The ref steps into the center. No introductions. No rules. Just a hand lifted, then dropped.
Begin.
She comes at me fast, a straight punch aimed at my jaw, sharp and sudden.
I duck under it, the motion instinctive, clean.
She follows it with a knee — fast — but I twist, catching it on my hip instead of my ribs. It still hurts, but pain’s never been a thing that’s stopped me.
I snap back with an elbow to her side, then pivot and drive my boot into her shin. She stumbles, just a bit, and I close the distance, slamming my shoulder into her chest.
We hit the ground hard.
The breath punches out of me, but I recover first, twisting on top of her.
She snarls, grabbing my ponytail, yanking back hard, but I let her. Use the momentum to swing my body around, wrench her arm across her chest and jam my knee into her sternum.
A satisfying crack.
She grits her teeth and bucks up, knocking me off. We roll across the concrete. My shoulder scrapes raw against the floor, friction-burn and blood.
We both come up fast. This time, she hesitates. I spit blood. Smile. And that’s when it shifts. She comes in reckless, annoyed now. Sloppy.
Big mistake.
I block the first hit, then jab once, quick into her gut. Not enoughto drop her. Enough to wind her. Then I spin low, hook her ankle, and drop her flat on her back.
Her skull thuds against the floor.
The crowd howls. But I barely hear them.
She’s dazed, still moving, but slower now. Her limbs are heavy. I close the distance, plant my boot beside her ribs, and crouch.
“Don’t underestimate me,” I say, breathing hard.
She snarls something. I can’t hear it over the roaring in my ears. Doesn’t matter.
She reaches up for one last grab, but I catch her wrist midair, twist it behind her back, and press my forearm to her throat.
“Yield,” I grit out.
She fights it. For two long, ugly seconds, she fights it.
Then taps twice on the floor.
The ref shouts. The whistle blows.
It’s done.
My heart’s pounding in my ears, breath coming in hard, shallow pulls, but I don’t feel weak. I feel alive. My skin hums. My fists still clench and unclench at my sides like they haven’t caught up to the win yet.
I step back. Stagger. The pain’s sinking in now, my ribs ache, and I’m bleeding from somewhere near my elbow. Doesn’t matter.
I won. I fucking won.
Every nerve in my body is buzzing. Electricity is alive under my skin.
The gate swings open again, and the first thing I see is Jace. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t cheer. He just offers his hand.
