I pushed myself off the mat. My blood felt like ice. I reached up, grabbed the zipper of my gray jacket, pulled it down, and threw the fabric aside. Underneath, I wore a blue sports tank. I adjusted the black wraps I had instinctively put on before driving here.
The smiles on Gabe and Sal's faces began to fade. They sensed the shift in the air.
I didn't think. I just moved. I stepped directly into the giant's space, closing the gap so fast he didn't have time to reset his feet. I looked him dead in the eyes.
"You done?" I asked quietly.
Before his brain could formulate a reply, my body took over fifteen years of ingrained muscle memory. I dropped my center of gravity, pivoted on my left foot, and launched the Pendulum.
The kinetic force spiraled upward. My right leg snapped into a blindingly fast, high roundhouse kick. The air whipped audibly. My heel traveled in a vicious arc toward the side of his head—and stopped dead.
Exactly one inch from his jaw.
Snap the heel. Freeze on target. Never make contact.
The entire gym went dead silent. The giant froze entirely, his arrogant expression dissolving into genuine shock. His eyes widened, completely crossing to stare at the shoe hovering inches from his temple. Behind him, Gabe and Sal violently flinched backward.
For three seconds, nobody breathed.
Then, a clipboard clattered against the wooden floorboards near the ring.
I lowered my leg and turned. An older man in a blue track jacket stepped out from the crowd of neutral witnesses. He had thinning gray hair and a face lined with years of hard living. He was staring at my legs as if I were a ghost. He looked terrified.
"That kick..." the old man whispered, his voice trembling so badly it cracked. "I haven't seen it in twenty years."
Before anyone else could react, the old man crossed the mat, clamped a surprisingly strong hand onto my wrist, and yanked me forward. "Come with me. Now."
He dragged me past the giant and his crew, pulling me down a narrow, dimly lit hallway at the back of the gym. He shoved me into a small, cluttered office, slammed the heavy wooden door shut behind us, and threw the deadbolt.
He didn't ask if I was hurt. He didn't offer a glass of water. He moved frantically to the window, pulling the metal blinds shut.
"Who are you?" I demanded, rubbing my wrist.
The man leaned against the filing cabinet, running a shaking hand over his face. "My name is Victor. I own this gym. Who taught you that move?"
"My mother," I said defiantly.
Victor's face lost whatever color it had left. He practically collapsed into the leather chair behind his desk. "Clara. Dear God. Clara had a child."
"You knew my mother?"
"I knew both of them," Victor breathed out. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a small lockbox. From it, he retrieved a silver stopwatch. It was deeply scratched and dented. He set it gently on the desk. "She promised me she’d take you away. She promised me she wouldn't teach you his move."
"Whose move?" I stepped forward, slamming my hands on his desk. "Tell me what is going on. Tell me about my father!"
Victor looked up at me with eyes so full of despair it made me step back. "Your father was Leo Vance. And he didn't abandon you, Maya. He loved Clara more than life itself." Victor pointed a trembling finger at the solid wooden door he had just locked. "Your father was murdered. Right here in this gym."