"Coach, I'll take the new girl."
Several black belts laughed again.
Coach Hale hesitated.
"Light technical work only."
Nolan bowed dramatically.
"Of course."
Mara set down her water bottle.
For the first time that evening, she wished she had corrected the receptionist.
Because Nolan Price was walking toward her with the confidence of someone who thought he was about to teach a beginner a lesson.
And Mara was beginning to suspect that staying unnoticed might be harder than she had planned.
Nolan stood opposite Mara and rolled his shoulders.
"Ever sparred before?"
"A little."
That was technically true.
A little could mean three rounds.
It could also mean several hundred competitive rounds over eleven years.
Nolan smiled.
"Don't worry. I won't hit you."
Mara bowed.
"That's probably best."
He missed the meaning.
Around them, other pairs began working.
Coach Hale had instructed the students to practice controlled attacking combinations while their partners focused on distance and defense.
Nothing competitive.
Nothing hard.
Nolan immediately transformed it into a performance.
"Keep your hands up," he said.
Mara raised them.
"Higher."
She moved them half an inch.
"Good."
He stepped forward with a slow jab.
Mara shifted back.
Another jab.
Mara moved slightly outside the line.
Nolan threw a controlled reverse punch.
She turned just enough that it passed beside her shoulder.
He stopped.
Mara could see confusion in his eyes.
"You're moving too much."
"I thought I was supposed to avoid the punch."
A brown belt nearby snorted.
Nolan glanced toward him.
"She's going to develop bad habits."
Mara said nothing.
Nolan reset.
This time he attacked faster.
Jab.
Reverse punch.
Round kick.
Mara moved three times.
Barely.
Each attack missed by inches.
Nolan frowned.
Again.
Mara avoided everything.
"Stop backing away."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm moving sideways."
The brown belt nearby laughed again.
Nolan's expression tightened.
Coach Hale was watching from across the room now.
Nolan noticed.
His next combination came harder.
Mara recognized the change immediately.
Ego had entered the drill.
The first punch came toward her forehead.
She slipped outside.
The second followed.
Mara redirected it with her palm.
Then Nolan threw a kick toward her ribs.
Mara stepped inside before his leg could extend fully.
Her forearm rested lightly against his chest.
Had it been competition, she could have countered before his foot returned to the floor.
Instead, she stepped away.
Nolan stared at her.
"Where'd you learn that?"
"Which part?"
"That entry."
Mara shrugged.
"A while ago."
"You said you'd barely sparred."
"I said I'd sparred a little."
Someone laughed behind him.
Nolan's ears turned red.
Coach Hale walked closer.
"Mara."
"Yes, sir?"
"Where did you train before?"
"Tennessee."
"What school?"
Before she answered, Nolan interrupted.
"Probably some after-school place."
Coach Hale looked at him.
"I asked her."
Nolan fell silent.
Mara considered telling the truth.
Riverstone Karate Academy.
Coach Gabriel Navarro.
National development squad.
Three state championships.
Two regional titles.
One national championship.
Instead she said, "A smaller school outside Nashville."
That was also technically true.
Coach Hale studied her.
Something about her answer bothered him.
But before he could ask another question, a student called him from across the room.
He walked away.
Nolan stepped closer.
"You think you're funny?"
Mara blinked.
"No."
"Then stop trying to embarrass me."
"I haven't done anything."
"You keep showing off."
"I moved."
"You're a white belt."
Mara looked down.
The belt was indeed white.
"I noticed."
Nolan's jaw tightened.
"Let's do free movement."
"Coach said technical combinations."
"Free movement is technical."
Mara glanced toward Coach Hale.
He was helping a younger student adjust a stance.
She could simply refuse.
She should refuse.
Instead, Nolan lifted his hands.
"Come on."
Mara sighed.
"Light?"
"Obviously."
They bowed.
Nolan attacked first.
Fast.
Much faster than before.
Mara slipped the jab.
Blocked the reverse punch.
Avoided the kick.
Nolan followed immediately.
Another punch.
Another.
A hook kick.
Mara moved around him.
None landed.
The other students began noticing.
One pair stopped drilling completely.
Then another.
Nolan heard the room becoming quieter.
That made him worse.
He threw a spinning kick.
Powerful.
Flashy.
Predictable.
Mara recognized the rotation the instant his shoulders moved.
Instead of retreating, she stepped diagonally forward.
Nolan's kick sliced through empty air.
His momentum carried him past her.
Mara placed two fingers lightly against the center of his back.
Had she pushed, he would have fallen.
She didn't.
Yet the message was obvious.
Several students laughed.
Nolan turned.
"Again."
Mara shook her head.
"Drill's over."
"I said again."
"You're not the instructor."
The room went silent.
Coach Hale finally noticed.
"What is going on?"
Nolan pointed toward Mara.
"She keeps ignoring the drill."
Mara stared at him.
Coach Hale looked between them.
"How?"
Nolan didn't answer.
A brown belt named Marcus did.
"She's not ignoring anything, Coach."
"Then what's the problem?"
Marcus smiled.
"Nolan can't touch her."
Nolan turned.
"Stay out of it."
Coach Hale raised one hand.
"Enough."
He looked at Mara.
"Did you increase the pace?"
"No, sir."
Coach Hale turned toward Nolan.
"Nolan?"
Silence.
That was enough of an answer.
"Then we're finished."
Nolan stepped back.
But embarrassment had already done its work.
The other black belts were whispering.
Not about Mara anymore.
About him.
Mara hated it.
She hadn't come there to humiliate anyone.
She had come because she missed training.
She wanted an hour where nobody knew about the hospital.
Nobody knew about her mother.
Nobody recognized her from tournament photographs.
Nobody asked whether she planned to compete again.
Instead, she had become the center of the room.
Coach Hale studied her again.
"You sure you've only done a little sparring?"
Mara's voice became quieter.
"I've trained before."
"How long?"
She hesitated.
Nolan laughed bitterly.
"Probably two years at some point-fighting place."
Something inside Mara shifted.
She wasn't angry.
Not exactly.
Just tired.
Tired of being judged.
Tired of explaining herself.
Tired of people treating restraint as weakness.
She looked at Nolan.
"Do you really want to know?"
He folded his arms.
"Know what?"
"Whether I can spar."
Nolan smiled.
"Sure."
Coach Hale immediately said, "No. We're not turning class into some ego match."
Mara nodded.
"Fine with me."
She started walking toward the back.
Then Nolan said the sentence that stopped her.
"I knew it."
Mara turned.
"Knew what?"
"You're good at running away."
The words had nothing to do with martial arts.
But they struck something deeper.
For months Mara had wondered whether moving away from Tennessee had been exactly that.
Running.
From memories.
From grief.
From everything that reminded her of the life she had lost.
She looked at Coach Hale.
"One round."
Coach Hale frowned.
"No."
"Controlled. Point contact. You stop it whenever you want."
Nolan smiled.
"I'm good with that."
"I wasn't asking you," Mara said.
Marcus covered his mouth.
Coach Hale stared at the tiny girl wearing the borrowed gi.
Then at Nolan.
Finally he sighed.
"Thirty seconds."
Nolan cracked his neck.