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My eye streams, and for a few seconds the right side of the cage goes blurry. I back off, blinking hard.

“Close your hands!” the referee shouts at Vale. That’s it. No pause in the fight. He’s seen the open glove, but not the finger catching my eye.

Vale circles out of range and lifts a glove. Sorry.

Sorry, my arse.

The crowd boo him. My eye clears.

I go back to work. He throws a left. I tilt my head, and it whistles past my ear. Before he can reset, I land a heavy right flush on his cheek. I feel it in my arm all the way to the shoulder. The noise in the building goes up a level.

When he squares up again, there’s a red mark on his cheekbone and a thin line of blood running from his nose. He swipes it away with the back of his glove and grins at me like it’s nothing.

Next exchange, I shift my weight onto my back foot and lift my lead knee, as if the axe kick is coming. Vale’s guard shoots up to protect his head.

So I kick low instead, slamming my shin into his lead thigh. A taste of his own medicine.

He stumbles half a step. The horn goes.

I head back to my corner. The cage door opens, and Davie and Niamh come in, Niamh carrying the stool. She sets it down, and I sit.

Gumshield out, water in. I rinse and spit pink into the bucket. Niamh wipes my face with a towel, and the cutman presses an enswell under my right eye, holding the cold steel against my cheekbone to keep the swelling down. Then he thumbs fresh grease over the brow.

Davie crouches in front of me. “His fingers get you bad? Can you see right?”

“I can see fine.”

“Good. That round was yours. You’re reading him. Those checks stung him, and he didnae like getting one back on the leg either.” He leans closer. “But that poke wasnae an accident. He gets desperate, he’ll do it again. Keep your hands up when you’ve got him going backwards.”

I glance past him, out to the floor.

Briony’s not smiling now. Her hands are clasped in front of her chest. When she sees me looking, she nods, short and firm. You’ve got this.

My team clears out of the cage, taking the stool with them, and the second round starts.

Vale comes out aggressive. He wants to make up for that first round, and he rushes straight at me, throwing everything. Big hooks, one after another.

I slip one, block the next on my gloves, and step out of range of the third. I fire back with a jab, but he’s a fast bugger, and he’s already ducked out of the way. The next time he lunges in, though, he gets too close, and I drive a sharp elbow into his stomach.

Vale snarls something behind his gumshield. Then he ducks under my next punch, wraps both arms round my body, and drives me back against the fence. He’s got me pinned there, his chest against mine and his head tucked in tight beside my own, so I can’t get a clean shot at it. His mouth is an inch from my ear.

“Heard about your mum, Sloan,” he says. “Junkie, isn’t she? What is it—heroin?”

He keeps going. I only catch pieces of it. Something about what she’d do for a fix.

I don’t need the rest. I drop my weight and wedge a forearm between us, forcing enough space to break his grip. Then I duck down, get both arms round the backs of his legs, and drive forward off the fence, lifting him and turning him onto the canvas. I land on top, close enough to the fence that his shoulder brushes it.

The referee’s right over us now, but Vale still doesn’t shut up. He keeps muttering about my mum, too quietly for the referee to hear. I don’t bother listening. I’ve got better things to do.

A forearm across his jaw, an elbow to the ribs. His legs are locked round my waist to keep me close. I brace a hand against his hip and work a knee between us until his ankles come apart, then pin one thigh down and slide my knee over it. He clamps his legs round mine before I can pull my foot free, but I keep working it out, getting higher and heavier on him. I want to be sitting on his chest. From there, I can finish this.

I’m about to get my leg free when he hooks his fingers through the fence and holds himself in place.

Foul.

The referee is straight in. “Let go of the fence!” Vale releases his grip, but the referee stops the fight anyway, points a finger at him, and gives him a formal warning.

He stands us back up. I stare at the referee. He should be putting us back where we were! I was working my way through, and Vale’s bought himself an escape by cheating. A warning, and he gets exactly what he wanted. But the referee waves us on.