Folded it once.
Then twice.
Placed it carefully over the back of a folding chair.
Underneath, she wore a plain black long-sleeve athletic shirt.
No sponsor.
No rank.
No logo.
Except one.
Small.
Faded.
Almost invisible over the left side of her chest.
A white circle around a mountain.
Inside the circle:
NORTHSTAR COMBAT CLUBEST. 1992
Richard Shaw stopped breathing.
Mason did not notice.
Camille rolled each sleeve to just below her elbows.
Her forearms were lean.
Not large.
Not young.
A thin surgical scar crossed the inside of her left elbow.
Another faded line curved near her right wrist.
She removed her watch.
Placed it on top of the folded jacket.
Then kicked off her sneakers.
Mason’s smile returned.
“There we go.”
Richard stepped onto the mat.
“No.”
Camille looked at him.
“Richard.”
Mason turned.
“You know her?”
Richard did not answer.
Camille looked at the academy owner.
“I said no twice.”
“I know.”
“And then?”
“You changed your mind.”
Camille glanced toward Emily.
“Yes.”
Richard studied her.
Twenty-six years had changed Camille Reed.
The hair.
The face.
The lines around her eyes.
The quietness had not.
Neither had the way she rolled her sleeves before stepping onto a mat.
Richard whispered:
“Camille Jackson.”
Mason heard.
“What?”
Camille’s eyes closed briefly.
She had not used that name publicly in more than twenty years.
Richard looked almost stunned.
“I haven’t seen you since Detroit.”
“Chicago.”
“You disappeared after Detroit.”
“The last event was Chicago.”
Richard stared.
“You’re right.”
Mason looked between them.
“Who is she?”
Camille stepped onto the mat.
Richard did not answer immediately.
He was looking at her as if a photograph had walked out of a frame.
Mason repeated:
“Richard.”
The older man finally looked at him.
“You should’ve stopped when she said no.”
Chapter 5
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
Richard said.
“It’s what you need to understand.”
Camille walked to the center.
Mason followed.
The audience sensed something had changed.
Phones rose.
Emily stood beside the chairs.
One hand still near her neck.
Richard approached Camille.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“That knee?”
“Still attached.”
“Camille.”
“I’m not twenty-four.”
“I know.”
She smiled faintly.
“Neither are you.”
Richard almost laughed.
Mason became impatient.
“Can we go?”
Camille looked at him.
“You wanted one round.”
Mason nodded.
“Yes.”
“Technical.”
“Fine.”
“No slams.”
“Fine.”
“You release immediately if I tap.”
Mason’s expression changed.
The line reached him.
He nodded.
“And you?”
She asked.
“What about me?”
“If you tap?”
Mason almost laughed.
Camille waited.
Finally:
“You release.”
“Immediately?”
His smile disappeared.
“Yes.”
Camille nodded.
“Good.”
Richard still looked uncomfortable.
“You want me refereeing?”
“Yes.”
Mason shrugged.
“Whatever.”
Richard pointed at him.
“Not whatever.”
Mason stared.
“Controlled round.”
“Three minutes maximum.”
“Any tap ends it.”
“No continuation.”
“No crowd games.”
“Understood?”
“Yes.”
Richard looked at Camille.
She nodded.
Emily moved closer.
“Ms. Reed.”
Camille turned.
“You don’t have to do this because of me.”
Camille smiled.
“I’m not.”
Emily frowned.
Camille continued.
“I’m doing it because of me.”
That answer would make sense later.
At the time, even Camille was not completely certain what she meant.
Chapter 6
Richard moved them to center.
Mason bounced lightly.
Loose shoulders.
Confident.
Camille stood still.
Hands relaxed.
Weight balanced.
The audience became quieter.
A phone camera zoomed.
Someone in the back whispered:
“Who’s Camille Jackson?”
A man beside him was already searching.
Nothing useful came up.
Not under that spelling.
Not yet.
Richard raised one hand.
Before lowering it, he looked at Mason.
“One more time.”
Mason frowned.
“What?”
“She said no.”
“Yes.”
“You kept going.”
Mason’s face flushed.
Richard continued:
“Whatever happens in this round does not make that okay.”
Silence.
“If you win in ten seconds, you were still wrong.”
Mason looked toward Camille.
She gave no reaction.
Richard looked at her too.
“And if she wins, agreeing to this doesn’t automatically become a good decision.”
Camille nodded.
That surprised him.
Richard dropped his hand.
“Go.”
Mason moved first.
Fast.
He liked early control.
Not reckless.
Experienced.
He reached for Camille’s shoulders.
She stepped away from the first contact.
Not backward.
Sideways.
Mason adjusted.
Reached again.
Camille’s right hand touched his wrist only long enough to change where it was going.
Mason’s eyebrows moved.
Small reaction.
He circled.
Camille circled with him.
Nothing dramatic.
No attack.
No rush.
Mason increased pressure.
The audience saw the difference immediately.
He had expected a middle-aged former hobbyist.
Now he was solving something else.
Camille did not react to movements.
She seemed to react to decisions before movements fully appeared.
Mason changed levels.
Camille moved.
He recovered.
Tried again.
She framed.
Turned.
The exchange lasted maybe twelve seconds.
Nobody had scored.
But Richard Shaw was no longer watching the match.
He was watching history repeat itself in an older body.
Camille’s feet were slower.
Her hips less explosive.
Her right knee clearly protected.
Everything else remained.
Patience.
Chapter 7
Timing.
Angles.
The habit of giving opponents exactly enough room to make mistakes.
Mason stepped in harder.
Camille accepted the pressure.
That confused him.
He expected resistance.
She gave direction.
For half a second, his balance became lighter than he expected.
Camille moved underneath it.
Mason stumbled.
One knee touched the mat.
The audience gasped.
He stood immediately.
His face changed.
The performance disappeared.