ARTEMIS’ POV

I throw a few more fist blows at my half-dead punch bag, which is bleeding sand all over the floor through the rip I made in the heat of my anger.

Kamila stands there, breathing hard and fast. I guess her so-called visit didn’t turn out the way she hoped.

I saw it in her eyes—the way they widened each time I gave a response she wasn’t expecting, responses that pointed toward me not wanting her here.

I wonder what demented expectations she had coming here after what she ...