"If you're asking now," I said, "you're already improving."
The room erupted.
Even Reed almost smiled.
Cole did smile.
Barely.
Then he attacked.
This time I saw the shoulder move first.
His left hand came toward my head.
I brought my forearm up and caught the strike.
Impact cracked through my arm.
Controlled didn't mean soft.
Before I could reset, his right hand followed.
I shifted backward.
Too slow.
His knuckles brushed my shoulder.
"Point," someone shouted.
I ignored them.
Cole stepped in again.
I moved laterally.
He adjusted.
Fast.
Faster than I expected.
I blocked another strike and felt the shock all the way to my elbow.
Then I saw an opening.
His right side.
Half a second.
Maybe less.
I stepped inside his reach and drove a short controlled strike into the padded section of his torso.
Not enough to hurt him.
Enough to move him.
Cole stumbled one step backward.
The room exploded.
I heard Diaz screaming louder than anybody.
"She got him! She got him!"
Cole looked down at the place I'd struck.
Then at me.
I expected irritation.
Instead, his smile disappeared.
That was worse.
Because now he was taking me seriously.
He raised his guard.
So did I.
"Again," he said.
We moved.
He came forward.
I circled.
His reach forced me to stay alert. If I let him establish distance, he could touch me before I could touch him. If I stepped too close, his strength became a problem.
So I stopped fighting his fight.
I made him turn.
He attacked high.
I ducked.
He changed direction.
I barely blocked.
I countered.
He slipped it.
Someone shouted.
Someone else slapped the wall.
The noise became part of the room.
Then it disappeared.
That's the strange thing about pressure.
When it becomes intense enough, sometimes everything unnecessary falls away.
I stopped hearing the other soldiers.
I stopped thinking about Diaz's phone.
I stopped thinking about the first punch.
There was only Cole.
His shoulders.
His feet.
His eyes.
His breathing.
His rhythm.
One-two.
Pause.
One.
Shift.
Reset.
Every fighter tells you what they're about to do.
Most people just don't know the language.
Cole's left heel lifted slightly before he drove forward.
His chin dropped before a combination.
His shoulders relaxed when he wanted me to think the exchange was over.
I began reading him.
And then he changed.
He feinted left.
I reacted.
Wrong.
His right hand came through and stopped against my guard hard enough to force me backward.
My boot slid.
The wall suddenly felt much closer.
The room roared.
Cole advanced.
I realized what he'd done.
He'd noticed that I was reading him.
So he'd given me something false to read.
Good.
Very good.
I felt something inside me sharpen.
I stepped away from the wall.
He tried to cut me off.
I pivoted.
For half a second we were shoulder to shoulder.
I heard him breathe out.
"You learn fast."
"So do you."
We separated.
My forearms hurt.
Sweat had begun collecting at the base of my neck.
Cole's chest rose harder than before.
Good.
He was working too.
This wasn't one person demonstrating something on another anymore.
It had become a test.
Not of who could hurt whom.
Not of who was stronger.
Of who could adapt.
Who could remain disciplined.
Who could keep thinking when exhaustion tried to replace thought with instinct.
Reed finally spoke.
"Control."
One word.
We both heard it.
Cole nodded.
I nodded.
Then we went again.
He pressed forward.
I blocked.
I countered.
He moved.
I followed.
For several seconds neither of us landed anything clean.
Then he trapped my movement.
I escaped.