Over the years, Lyra had been quietly focusing on her self-improvement, moving at her own pace. As chief instructor, Andre had kept a close eye on her progress the whole time.
But something just wasn't adding up. The harder Lyra trained, the more she pushed herself, the weaker her body seemed to become.
Her face, once full of color, had paled so much it looked like she had worn too much powder.
Yet, despite her fragile appearance, when she fought seriously, she could easily take down someone like Anton and slam him into the ground.
Andre's sharp gaze settled on her, and his brow creased. "You're close to a breakthrough, aren't you?" he asked, noting the chaotic swirl of superpower particles around her. They were fluctuating, unstable.
Lyra gave a weak cough as she collapsed onto the couch. "That's none of your business, SIR."
