"Because he attacked again."
"No."
I knew what he was asking.
I didn't want to answer.
Reed waited.
Cole watched me.
Finally I said, "Because everyone was watching."
Reed nodded.
The admission tasted terrible.
"I wanted to prove the first dodge wasn't luck."
"To Mercer?"
I thought about it.
"No."
"To me?"
"No."
"Then who?"
I looked at the empty room.
I could still hear the remembered cheers.
Everyone who'd ever added "but" after a compliment.
Everyone who assumed size decided everything.
Everyone who saw a woman standing opposite a larger man and immediately decided which person was supposed to be dangerous.
But Reed wasn't asking about them.
He was asking about me.
"To myself," I said.
There it was.
The fight inside the fight.
Cole's first punch had tested my reflexes.
Everything afterward had tested my ego.
Reed nodded toward the mat.
"Now we can train."
Cole and I faced each other.
No phones.
No audience.
No cheering.
Reed stood several yards away.
"This isn't about points. Neither of you needs to prove anything."
Cole raised his guard.
I raised mine.
"Begin."
We moved.
It felt different immediately.
Cole didn't rush.
Neither did I.
We circled.
He tested distance.
I changed mine.
He attacked.
I blocked.
I could have countered.
Didn't.
The opening wasn't good enough.
Before, I might have taken it because doing something felt better than doing nothing.
Now I waited.
Cole attacked again.
I slipped away.
He reset.
No frustration.
No chase.
Good.
I stepped forward.
Feinted.
He didn't react.
I tried again.
Nothing.
I smiled.
He smiled back.
Then he attacked for real.
Fast.
I blocked high.
He changed direction.
I moved inside.
We collided shoulder to shoulder.
Separated.
Reset.
Reed said nothing.
The exchange continued.
Minutes passed.
Without the crowd, there was no momentum except what we created ourselves.
That exposed everything.
Impatience.
Fatigue.
Bad habits.
I began noticing how often I wanted to attack simply because too much time had passed.
Cole noticed too.
Twice he baited me with silence.
The second time I almost stepped in.
Stopped.
He nodded.
I nodded back.
We continued.
Then I caught him.
A clean controlled strike to the padded torso.
He stepped backward.
Nobody cheered.
The silence felt strange.
I realized I didn't need the cheer.
Cole reset.
No irritation.
No need to recover the point.
He attacked only when the opening was real.
That was when I understood he was fighting his own version of the same problem.
Pride.
The desire to answer immediately.
To erase mistakes.
To prove control by forcing control.
We weren't only training against each other.
We were training against ourselves.
The realization almost distracted me enough to get hit.
Cole's hand came toward my guard.
I barely blocked.
"Thinking too much," he said.
"Shut up."
He laughed.
I attacked.
He slipped away.
"Definitely thinking too much."
I smiled despite myself.
Then we moved again.
The final exchange lasted maybe twenty seconds.
It felt much longer.
Cole advanced.
I gave ground.
He expected the lateral escape.
I didn't take it.
He paused.
I stepped forward.
He changed levels.
I adjusted.
His hand came toward my shoulder.
I redirected.