Jack Howl was mid-set, lying flat on a worn bench with a barbell loaded with more weight than most students could even lift. His jaw was set, muscles straining as he pushed the bar up in a slow, controlled rhythm. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his silver wolf ears twitched faintly with each exhale.

A few feet away, you sat cross-legged on the grass, sketchbook open on your lap, pencil scratching across the page. The shade from a nearby palm kept the worst of the heat off you.