The gym smelled like sweat and steel.
Sara stood in the center of the mat, her heart pounding harder than it ever had in her life. Around her, the room was sparse—punching bags hanging from chains, weights stacked in corners, mirrors covering one entire wall.
In those mirrors, she saw herself.
Small. Terrified. Completely out of place.
Behind her, the door opened.
Adrian walked in, moving slowly, favoring his wounded side. His face was pale but determined. Behind him came a mountain of a man—easily six and a half feet tall, with shoulders like boulders and eyes that held no warmth whatsoever.
"This is Viktor," Adrian said quietly. "He's the best trainer I have."
Viktor looked at Sara the way a butcher might look at a piece of meat.
"She's tiny," he said. His voice was deep, rumbling, completely without emotion.
"She's my wife," Adrian replied. The words were soft, but something in his tone made Viktor's eyes shift.
"I understand, Mr. Volkov." Viktor turned back to Sara. "Twenty-four hours is nothing. I can't make you a fighter in one day. But I can give you enough to survive."
Sara swallowed hard. "What do I need to know?"
Viktor walked toward her. Each step was heavy, deliberate. He stopped inches away, looking down at her with those cold eyes.
"Three things," he said. "How to hold a weapon. Where to aim. And how to run."
"Run?"
"Running saves lives. Heroes die." He glanced at Adrian. "No offense, Mr. Volkov."
Adrian's lips twitched slightly. "None taken."
Viktor turned back to Sara. "Let's begin."
The first hour was agony.
Viktor handed her a gun—a small, black pistol that felt heavier than it looked. He showed her how to hold it, how to stand, how to aim. Her arms shook. Her hands sweated. The bullet never went where she wanted it to.
"Again," Viktor said. Every time. "Again."
By the second hour, her arms screamed with pain. Her fingers were raw. Her ears rang from the gunfire.
"Again."
Adrian watched from the corner, his face unreadable. He didn't interrupt. Didn't offer comfort. Just watched.
Sara hated him for it.
And loved him for it at the same time.
By the third hour, Viktor moved on to hand-to-hand combat.
"If someone grabs you here—" He grabbed her wrist, hard enough to hurt. "—what do you do?"
Sara's mind went blank.
Viktor's eyes hardened. "You don't think. You react. Again."
He grabbed her wrist.
Sara did nothing.
"Again."
He grabbed her wrist. Harder this time. Sara felt tears prick her eyes but refused to let them fall.
"Again."
This went on for what felt like hours. Grabs. Holds. Chokes. Sara learned to twist, to break free, to strike back. Her body was one massive bruise. Her muscles screamed. Her spirit wavered.
But she didn't stop.
Couldn't stop.
Her father's face flashed in her mind every time she wanted to quit.
By evening, Sara could barely stand.
She sat on the gym floor, her back against the wall, her eyes closed. Sweat dripped from her hair. Her hands trembled in her lap.
Adrian sat beside her.
He didn't speak. Just sat there, close enough that she could feel his warmth.
"Am I ready?" Sara whispered.
"No."
The honesty hurt more than any lie.
"But you're braver than I expected," Adrian continued quietly. "Stronger. Viktor has trained soldiers who gave up faster than you."
Sara opened her eyes and looked at him. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
Adrian's lips curved slightly. "Is it working?"
"No."
"Good. Don't feel better. Feel angry. Feel determined. Tomorrow, that's all you'll have."
Sara turned to face him fully. "Adrian. If something happens to me tomorrow—"
"Nothing will happen to you."
"Listen to me." She grabbed his hand. "If something happens, take care of Tom. Promise me."
Adrian's jaw tightened. His eyes burned with something fierce and protective.
"You'll take care of him yourself."
"Adrian—"
"No." He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing against hers. "I'm not making that promise because you're going to survive tomorrow. We both are. And then we're going to come home and figure out whatever this is between us."
Sara's eyes stung with unshed tears. "You can't promise that."
"I can promise that I'll die trying." His voice was rough. "That's all I have to give."
Sara kissed him then—quick, fierce, desperate.
"It's enough," she whispered. "It's more than enough."