When I woke up, the room was still dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the bedside clock.
5:30 AM.
Perfect.
I stretched, feeling my muscles protest after the mess that was yesterday. Between Leora dragging me into the kitchen, Rhiannon's absolute nonsense, and whatever that fiasco was before bed, I needed to move. To run. To breathe.
Jogging wasn't just a habit—it was a necessity. Keeping my body in top form wasn't just about looks. It was about control, about balance. About making sure I could still kick someone's ass if needed.
I threw off the covers and climbed out of bed, careful not to make too much noise. Rhiannon was still asleep, sprawled out on her bed in a way that made her look half-dead. She had no concept of dignity while sleeping.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed my sportswear, and stepped into the bathroom to change.
Black leggings. Sports bra. Tank top. Hair tied up.
