Lorraine's POV
My arm was broken again.
Clean snap, mid-forearm. I'd heard the crack when I hit the wall after Astrid's last move during hand-to-hand drills. She didn't even blink when I screamed.
She just tossed a water bottle at me and told me to fix my stance next time.
Now I was back in the common room, curled up on the worn couch that had become my safe place after each brutal day. The old ceiling fan above creaked with each rotation, stirring the heavy silence. My body was screaming, bruises bloomed like shadows all over my skin, and blood was still crusted on my lip. Every breath ached in my ribs, and my muscles felt like they were being shredded from the inside out.
But I didn't cry.
Not anymore.
The worst of that had been spent in the first few days when I vomited from exhaustion and begged the moon to just strike me down. Now, I had grown used to the pain. Familiar, even.
It meant I was still alive.
It meant I was getting somewhere.
