Penelope’s POVThe training facility felt different when empty. No voices asking questions, no feet moving across mats, no weapons clashing in combat. Just me and the heavy bag, my fists connecting with leather in a pace that drowned out the chaos in my head.I’d been coming here before dawn every day since my bail. The physical exhaustion was the only thing that let me sleep anymore. Each punch drove away another memory of Debbie’s confused face, another image of Sophia falling, another whisper of murderer that followed me through town.My knuckles ached through the practice gloves. Sweat dripped down my spine despite the morning chill. The bag swayed under repeated impacts, chains creaking.A soft knock interrupted my assault on the leather. I froze mid-punch, listening. Most people avoided me now. Who would come here at six in the morning?The knock came again, gentle but persistent.“We’re closed,” I called out, not moving toward the door.“I’m not here for training,” a male voice
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