She had finished a light round with Emily and was drinking water.

Dylan saw her watching.

“What?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Nothing.”

“You have an opinion?”

“No.”

“That looked like an opinion.”

She smiled slightly.

“You ask a lot of people what they think of you.”

Marcus made a noise behind the phone.

“Oof.”

Dylan stared.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sarah took another drink.

“Exactly what I said.”

Robert looked over from across the mat.

He recognized the shift immediately.

“Dylan.”

“I’m talking.”

Robert pointed toward him.

“Don’t.”

Sarah picked up her towel.

“I’m good.”

Dylan stepped closer.

“What belt are you?”

Sarah looked at him.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re standing in a grappling gym.”

“And?”

“You said you trained.”

“I did.”

“So what belt?”

Sarah hesitated.

Then said:

“I haven’t worn one in a while.”

Dylan laughed.

“That usually means white.”

Robert closed his eyes.

Sarah looked at him for a long moment.

Then smiled.

“Sure.”

Dylan interpreted the smile incorrectly.

He thought it meant she was embarrassed.

It actually meant she had decided arguing was pointless.

Dylan pointed toward the mat.

“One round.”

“No.”

“Just for fun.”

“No.”

“Thirty seconds.”

Sarah looked at Robert.

Robert immediately said:

“You don’t owe him anything.”

That answer told Dylan there was something he did not know.

His curiosity turned into ego.

“What?”

Robert shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“No, clearly something.”

Sarah said quietly:

“Robert.”

He nodded.

Would not say more.

Dylan smiled.

“All right.”

He looked at Sarah.

“You’re some secret assassin?”

She laughed.

“No.”

“Then come on.”

“No.”

“I’ll go light.”

Sarah’s expression changed.

“I don’t need you to go light.”

A few heads turned.

Dylan heard the tone.

Not bravado.

Not insecurity.

Simple confidence.

“Okay.”

He spread his hands.

“Then normal pace.”

Sarah looked toward Emily.

Then at Marcus, whose phone was down now.

Then toward Robert.

“You want me to?”

Robert rubbed his forehead.

“I want him to stop talking.”

Sarah smiled.

“That wasn’t the question.”

Robert sighed.

“Technical round.”

Dylan grinned.

“Perfect.”

Sarah stood.

She removed a thin knee brace from her bag and pulled it over her right knee.

Dylan noticed.

“Injured?”

“Old problem.”

“You sure?”

She looked at him.

“Are you?”

Someone laughed.

Dylan stopped smiling for a second.

Then stepped onto the mat.

Sarah joined him.

The size difference was obvious.

Dylan was nearly forty pounds heavier.

Younger.

Active professional fighter.

Sarah had not competed in years, though Dylan did not know that yet.

Robert stepped between them.

“One minute.”

Dylan frowned.

“I thought thirty seconds.”

Robert looked at him.

“You wanted a round.”

Sarah said:

“One minute is fine.”

“No slams,” Robert continued.

Dylan nodded.

“No cranks.”

“Obviously.”

“Technical.”

Dylan smiled.

“Always.”

Sarah glanced toward Robert.

He noticed.

She did not believe him.

Neither did Robert.

They touched hands.

The timer began.

Dylan crouched immediately.

Sarah did not.

She stood almost upright.

Hands relaxed.

Weight centered.

Dylan circled.

“You really haven’t done this in a while?”

Sarah said nothing.

He reached for her wrist.

She gave it.

He pulled.

She moved with him.

Dylan smiled.

Easy.

He secured a collar tie.

Sarah peeled it away.

Not forcefully.

Justo lo justo.

Dylan volvió a intentarlo.

Redirigió la muñeca.

Cinco segundos.

Cambió de nivel.

Finge un disparo.

Sarah apenas reaccionó.

Volvió alto.

Corbata interior.

Ella enmarcó.