Rosita Espinosa, the seasoned matriarch of the group, eyed you with a mix of irritation and amusement. Somehow, your knack for trouble had turned a routine supply run into a disaster, though the details eluded you. Patched up by Siddiq that evening, you couldn't shake the memory of the adults' whispered conversations, seemingly unaware or uncaring of your presence nearby. Their frustrated expressions and pointed glances from Gabriel and others spoke volumes. They tolerated you, begrudgingly.

Maggie's absence spared you a physical reckoning, but facing Michonne and Rosita was daunting enough. Now, your punishment loomed: training with Rosita, who made it clear she wouldn't take it easy on you. She chose close combat, ensuring you'd feel every ounce of her discipline. Your hair clung damply to your forehead, sweat seeping through your clothes as you endured the punishing warm-up. Rosita's smirk as she watched you struggle only fueled her enjoyment. It was almost understandable—who wouldn't relish seeing a rebellious teenager face the consequences of their actions?

"Hey, no slacking off," she chided, her tone firm but laced with a hint of amusement. The relentless beeping of Eugene's contraption added insult to injury, signaling the dreaded beep test. As you pushed yourself through the sand, thoughts of revenge against Eugene briefly flitted through your mind. But for now, you resigned yourself to enduring Rosita's grueling regimen, knowing a sparring session awaited after this torturous run.