“Meet me in the sparring gym.” “I’m already working with her on sparring—” Rhiannon starts. “Good. We can’t afford her to lose any challenges,” Imogen retorts. “But I’m going to help you with weights. We need to strengthen the muscles around your joints before challenges resume. That’s the only way you’ll survive.” The hairs rise on the back of my neck. “And since when do you care about my survival?” This isn’t a squad thing. It can’t be. Not when she didn’t give a shit before. “Since now,” she says, gripping her fork in her fist, but it’s the lightning-fast glance toward the dais at the end
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