The doors of Facility B opened, marking the start of another beautiful morning in purgatory. Himeko Nakamura didn't waste time with greetings or warm-up banter. She dropped her bag, laced her shoes, and marched to the net.

  "Ready," she said to the two men on the other side.

  From amused challenge to weary obedience over the last fortnight, Kevin and Damian just sighed to the girl's unenthusiastic enthusiasm and moved to their positions without a word. Two weeks. The gym had shrunk to this single ritual, with only the imaginary whistle that signalled every play, the screech of shoes, and the thunder of balls burying themselves into the floorboards, untouched by Himeko's hands.

  Thud.

  "Again."

  Thud.

  "Again."

  Hundreds of jumps. Hundreds of landings. Still zero contacts. Himeko threw herself into the air time and time again, chasing the ghost of Kevin's spike, every time she reached for it, the ball was already gone.

  The initial respect Kevin and Damian held for her resilience slowly unsettled in an anxiety that Himeko might break before the ball. With each play, watching her effort deteriorate had become wildly uncomfortable.

  Himeko landed heavily, her knees buckling slightly under the impact. She stared at her hands, which were shaking in an uncontrollable tremor. Complexity of Kevin's shots faded away from her mind as her own inadequacy became clearer and clearer with every play. Every ball that hit the floor felt like adding more weight rings latched onto her ankles and her shoulders.

  Kevin held the ball, delaying the next serve. He watched her closely, his brow furrowed.

  Himeko had been a sponge in the beginning of their challenge, soaking up experience and sharpening her reads. Now, she was like a dull blade hacking at stone. Her movements, once so fluid and aggressive, had slowed down greatly.

  He looked at her face. The dark, purple bruises under her eyes stood out starkly against her skin. She was drenched in sweat, her jersey clinging to her torso, and they had only been playing for twenty minutes. Himeko had just started her sprint, yet she was panting with the depletion of an unexperienced marathoner at the finish line.

  "Nakamura," Kevin called, perhaps to check on her status.

  "Set the ball," she snapped, her eyes frustrated and unfocused. "Again."

  Kevin hesitated, the ball feeling like a ball and chain in his palm. He finally tossed it to Damian, who looked at the projectile with open disdain. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, but here.

  Kevin began his approach. His vision would usually be split between the ball's trajectory and the peripheral movement of the defense. Right now, however, his focus narrowed entirely on the woman across the net. He watched her feet, looking for the explosive push-off he knew she was trying to summon.

  And it never came.

  Damian released the ball, Himeko attempted to charge her legs for the jump. Left foot dragged, yet still glued to the floor. Her exhausted muscles failed to fire. Instead of launching into the air, she pitched forward; her knees collapsed under her own weight. She crashed onto her hands and knees.

  Kevin stopped the swing. He caught the ball in mid-air, landing softly on his feet.

  "Stop! That's it. We are done."

  Himeko scrambled into a sitting position, her chest heaving. Her face twisted in a snarl of self-directed fury. She slammed her palm against the floor.

  "I slipped," her voice trembled. "It was just... sweat. I am fine. Set it again."

  "No," Kevin said, stepping under the net to stand on her side of the court. He held the ball tight against his hip. "I'm not hitting another ball, Nakamura. Look at you. You can barely stand."

  "I have to stop you," Himeko pushed herself up. Her legs shook violently, threatening to give out again, but she locked her knees, forcing herself upright. "I need to block this. Just one. Then I'll stop."

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  "If you keep on going, you won't be blocking anything. You will tear a ligament. You will spend your entire offseason in a hospital bed instead of on the court. Is that the perfect training season you want?"

  Himeko opened her mouth to argue, but immediately grinded it tight, the last bit of adrenaline that had been propping her up completely drained.

  She swayed on her feet, turned and stumbled toward the sideline, toward the bench. She didn't sit so much as she collapsed, her body folding into the hard plastic. Her head fell back against the wall, her arms hanging limp at her sides.

  The afternoon light of the sun faded into the brightening white of the gym lights, and then eventually, those dimmed too as the facility emptied out, with only two rows of ceiling lights left. The trio's practice had long since ceased with Himeko's pass-out. Damian had left hours ago, muttering about needing a warm bath for his calves, but Kevin remained.

  He moved through a half-hearted cool-down routine, stretching his hamstrings, but his attention was truly nonexistent. Every few minutes, his gaze drifted to the bench near the wall.

  Himeko hadn't moved an inch.

  Finally, Kevin sighed, grabbed his towel, and walked over.

  Himeko was slumped deep into the bench, her head resting awkwardly against the concrete wall. Her face was slack, her breathing deep and slow. She looked younger, and surprisingly peaceful, despite the exhaustion that claimed her.

  "Hey," Kevin said softly, and reached out to tap her shoulder. "Camp's closed, Captain. Time to go home."

  No response.

  He shook her shoulder a little harder. "Nakamura. Wake up."

  Her head lolled slightly to the side, but her eyes remained shut tight. Too far gone into the depths of the world of Zs.

  Kevin scratched the back of his head. He looked around the empty gym, couldn't quite leave her here, but he also didn't feel right dragging her out alone.

  Movement in the far corner caught his eye. A small figure was sweeping the floor.

  "Weaver," Kevin called out.

  Zoe looked up, holding a push-broom. She hurried over when she saw Kevin waving her down.

  "Is she...?" Zoe asked, looking at the sleeping Himeko with worried eyes.

  "I think she will be fine after a good rest," Kevin said, crouching down to be eye-level with Himeko. "But yeah she's out right now.”

  "She worked so hard," Zoe whispered. "I've never seen anyone push themselves like that. It was... scary."

  "Yeah," Kevin admitted. "Fighting a war in her head all day, and lost." He looked up at Zoe. "I can carry her, but I don't know where she's staying, and honestly, she probably needs a friend more than she needs me right now. You have a car, right?"

  "Yes," Zoe nodded. "My dorm is close. I have a spare bed. I can take care of her."

  "You're a lifesaver, Weaver."

  Kevin slid one arm under Himeko's knees and the other behind her back. He hoisted the tall middle blocker into his arms. She was quite light despite her height. Her head resting against his chest.

  Zoe grabbed Himeko's gym bag and hurried to open the double doors.

  Together, they navigated the quiet hallway and out into the cool night air of the parking lot. Kevin carefully maneuvered Himeko into the passenger seat of Zoe's sedan, reclining the seat so she could lie back.

  "Make sure she drinks water if she wakes up," Kevin said, then closed the door. He looked through the window at the sleeping captain, a lingering sense of guilt mixing with his respect.

  "I will," Zoe promised, clutching her keys. "Get some rest, Kevin."

  Kevin watched as Zoe drove away.