Xavier stood rigid in Training Hall B, his navy tracksuit feeling more like a straitjacket than athletic wear. The enhanced fabric was supposed to regulate temperature and provide minor impact resistance, but right now it just made him feel trapped.
Sleep had been a joke. Every time he'd closed his eyes, he'd felt phantom touches—Calypso's fingers in his hair, her breath against his neck, the weight of her body pressed against his. The couch had been about as comfortable as sleeping on concrete, but that wasn't what kept him awake. It was the knowledge that she lay just twenty feet away, probably staring at the ceiling and thinking the same thoughts that plagued him.
This morning had been a masterclass in awkward. They'd moved around each other like strangers, speaking only when necessary.
"Coffee's ready."
"Bathroom's free."
"We should leave."
Each interaction stilted, loaded with everything they weren't saying.