Again. And again.
By the fourth kata, sweat slicks my back. My pulse steadies. The buzzing in my limbs drains out through the floor.
I hold the final stance—right foot forward, fists chambered, gaze level—and for the first time since the quad, color creeps back in.
Not much. Just a thin ring of soft moss green at the edge of my vision.
But it’s something.
My knees quiver. I bow, palms together, breath shaking on the way out.
I’m not okay.
But I’m not broken.
Another buzz from my phone.
AUBREY
I brought soup
And chocolate
And tea
I’m outside your door
If you’re not home, I’ll wait
A laugh slips out, weak, but real.
I text back:
WREN
I’m at the dojo. Come here?
Her reply is instant.
AUBREY
On my way
I sit on the mat and let the last of the trembling work its way out of my hands.
Reed tried to take my control.
Kieran broke my trust.
But I’m still here.
Still standing. Still the girl who earned her second dan and her scholarship and her place in this program.
They don’t get to write my story.
Tomorrow, I’ll walk back onto that quad. Let them stare. Let them whisper.
Because in four days, I’m taking my little cousin to Madison Square Garden.
