Chapter 24. Secret Matches

The night smelled of salt and engine oil.

Lia’s bruises had turned the color of fading violets—the kind that appear too late to warn you. Pain still simmered under her ribs from Cassian’s last drill, but pain worked as camouflage; it looked like discipline.

She walked south along the river until the city turned from glass to rust. A gutted warehouse waited at the end of the block, windows blacked out, a single strip of light leaking under the door.

A man in a hood leaned against the frame, breath fogging. “You the sub?”

“I’m here to fight.”

“Name?”

“Does it matter?”

He smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He pushed the door open.

Inside, sound swallowed her. Bass thumped through a cracked speaker, matching the rhythm of fists on leather. The ring was nothing more than rope and iron poles. Around it: thirty people, maybe more, faces lit by phone screens and cheap bulbs. Cash moved hand to hand with the quiet precision of experience. The