It could have been that she had remembered none of it when she had awakened. It was not so.
Leona forced herself to jog through the unexpected dry heat of the morning, ignoring the shoot of pain that occasionally bolted up from her rib-cage, or the ache in her ankles when she hit the gravel at the wrong angle.
For some reason, this had all suddenly become personal. These people, the thugs in gentlemen's clothing, had involved her in something inbred and unsavoury, entirely without her consent. How was it that she could be targeted merely for agreeing to lunch? Was King really that mad, bad and dangerous to know?
She shook her head, her tied mane thrashing about, little water droplets fleeing and evaporating. It was heavy because she had irresponsibly tied it up while it was still wet from her hasty shower. She hadn't wanted to risk being seen. King was either asleep or pretending to be asleep when she had emerged, and that was fortuitous, because she needed to clear her head before she was questioned. Naturally the details would need to be divulged, and no doubt King would be hit with guilt over the matter.
Who was this woman, and why was she both so compelling and so repulsive?
Leona was used to men. To guns and training and night-time manoeuvres. To women who stood stiffly in blue uniforms, saluting and then returning to their desks to initiate paper warfare. But she had never met anyone like King. Softly-spoken yet earnest, strong yet sophisticated, she was not so much enigmatic as difficult to compartmentalise.
Her thoughts were scattered like startled pigeons when another jogger appeared suddenly at her side; clearly her deep contemplation had kept her from hearing the approaching feet. Her heart had gulped for the briefest of moments when the memory flashed of what unexpected company had recently meant, but the palpitation stilled once she recognised the sturdy but diminutive jogger as the friend that King had been sitting with before. She wore large pants of parachute material, a fitted olive tank top with a pseudo-military star design, and a blue sweat band pulling her pale hair away from her damp forehead.
"Hey-ya, how's it going?"
Leona watched her for a moment, not slowing her pace and unsure of what she should do in the situation. One of the shortcomings that she had begun to recognise in herself was her difficulty with small talk.
"All right… the weather isn't very—"
"I know, right?" the flaxen-haired female interrupted buoyantly. "I didn't see that coming. So you're the General's daughter, huh? That's gotta be something else. I can't imagine it myself. Always going from place to place in uniform, all serious. I mean, like, if it was me, I'd probably start laughing halfway through standing at attention and get my head cracked in!" As though illustrating her point, she started giggling. The behaviour was unsettlingly forward to Leona, coming from someone she didn't even know. The woman was treating her like some kind of local celebrity! Was this King's doing?
"It's okay, don't feel like you have to chat, I'm just a ball of sunshine this morning! I'm Mary Ryan, by the way. I hang with the Bogard bros from South Town."
"Pleased to meet you," Leona managed.
"Likewise. So anyway, I'm just training up in case they need me to sub for someone this tournament. You never know, someone runs into a wall or drops a weight on their foot or whatever—" she lets off a little whoop of amusement, "And suddenly I'm in the game! But I guess you know all about that, huh? Sorry, I missed your name. Layla, was it?"
"Leona…"
"Ah, that's pretty. Well, see ya, Leona! Do your best!"
And with that, she jogged off on a separate path that doubled back the way they'd come. Leona let out a little sigh; that had been so exhausting, though she couldn't say why. It felt almost as though she were being interrogated, though the woman – Mary – had barely asked her anything. So strange.
She reached a small park with grassy squares and benches shaded with imported trees, interwoven by pebbled pathways. She wiped a forearm across her forehead, squinting a little in the heat; it was definitely time for a break, especially considering that her bruised body was complaining to the degree that even she had to acknowledge it.
She sat on a small incline below some manner of poplar tree and removed her shoes with relief. She then noticed a half-dried banana plant leaf beside a partially-socked foot, and picked it up, using it as an effective makeshift fan.
The park was almost deserted, with only a middle-aged businessman absorbed in his PDA sitting on one of the benches, and a long-haired Japanese woman in jeans and a kimono-styled blouse standing lonely and pale as she peered endlessly into a pond.