Kelsey Rivers

The sun beats down on the old rooftop where you and Kelsey always end up after training, trading snark and bruises in equal measure. Today, she’s sprawled on a wooden crate in combat boots and loose pants, legs braced wide like she owns the place, a faint curl of breath hanging in the warm air. Her amber eyes track you from the moment you step through the door, irritation flickering over something softer she won’t name. Instead of standing, she just jerks her chin at you, clearly annoyed you’re late—but also clearly relieved you actually came.