The next three weeks blurred together in a haze of pain, sweat, incremental progress.

Each dawn began the same way: ice water to the face, five minutes to dress, hours of combat training that left me bruised and aching.

The bruises healed faster now.

My body adapted, grew harder.

What had seemed impossible in week one became routine by week two.

By week three, I was starting to understand what Zane was building me into.

"Again," he barked, his staff cracking against mine hard enough to send vibrations up my arms.

"You're still telegraphing your strikes. I can see them coming from a mile away."

I gritted my teeth and...