“Don’t push yourself, Kat. Not worth tearing those stitches open.” She’s leaning against the doorframe now, tapping herpalm against it once, twice, like she always does. The sound is familiar, comforting almost. Until I notice how fast her fingers twitch against the frame.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Faster than her usual two-count. The sound rings sharp in my ears.
I meet her eyes, hold them. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She nods, tapping the doorframe once more, and pushes back into the hall. “Catch you later.”
The door shuts softly behind her, but the silence she leaves behind is louder than any slam. I sit frozen, my pulse hammering in my ears. She’s nervous. And that makes me terrified. Because Riot doesn’t rattle easily.
The papers blur under my gaze, none of it registering. All I can see is the flick of her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders, the twitch of her fingers against the wood.
I drag the folders closer anyway, forcing myself to read. Line after line. Names, ages, scraps of lives that came to us looking for something better. Sixteen-year-old Lila, pulled out of a trap house where her uncle sold her more than once for a hit. Marcy, barely eighteen, hiding bruises under sleeves. And Devyn. Nineteen, cocky as hell, but I remember the first night she walked in, eyes sharp enough to cut, jaw set like she’d rather swing at me than admit she needed help. She told me later she’d been trading punches underground for rent money.
I rub at my temple. The thought of their stories branded onto these pages in the wrong hands, used against them makes my skin crawl.
It’s way past lunchtime when I make my way out to the gym floor. Pads thud under fists, feet scrape the mats. Jump ropes whine. Water bottles crack open. Chalk dust webs the air, the sweet-bitter of Tiger Balm riding under sweat and disinfectant. Normally the rhythm of training is grounding, wrapping aroundme like armor. Today my body reacts to it like friction against already raw nerves.
I hover at the edge of the ring, my arms crossed against the pull in my ribs. Every jab and hook makes me ache with the want to climb in there. I rock once on my heels, then plant. Discipline over impulse. My body isn’t ready, not even close but it doesn’t stop the itch.
Devyn notices me before anyone else. She’s always had that radar when it comes to me. She finishes her drill, pulls her gloves off with her teeth, and hops down from the ring. Sweat streaks her temples, her ponytail sticking damp to her back. She gives me a crooked smile, worry and relief evident in her sigh.
“You shouldn’t be up,” she says, frowning. “You look like hell.”
I smirk, though it’s more grimace than anything. “Thanks for the compliment, kid.”
She rolls her eyes, but the warmth in them softens me. Devyn’s tough as nails, sharper than half the men I’ve met, but with me she’s always been softer. Like she knows I need it even when I won’t admit it.
She bumps my shoulder gently with hers, then pretends she didn’t when I flinch. The kid is careful with me in ways that make my chest ache.
“Seriously, Kat.” She nudges my arm, careful not to jostle too hard. “Don’t push yourself into the ground. We need you around here.”
I don’t say it, but she’s the reason I keep forcing myself upright. She and girls like her. If I lie down now, if I fold, who protects them?
The answer is nobody, and that’s not something I’ll ever allow.
My gaze flicks past Devyn to the punching bags. Amber has her gloves raised, more focused than I’ve ever seen her. Serranoput her through hell to send us a warning, but that didn’t work out well for him. Now that she’s healed, she’s more determined than ever. Her footwork’s off, but her punches are solid. She’s trying, and that alone makes my chest tighten with pride.
She sets her jaw the same way she did the night she told me she wanted to learn to hit back. I smile, whispering a small “hell yeah”.
But then Riot’s voice cuts through the clatter, as she steps up behind her. “Keep your chin down. Elbows in.”
Amber stiffens mid-combo. Just a flicker, but I see it. Her glove drops a fraction, her breath hitching. Riot steps closer, her tone calm, instructional. Nothing cruel. But Amber’s eyes flash wide for just a second, before she forces herself back into step. Her reaction is pushed down quickly, but I recognise fear when I see it. I move to the side of the bag, catching Amber’s eye between swings.
“You good?” I ask, low enough for only her to hear.
She swallows, nods quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”
She looks over her shoulder, toward Riot and then away. “I don’t know why I reacted like that. She caught me off guard I guess.”
Before I can press, Riot shifts her attention my way. Her gaze is quick, sharp, almost too sharp. She smirks like always, but it doesn’t hit her eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that, Kat.” She shifts Amber’s bag a few inches over, tugging at the chain, the movement sharper than necessary. “I’ve got her. She’s solid.”
I nod. Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe Riot’s just being Riot. Sharp edges, tough love, always pushing the girls harder than they think they can go.
I linger a few minutes longer, weighing whether to press, but LC drifts over, a bottle of water in her hand. She doesn’t saymuch, just presses it into mine, her eyes narrowing the way they do when she’s reading me too well.
I take the bottle, twist the cap, and take a sip, letting the cold water burn its way down.
