​Chapter 4: Double the Laps, Buy Me Lunch

Woah.

How the hell did Travis have the guts to reject this?

Phoenix stared at her reflection in the full-length glass pane of the training hall corridor, completely mesmerized. This face practically belonged on the cover of a high-fashion magazine. Striking Asian features, razor-sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, flawless porcelain skin, and deep, dark brown eyes that radiated absolute, unapologetic power.

Hell…

If it were physically possible, she could practically date herself.

Top-tier aesthetics definitely weren’t something she’d been blessed with while crawling through zombie-infested sewers, mud, and rotting intestines in her previous life. Back then, her skin had been permanently stained with gunsmoke, zombie blood, and dirt. Now? She looked like a runway model who could murder someone with a paperclip.

She was definitely going to cherish this body upgrade.

…

Okay, Phoenix.

Enough admiring yourself in the window reflection.

For fuck’s sake, you’re late!!

Realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. Phoenix snapped out of her vanity trip, pivoted on her heel, and took off down the tree-lined stone walkway at a dead sprint. She didn't just run—she moved like a tactical missile wrapped in white-and-gold academy leather, her long jet-black hair streaming behind her like a battle banner.

By the time she skidded onto the edge of the sprawling outdoor training grounds, the dust was already settling. The primary briefing had completely wrapped up, and dozens of Sentinels and Guides were clustered into neat, orderly squads while the head physical combat instructor barked out group assignments from a raised podium.

The moment Phoenix’s boots hit the synthetic turf, the instructor’s razor-sharp gaze snapped directly to her.

His face darkened instantly to a terrifying, blood-vessel-popping shade of deep purple.

“The absolute audacity you have, young lady.”

Instructor Dan’s terrifying glare locked onto Phoenix without an ounce of mercy. He stomped down the steps of the podium, his massive, scar-covered frame towering over the surrounding students like a bear looking for a snack.

“A bottom-ranked, defective, useless Guide like you still dares to casually stroll into my high-intensity physical conditioning session twenty minutes late?!” Dan bellowed, his voice echoing off the surrounding amphitheater walls.

Whispers and malicious giggles immediately broke out among the gathered students.

“Look at her… she thinks she’s still protected by Lord Travis!” “Late on her very first day after getting dumped? She’s completely lost her mind.” “Instructor Dan is going to break her like a toothpick!”

Travis was standing near the front of the class, surrounded by his usual court of sycophants. He crossed his arms, a cold, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He was clearly looking forward to watching Phoenix break down, cry, and realize just how harsh the world was without his family’s protection.

Instructor Dan stopped three paces in front of Phoenix, blocking out the sun. A dangerous, downright sadistic smile slowly spread across his rugged face as he folded his arms and cracked his knuckles with a series of echoing, stomach-churning pops.

“Since you clearly have so much extra time and energy to waste, Miss Wraith, I’ll personally teach you a lesson today.” Dan leaned down, his voice dropping into a menacing growl that was meant to make her knees buckle. “Fifty laps around the perimeter track in full weighted gear. Right now. If you pass out, I’ll drag you back to the start line myself!”

Fifty laps in weighted gear was a punishment meant for mid-tier Sentinels with enhanced physical abilities. To a fragile, unranked Guide, it was practically an invitation to a hospital bed. The crowd leaned in, waiting for Phoenix to burst into tears, beg for mercy, or turn to Travis for help.

Instead, Phoenix blinked her dark brown eyes once.

Then twice.

Her lips twitched into a slow, dangerously sharp, blade-like grin that sent an unexpected spike of alarm straight down Instructor Dan’s spine.

Fifty laps? In a gated, paved, climate-controlled track with zero flesh-eating mutants chasing behind me? Is this a punishment or a warmup?

In her past life, she had sprinted twenty miles through a burning city with thirty pounds of tactical gear, a broken rib, and ten thousand screaming zombies nipping at her boots. Running around a manicured lawn in shiny little metal weights sounded like an absolute spa day.

Phoenix adjusted the collar of her academy blazer and offered Instructor Dan a bright, utterly unbothered smile that radiated pure, unfiltered arrogance.

“Fifty laps?” Phoenix drawled smoothly, her voice carrying effortlessly across the silent field. “That’s it? Instructor, please… I’d hate to think you were taking it easy on me just because I’m a frail little Guide. Why don't we make it a hundred laps, and if I beat your best Sentinel’s time, you buy me lunch?”

Silence slammed over the training grounds so fast you could hear a pin drop.

Instructor Dan froze, his jaw twitching violently. Travis’s smirk vanished instantly into pure, unadulterated shock.

Oh, sweet summer child, Phoenix thought, her dark brown eyes flashing with predatory anticipation as she unbuttoned her blazer cuffs and rolled up her sleeves. You want to teach a three-year apocalypse veteran about physical torture? Please, try me.