Cameras surrounded the mat.
Phones were raised.
Garrett looked around.
“You promised there wouldn't be a fight.”
Mercer nodded.
“There won't be.”
Bryce laughed.
“Unless he wants one.”
Garrett looked at Mercer.
“What happened?”
Mercer lowered his voice.
“Bryce's online challenge got bigger than he expected.”
Garrett sighed.
“That's not my problem.”
“No.”
Mercer paused.
“But there's something you should know.”
Garrett looked at him.
“Bryce has been telling people you're pretending to be weak.”
Garrett shrugged.
“Let him.”
Mercer studied him.
“You really don't care?”
“I have a son.”
Mercer nodded.
Then Bryce approached.
“Garrett.”
Garrett turned.
Bryce held out a waiver.
“Sign it.”
Garrett didn't touch it.
“What is it?”
“Voluntary sparring.”
“No.”
Bryce laughed.
“Still scared?”
Garrett looked at the cameras.
Then at the crowd.
Then at Bryce.
“I'm not scared of you.”
The room became silent.
Bryce smiled.
“There it is.”
Garrett continued.
“But I don't fight for pride.”
Bryce stepped closer.
“What if I insult you?”
Garrett said nothing.
“What if I insult your family?”
Garrett's eyes changed.
Bryce noticed.
For the first time, he looked uncertain.
Then he said:
“What if I say your son should be embarrassed by his father?”
Garrett stared at him.
The room seemed to shrink.
Mercer stepped forward.
“Enough.”
But Garrett raised one hand.
“It's fine.”
He looked at Bryce.
“You wanted my attention.”
Bryce nodded.
“You have it.”
Garrett took the waiver.
He read it.
Then signed.
The crowd erupted.
Bryce smiled.
“Finally.”
Garrett folded the paper.
“One round.”
Bryce nodded.
“Three minutes.”
Garrett shook his head.
“One minute.”
Bryce laughed.
“Fine.”
Garrett removed his work shirt.
Underneath was a plain gray T-shirt.
He folded the shirt carefully.
Set it beside the mat.
Then he stepped forward.
The cameras kept rolling.
The Step Onto the Mat
Garrett didn't look at the cameras.
He didn't look at the crowd.
He folded his work shirt with the same methodical care he used when folding Milo's laundry and set it on the edge of the mat.
Then he stepped onto the mat.
Bryce took a half-step backward before he caught himself.
His bare feet squeaked against the vinyl.
He tried to laugh.
The sound came out thin.
“You think scars scare me?” Bryce said.
“I've trained with Marines. I've sparred with champions.”
Garrett said nothing.
His eyes were flat.
Cold.
The color of old steel.
He raised his hands.
Not in a traditional fighting stance.
Something looser.
More relaxed.
Bryce frowned.
“That's your stance?”
Garrett shrugged.
“You wanted to fight.”
The timer started.
Three.
Two.
One.
Bryce attacked.
Fast.
A right hand.
Garrett slipped.
Bryce followed with a left.
Garrett stepped outside.
Bryce kicked.
Garrett moved backward.
The crowd reacted.
Bryce attacked again.
This time, Garrett didn't retreat.
He stepped forward.
Their shoulders almost touched.
Garrett's hand caught Bryce's arm.
A small turn.
Bryce's balance disappeared.
He stumbled.
Garrett released him.
Bryce spun around.
His face reddened.
“You got lucky.”
Garrett said nothing.
Bryce charged again.
This time, Garrett moved differently.
He redirected the attack.
Bryce hit the mat.
Hard.
The crowd gasped.
Garrett didn't follow.
He stepped away.
“Get up.”
Bryce stared at him.
Then stood.
Anger had replaced embarrassment.
He attacked with everything.
Garrett watched.
Not the fists.
The shoulders.
The hips.
The feet.
The breath.
Then Garrett moved.
One step.
One turn.
One controlled takedown.
Bryce landed on his back.
Garrett's knee stopped inches from his chest.
He could have continued.
He didn't.
The timer sounded.
Silence.
Garrett stood.
Bryce remained on the floor.
Garrett offered his hand.
Bryce stared at it.
He refused.
Garrett lowered his hand.
“Then we're done.”
But as Garrett stepped away, one of the cameras captured something nobody expected.
His face.
For half a second, the calm disappeared.
Behind his eyes was something darker.
Not rage.
Memory.
And Coach Mercer saw it.
Gray Wolf
After the match, people surrounded Garrett.
Some wanted photographs.
Some wanted answers.
Some wanted to know where he had trained.
Garrett ignored them.
He found Mercer near the locker room.
“You knew.”
Mercer nodded.
“Who told you?”
“I was there.”
Garrett stopped.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Mercer leaned against the wall.
“Phoenix.”
Garrett's expression hardened.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“You watched?”
“Yes.”
Garrett looked away.
“I thought nobody from that world remembered me.”
Mercer smiled sadly.