The underground training room had a strange echo to it—a rhythmic drip in the distance, the hum of fluorescent lights, and the faint creak of padded mats underfoot. The air was sharp with the scent of sweat and leather. Anastasia tightened her high ponytail, the strands of her hair sticking to her damp neck. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and she barely stifled the groan escaping her lips as she shifted into another defensive stance.
Taylor stood calmly across from her, arms folded, her expression unreadable.
"Again," Taylor instructed, her voice even but firm.
Anastasia clenched her jaw and lunged forward, attempting the disarming move Taylor had just demonstrated. Her arms moved too wide, her balance faltered. In a blink, Taylor had flipped her flat on her back, the wind knocked from her lungs.
"Dammit," Anastasia muttered, struggling to sit up. Her limbs ached. Sweat rolled down her spine, soaking through her black training top.
