The twenty-fourth round ended with my face pressed against the gym mat, chest heaving like a broken bellows, and my left arm completely numb from maintaining Wave Motion output for the better part of an hour. The golden spiral had died somewhere around rep eighteen of the final set, flickering out like a candle in a hurricane when my stamina reserves finally hit empty.
I lay there with my right arm draped across my eyes, blocking out the fluorescent lights that felt like they were drilling holes in my skull. Every muscle fiber in my body had filed a formal complaint and was threatening to go on strike. My lungs burned. My vision swam. The taste of copper filled my mouth where I'd bitten my cheek during the last few reps.
"It's a sprint, not a marathon, Monroe."
Vale's voice came from somewhere above me. I didn't have the energy to look up and confirm his location. The man could have been floating upside down on the ceiling for all I cared.
"Sprint," I gasped. "Right. Noted."
