“Come on, slowpoke!” Lyra called over her shoulder, laughing as we headed to the forest. “You’re stiff. Move those legs!” She added.

“I’m not slow!” I snapped, my pride flaring despite the soreness burning through my thighs.

“Oh, you are,” she shot back, smirking. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed. Last night left its mark, didn’t it? You’re moving like a… wounded deer.”

I clenched my jaw, glaring at her, but she only laughed, spinning around to dash ...