“We’re supposed to be acting natural.” LC reminds me quietly, steering me toward the benches.“Sit down and rest.”
I sink onto the bench, taking another sip of water. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. I’ve been so distracted that I forgot to take care of myself. That has to stop or I’ll be no good to anyone. Not the girls, not my club and especially not finding the truth.
I should call it. Head upstairs. Rest. But I don’t. The shuffle of movement, gloves being swapped, and the thud of a new round starting distracts me. For a little while I sit there, listening to the thud of fists, the rhythm of the gym settling into its groove.
Hours slip by in a haze of sparring rounds, grunts and laughter. The noise and rhythm settle me. The gym feels normal again. Or at least it looks like it.
My gaze drifts, scanning the gym when I spot Riot again. She’s at the water cooler, one elbow propped on top, phone angled low in her hand. At first it looks harmless. She could be checking messages, killing time like anyone else. But then her wrist tilts, angling toward the main floor and I catch the soft click of a camera.
Quinn crosses by her at that exact moment, and Riot tenses, just for a breath and slips her phone into her pocket. Then she’s relaxed again, leaning casual against the cooler like nothing happened. Quinn’s eyes flick from Riot to me. I give the barest shake of my head, keeping it small enough no one else notices. But I saw it. And I can’t unsee it. Across the mats, LC stiffens, her gaze sharp, already clocking what I just did. She saw it too.
The doubt that’s been gnawing at me claws deep enough it leaves marks.
Twilight drips in through the high windows, turning metal to a bruised-blue. The day’s noise thins to the soft clatter of cleanup.
Devyn loops a towel around her neck and disappears toward the locker room. She gives me a small salute when she catches my eye. It lands warm and sharp in my chest. The ordinary of it is almost enough to carry me through. Almost.
My body’s done with me. My ribs gnash every time I twist. I swallow three Advil dry and they stick in my throat.
Quinn flips the OPEN sign to CLOSED. LC drags the mop bucket toward the far hall, muttering under her breath about the damn wheels always sticking. Someone kills the overheads on the far side of the gym and a ripple of shadow slides across the floor.
Riot doesn’t see me watching her. Or maybe she does. Maybe she’s counting on me seeing her be exactly what she’s always been. She floats through the gym, drops a few words to Quinn I can’t catch. Casual. Normal. Almost too normal.
Quinn brushes a hand over my shoulder on her way past. “Go on, Kat. I’ll finish up.”
“I’ll check the locker room, make sure everyone’s out,” LC adds, already moving toward the back.
I let them, my ribs howling for mercy as I make my way toward the back entrance to the clubhouse. The weight of the day presses heavy across my back, each muscle one twitch away from collapse.
I make it halfway before LC’s shout knifes through the stillness.“Quinn! Kat!”
Quinn’s already moving fast, I turn too quick and white-hot pain flares through my ribs, bright enough to blind me. I ride it out, my teeth clenched, my hand skimming the wall for balance as I force myself toward the locker room.
The air inside is damp, thick with steam. The benches are empty except for Devyn’s phone facedown and her bag slumped beside it. A shower hisses somewhere in the back, water hitting tile in a steady rhythm that feels too loud in the silence. A towel lies in a heap just outside the stall, wet where the spray’s reached it.
My stomach drops through the floor.
“She’s not here,” LC snaps, panic slicing through the words.
“Check again,” Quinn fires back, though we all know it’s pointless.
I force myself forward, ribs screaming, my hand catching the locker row for balance. My gaze locks on the bag again. It’s unzipped, half her things spilling out like she left in a rush.
Quinn’s voice is low, grim. “She didn’t walk out of here.”
I slam my hand against the locker so hard the echo rattles the mirrors and the pain in my side drops me to my knees. “Fuck. Fuck!”
The hiss of the shower cuts off, leaving the room drowned in silence. My pulse thunders in my ears.
LC is at the back exit, palm flat to the heavy door. She looks at me over her shoulder, dread widening her eyes. “It was propped,” she says. “With this.”
She holds up a familiar gym flyer folded like someone needed the door to look closed from the inside but easy to open from the outside. The camera’s red light over the doorway is dark.
My world narrows to a pinpoint. I’m the first to say what we’re all thinking. “Where’s Riot?”
18
KATANA
