He kicked the plate of her food and started humiliating her right in her favorite cafe, laughing and showing his power. The customers stayed silent. The staff was afraid to step in. The guys were sure they could get away with it, but they had no idea who was sitting at that table.
The night had settled into the city with the kind of quiet that only came late, when the rush of the day had drained away, and the streets belonged to those who moved through them without urgency. Rhonda left the gym with the slow, measured steps of someone who knew her body well enough to listen to it.
Her shoulders carried a familiar heaviness, muscles tight and warm beneath her skin, the lingering burn of repetition and discipline still echoing through her arms and back. It was not exhaustion in the fragile sense, but the deep earned fatigue that came after work done properly, the kind that demanded rest without complaint.
She breathed steadily as she walked, letting the cool air touch her face and settle her pulse. Training had been intense, but controlled. Nothing unusual, nothing that lingered in her mind now. What remained was routine. The path from the gym to the small cafe a few blocks away had been walked so many times that she could have followed it with her eyes closed.
