The basement gym was eerily quiet compared to the morning's chaos.
At this hour, most students were either studying, sleeping, or finding creative ways to break curfew. The overhead lights cast harsh shadows across the training mats and equipment. Gave the space a stark, dramatic quality.
A lone punching bag swayed slightly in some unfelt breeze. Probably the ghost of some poor student who'd died during one of Braxton's training sessions. The smell of sweat and disinfectant hung in the air. Mingled with the faint metallic scent of old pipes lining the ceiling.
Emi was already there when I arrived. Having changed at supersonic speed.
She bounced in place as she waited for instructions. Blue hair bobbed with each movement. She'd switched her academy clothes for workout gear. A loose pink tank top over a sports bra. Black athletic shorts that revealed surprisingly toned legs.
The tank top rode up slightly as she stretched. Revealed a glimpse of smooth skin at her midriff.
