaries and Goden guards lately.
