Annabelle’s muscles burned from the constant drills she had been putting herself through.

The dummy in front of her bore the brunt of her frustration as she jabbed, twisted, and kicked relentlessly, ignoring the faint ache in her right leg.

Sweat dripped down her temples, soaking into her simple tank top, but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t. Every blow she landed felt like a strike against her past.

Against Tad, against the powerless girl she used to be.

Her breath came out in ragged gasps, and she paused just long enough to swipe at her forehead with the back of her hand.

She glanced at the clock on the wall...