The grass was wet against the back of my neck and I didn't care even a little bit.
7:38 AM. My lungs were filing a formal complaint with my brain, my legs had submitted a joint resignation letter, and somewhere in the distance Misato was making one of her clones do burpees just to prove a point.
I stared at the sky. Blue. Really blue. California always looked fake.
I liked the Misato who tolerated me better. That Misato was manageable. That Misato looked at me like a mild inconvenience she'd learned to work around, like a piece of furniture slightly in the wrong place.
This Misato, the one who had apparently decided I was a project worth investing in, was going to kill me. Not accidentally. Not through negligence. She was going to look me directly in the eyes while my cardiovascular system staged a full revolt and say "one more set" with complete sincerity.
I closed my eyes.
