Five minutes.
The gym went silent.
Then someone near the back started clapping.
Slowly.
One person.
Then another.
Derek ripped out his mouthguard.
“That doesn’t count!”
I looked at the clock.
“It appears to.”
“You ran!”
“I stood three
feet from you.”
“You didn’t fight!”
&
nbsp;
“You said survive.”
His mouth worked soundlessly.
I turned toward Claire.
“Looks like your boyfriend owes you money.”
She didn’t answer.
Derek suddenly shoved me from behind.
That was the first time I became angry.
Not because he touched me.
Because he had waited until my back was turned.
My old self came forward like a door opening in a dark hallway.
I pivoted.
Captured his arm.
Swept his leg.
He hit the floor.
Before anyone understood what happened, his wrist was pinned behind him and my knee rested beside his shoulder.
Not on him.
Beside him.
Control without damage.
The entire exchange took perhaps two seconds.
Derek groaned.
I leaned closer.
“I spent six years learning how not to kill people by accident,” I said quietly. “You
spent six years learning how to look impressive on Instagram. Those are not the same education.”
Then I released him.
Claire stared at me.
“Who are you?”
That question hurt in a different way.
“My name is Cole.”
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean.”
Sirens sounded outside.
Derek looked toward the entrance.
His expression changed instantly.
Police?
No.
Two black SUVs pulled into the parking lot, followed by an unmarked sedan.
Three men and two women entered.
Claire moved toward me.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing yet.”
Rebecca came through the doors wearing a charcoal blazer.
She looked exactly as I remembered.
Short blond hair.
Sharp eyes.
No patience.
Beside her walked a man carrying a leather document case.
