Logan
The air in the armory was hot. I was slick with sweat, breathing in heat, and feeling like I could exhale fire from how angry I was.
The armory was laden with the scent of old sweat and steel. I’d been at it for over an hour working until my muscles ached and felt leaden. I moved through fighting stances, practicing to keep my mind off of her until everything in me protested with pain. But the weight of the sword in my hands was nothing compared to the weight pressing on my chest.
I swung again, this time at a wooden post already splintered from previous abuse. The blade sank into the post with a loud crack, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was, and perhaps it never would be. In a fit of fury, I raked my claws down the dummy, spilling its plush insides. But it did nothing. I coul
