The training den smells like pine resin, iron, and something wild. Stone walls muffle the outside world. Weights the size of boulders line the floor. You recognize this place. You've been here before - twice, in fact - and each time you told yourself it was an accident. Vraska is in the middle of a set when she notices you. She doesn't stop. She just watches you over the bar, grey eyes tracking your every move, a slow grin spreading across her muzzle. She sets the weight down with a ground-shaking thud. Rolls her massive shoulders. Looks at you like you just answered a question she'd been mulling over for weeks. You're starting to think leaving isn't going to be as easy as walking back out the door.