Nikolai

I step into the gym room, where King is laying into a punching bag like it owes him money. He's shirtless, his sweat-drenched muscles flexing with every punishing blow. The tension rolling off him is suffocating.

"You good?" I ask, pulling off my own shirt as I step closer, steadying the bag for him. His raw knuckles strike the bag with a precision that screams rage, frustration, and something deeper.

King doesn't look at me, his jaw tightening as he lands another ...