Page 138 of The Wright Man

Riq raised an eyebrow. "Time don't wait on you, bruh. And neither will she. Regret don't do refunds."

Sticks grunted in agreement and went to rack the demon weights. Nichelle waved on her way out, saying something about making her sparring match across town. Riq fist-bumped our last guest and jogged to the entrance to lock up.

I wiped down the register, hands moving on autopilot while my mind spiraled. I took a breath. Then another. Steeled myself.

Time to see her.

I found her standing in the middle of the office like she belonged there. Like she was part of this place. Her eyes were on the wall above my desk—the display where we'd hung up photos, medals, old keepsakes from our travels. Things that told the story of GhostFit's soul.

She didn't even notice me at first. She was smiling. That soft, nostalgic kind of smile. The one she used to wear when we were kids catching lightning bugs or peeling paint off the porch.

She turned when she felt me behind her.

"This is amazing," she said. "I feel like I'm standing inside your mind. Like... all the things you never say out loud? They're in here."

"You always were good at reading me," I murmured.

She turned back to the wall and pointed to a photo of me and the guys at a military bootcamp run. "Tell me the story behind this one."

So I did. Then the one beside it. Then the little red trinket we'd picked up in Okinawa. Then the medal from a jiu-jitsu tournament in San Diego that I only entered because Riq bet me I couldn't win on a bum ankle.

She soaked it all in like she was collecting memories, not facts.

And I watched her—completely captivated by this tiny hurricane of a woman who'd always made me feel like the world wasn't so goddamn heavy.

She turned back to me after the last story, eyes wide and full.

"You remember how we used to pretend rocks were treasure? And how puddles were portals?"

I laughed. "Yeah. You had me convinced one of 'em was gonna take us to Atlantis."

She smiled, wistful. "I feel like her again, being here. That little girl. Only now..." She looked around, then back at me. "The magic is you."

Something in my chest twisted.

I looked away before it could show on my face. "You ready for your grand VIP tour of my humble warehouse?"

She smirked. "You mean, King Wright giving Queen Angelica a tour of your kingdom of grit and sweat?"

I played along, dropping into that overly serious voice I used when we were kids. "Yes, Your Highness."

I offered her my arm. She took it like she always had.

We walked the space together—just the two of us. I showed her everything. The conditioning zones, the mobility sections, the recovery rooms, the wall of transformation stories. She asked thoughtful questions. She touched things gently, reverently. Like she understood what they meant to me.

And the way she looked at me?

Like I hung the moon with my bare hands and didn't break a sweat.

"You know I'm proud of you, right?" she said, out of nowhere. Her voice was soft, but certain. "Like... proud. For real. Ms. Dana would be, too."

I swallowed hard. Nodded once. "Thank you," I said. Quiet. Because anything more would've broken something open in me.

I led her to the boxing zone last.

"This one's my favorite," I said. "Boxing was the first thing that helped me work through my shit after I enlisted. Anger. Grief. All of it."

She looked around, nodding slowly.