I know that look.
“The data will still be here in twenty minutes,” I say. “What’s up?”
He hesitates.
Then, “Last night made it very clear you’re not going to stay in the metaphorical car ever again.”
“That’s correct.”
“So if they find us,” he continues, “we can’t rely on you just hiding behind me. You need better physical skills.”
I arch a brow. “You’re going to teach me how to fight?”
“Yes.”
I bite back a grin. “This should be good.”
“I’m serious, Lark.”
“So am I. Do your worst.”
We move the chairs aside, clearing a slightly-less-tiny patch of floor in front of the couch. The cabin isn’t big, but there’s enough room that we won’t immediately kill each other on furniture.
Knight motions me to the center of the space.
“Rule one,” he says. “If someone gets close enough to put hands on you, you don’t freeze. You don’t flail. You do something specific. You commit.”
I nod. “Commit to violence. Got it.”
He steps closer. “I’m going to grab your wrist. I want you to try to pull away.”
He takes my right wrist in his hand, not digging in, just firm enough that it feels real.
“Go,” he says.
I yank back.
He doesn’t move an inch.
“You see the problem,” he says calmly.
“I see your ego,” I counter.
“This is what I mean. People are stronger. Bigger. They grab you, you don’t just yank in the direction they’re already anchoring. You go where they don’t expect.”
He loosens his grip slightly. “Again.”
Instead of just pulling, I step toward him, rotating my arm in a tight circle, my hand cutting toward his thumb. I drop my weight as I move, pivoting my hips.
His fingers slip off like butter.
He stares down at his now-empty hand.
Then at me.
“…you knew how to do that,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I told you I wasn’t just making up the Krav Maga thing. I’ve been taking classes for years.”
