ALEX POV
I q in the middle of a sparring session with Max, our movements a blur of fists and feet. Each punch and kick was met with a calculated block or counter. We moved with the fluidity of seasoned fighters, our bodies in perfect sync with the rhythm of combat. The sound of our strikes echoed through the clearing, each impact a testament to our strength and precision.
Max's fist came at me with blinding speed, but I deflected it with my forearm, twisting to deliver a swift kick aimed at his ribs. He dodged just in time, responding with a powerful roundhouse kick. I barely managed to block it, the force sending a jolt through my arms. Our training ground was a blur of motion, the ground beneath us scarred by our intense battle.
My mind, however, was not entirely in the fight. It was
