He stepped back.
For the first time, doubt appeared.
It lasted only a second.
Then anger replaced it.
Preston attacked harder.
Thomas blocked.
Moved.
Redirected.
Every movement was economical.
He did not waste energy.
He did not chase.
He did not showboat.
He did not even look particularly fast.
But Preston could not find him.
It was like trying to hit a shadow that understood where the punch would land before the punch was thrown.
Outside the cage, Dmitri whispered,
“Who the hell is this man?”
Cole looked at him.
“You knew?”
Dmitri shook his head.
“I knew he could move.”
“That isn't normal.”
“No.”
Inside the cage, Preston heard them.
That made things worse.
He threw a combination.
Thomas slipped the first punch, blocked the second, and stepped inside the third.
For the first time, Thomas placed his hand against Preston's chest.
“Stop.”
Preston shoved forward.
Thomas stepped away.
“I said stop?”
“You scared?”
Thomas looked at him.
“No.”
“Then fight.”
Thomas sighed.
“You don't understand what you're asking for.”
Preston smiled.
“I understand perfectly.”
“No,” Thomas said. “You don't.”
Preston charged.
This time, Thomas moved.
The change was so sudden that even Dmitri almost missed it.
Thomas stepped diagonally.
His hand caught Preston's wrist.
His other arm controlled Preston's shoulder.
One turn.
One shift of weight.
Preston found himself off balance and on the mat.
Thomas released him immediately.
Preston scrambled upright.
His face was red.
“What was that?”
Thomas said nothing.
“Do it again.”
Thomas shook his head.
“I don't need to.”
That sentence wounded Preston more than the takedown.
He came forward recklessly.
Thomas avoided him again.
Preston swung.
Missed.
Thomas touched his ribs with an open palm.
Not a strike.
A warning.
Preston stopped.
Thomas looked directly at him.
“You're fast.”
Preston blinked.
“You're strong.”
A pause.
“But you don't know how to stop.”
Preston clenched his jaw.
Thomas continued.
“That's going to hurt you someday.”
“Save the lecture.”
“I've seen men like you.”
“Men like me?”
“Men who believe winning means making everyone else afraid.”
Preston's breathing slowed.
“And?”
Thomas looked toward the cage door.
“They eventually meet somebody who isn't afraid.”
The buzzer rang.
Round two ended.
Preston returned to his corner.
Cole handed him water.
“Get him next round.”
Preston didn't answer.
Dmitri approached the cage.
“Tom, we're done.”
Preston stood.
“No.”
Dmitri frowned.
“Three rounds.”
“Then three rounds.”
Thomas looked at him.
“You don't have to prove anything.”
Preston laughed bitterly.
“You've been waiting your whole life for someone to say that to you, haven't you?”
Thomas's expression changed.
Just slightly.
Preston saw it.
He mistook the change for weakness.
“I knew it,” he said.
Thomas said nothing.
Preston smiled.
“There's something behind those scars.”
Thomas looked at the floor.
For a moment, the gym disappeared.
He remembered another floor.
Another room.
Another night.
He remembered three names.
Daniel.
Marcus.
Eli.
Three men who had trusted him.
Three men who had not come home.
Thomas closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was back at Apex.
Dmitri noticed.
“Tom?”
“I'm fine.”
But he wasn't.
Not entirely.
Because Preston had accidentally touched the one part of Thomas's life he had spent six years trying not to remember.
What the Scars Remembered
The third round began with silence.
No jokes.
No cheering.
Even Cole had stopped recording.
Preston stood across from Thomas.
For the first time that afternoon, he looked young.
Not powerful.
Not dangerous.
Young.
Thomas saw something he recognized.
Fear disguised as aggression.
It was an old disguise.
He had worn it himself once.
Preston moved first.
He jabbed.
Thomas parried.
Preston kicked.
Thomas stepped back.
Preston advanced.
This time, Thomas did not retreat.
He met him.
Not with violence.
With control.
Thomas caught the next punch and redirected Preston's momentum.
Preston stumbled.
Thomas released him.
“Again,” Preston said.
“No.”
“Again!”
Thomas shook his head.
“You're tired.”
“So?”
“So you're making mistakes.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
Preston attacked.
Thomas avoided.
Again.
Again.
Preston became frustrated.
His breathing turned ragged.
His shoulders rose.
His right hand dropped.
Thomas noticed.
Preston swung wide.