Chapter 37. Collision Course

The hum of the space heater was the only thing keeping the night from freezing solid. Lia moved inside its thin halo of warmth, bare arms slick with sweat, the sting of tape biting her wrists. The camera on the paint can blink red, recording her every motion—the pivot, the strike, the breath she forgot to take until the pain reminded her she was still here.

When the clip hit the net hours later, it wasn’t meant for anyone. But the world had been waiting for her ghost to move again. By dawn, the video was everywhere: cropped, slowed down, captioned with whatever story strangers needed.

THE FALLEN FIGHTER RETURNS. CASSIAN VALE’S PRODIGY TURNS OUTLAW.

Every thumbnail was a lie that still looked like truth.

She didn’t read the comments, but she heard the noise anyway—gossip leaking through cracked windows, voices in alley gyms where people liked their heroes desperate. It was strange how fame and ruin used the same kind of light.

Across to