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quickly adjusted the handles, bringing the water to a more comfortable temperature.
    I could have warmed the water myself, using my pyro abilities but my body was fatigued, my mind unable to focus and I’d learned my lesson from the past. Fire mixed with a lack of concentration was never a good combination. Warming the water required precision. If I made it too hot, I risked melting the pipes. Something I’d done before when I’d been careless, assuming it would be a simple task.
    I let the warm spray cover my body and inhaled deeply as steam began to rise, enveloping me in a warm blanket. When my muscles relaxed and my headache abated, I shampooed my hair and washed my body before turning off the water and carefully stepping out of the enclosure. Wrapping a thick towel around my body I proceeded to dry off before dressing in a pair of black cotton pants and a form-fitting green tee with a black tank underneath.
    Wiping the fog from the mirror my fingers deftly plaited my hair leaving the ends to rest down the center of my back. I stared at my reflection for several moments, toying with the end of my braid. My hair reminded me of my mother. She’d had the same rich brown hair I did though our similarities ended there. My eyes were golden brown where hers had been a striking hazel. My complexion, more olive like my father’s, while hers had been a milky white, and my locks were smooth and straight. Hers had cascaded in curls all around her. I contemplated my hair again, knowing I should cut it. It would be the logical thing, but I could never convince myself to do it.
    My father’s voice chimed in my ears, chiding me as a teenager over the length. He’d scold me and remind me that the length of my hair allowed an attacker to use it as a handhold against me, but my mother had loved my hair. She’d brush its length every night for me while growing up. I could still feel the phantom touch of her delicate fingers when I thought of her.
    Shaking the memories away, I left the bathroom. Retrieving my discarded daggers and sheath I carefully placed them along my hips before shrugging into my leather jacket and pulling on my boots. Heading for the front door, I made sure to lock it on my way out and quietly jogged down the four flights of stairs leading to the apartment entrance. I was exhausted but awake and knew sleep would elude me. I might as well do something productive.

    I took a quick jog down to the Hills Fitness Center, a short four miles west from my complex. The jog allowed me to clear my head of any remnants of my past, focusing instead on the cool crisp breeze hitting my cheeks and the lingering moisture in the air. I loved the smell of Spokane air, especially after it rained, and judging from the damp streets, the rain had only recently subsided.
    My boot-clad feet thudded against the wet pavement as I turned the final corner leading to the gym. At the door I entered in the six-digit lock code and waited for the light to turn green before opening it.
    Two months back James gave me his entry code, telling me I was welcome to use the facilities anytime, and I took him up on the offer on a regular basis. I enjoyed training when no one else was around to watch, it allowed me to really hit it hard, without worrying about what others would read into it.
    Once inside I made my way through the receptionist area, not bothering to turn on any of the lights. Using my memory as a guide to avoid stumbling into any equipment, I walked on silent feet towards the back of the gym and headed down an unassuming stairwell shedding my coat along the way.
    At the base of the stairs I flicked on the lights, illuminating the large space. Before me stood the gym’s open training room. Each wall lined with a variety of weapons. Everything from swords and axes to maces and scimitars. Everything imaginable lined the walls, some more for decoration than actual use but the room reminded me of home nonetheless.
    I ran my fingers along the hilt