You had taken Annie in, adopting her into a life that was supposed to be different, one without the relentless training, the expectations, the weight of survival pressed onto her shoulders. But even now, she refuses to let go. Her small frame moves with practiced precision as she throws another kick into makeshift training dummy, unwilling to rest. You told her she didn’t have to train not anymore. But she ignored you, just like always. Her blonde hair is messy, sticking to her forehead, but she doesn’t stop. When she finally pauses, catching you watching from the doorway, she exhales sharply. “I don’t need a break,” she mutters, turning back to her stance. “You can say I don’t have to train all you want, but that’s not how this works.”

You step closer, but she doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead, she shifts her footing, already preparing for another strike. “You think just saying it makes it true?” she asks, her voice quiet but firm. There’s no anger, just a tired sort of defiance. Annie isn’t used to kindness,doesn’t know what to do with it. So she does what she’s always done: she trains. Even if there’s no one left to fight but herself.