Felicity laughed. "Preemptive strike," she said. "I'm sure you'll earn it sometime." He had been fairly quick, at least by Drake standards, so she turned and started jogging rather than challenging him to a race. "Come on, before all the good sparring courts are full of brats."
Not that this time of day on a Saturday was particularly high-traffic, particularly for teenagers. It was the thought that counted. And a brisk pace was a good way to get warmed up - she didn't actually want Drake injured, particularly not in such a humiliating way as straining a muscle because he was fighting cold.