“Seriously?” A few people chuckled.
Lowell’s voice sharpened: “You got a problem with the pairing, Corporal?”
Mercer looked at me, not Lowell. “No, Sergeant.” He stepped onto the mat. “Just don’t want to break the new equipment.”
More laughter. I felt heat crawl up the back of my neck. I kept my eyes forward. That was easier than looking at the people around us. Lowell walked between Mercer and me.
“Controlled engagement,” he said. His tone was dry, almost bored. “Position, balance, restraint. This isn’t a bar fight. Anyone forgets that, I end it.”
Mercer rolled his shoulders: “Yes, Sergeant.”
Lowell turned toward me: “You understand?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Our eyes met. Again, there was that strange pause. Too long to be casual. Too short for anyone else to notice. Then he stepped backward.
“Begin.”
Mercer didn’t move immediately. Neither did I. We stood facing each other. He was almost a head taller. He smiled as if he wanted me to understand that he knew everybody was watching.
“You can quit before it gets embarrassing,” his voice was low enough that Lowell probably couldn’t hear.
I answered just as quietly: “I’m fine.”
The smile vanished for an instant. I had not insulted him. I had not challenged him. That seemed to annoy him more. He reached toward my shoulder, testing. I stepped to the side. Not fast. Not dramatically. Just enough to keep my balance.
Mercer tried again. This time I caught his wrist, redirected it, and let go. His eyebrows lifted. A murmur moved through the room. I immediately regretted giving them anything to murmur about.
Mercer’s expression tightened. He came in harder. I moved with him. His shoulder brushed mine. I shifted my weight. He stumbled half a step. I released him instead of following through. That should have ended it. It should have told him I wasn’t there to make him look bad. Instead, he heard the room go quiet. And quiet, for a man like Mercer, was worse than laughter.
His face changed. The confidence didn’t disappear. It hardened.
“You think that was cute?”
I kept my voice low: “No.”
He stared at me. Then he glanced toward the benches. That was when I knew he was no longer training with me. He was performing for them.
Lowell must have seen it too: “Mercer,” he warned.
Mercer nodded once: “Tracking, Sergeant.”
He looked back at me. His eyes were smiling again. His mouth wasn’t. We reset. He feinted toward my upper body. I didn’t react. Then his right boot came up. Not toward my hip. Not as part of the drill. Lower. Sharper. The edge of it struck the outside of my left leg just above the knee.