I need to bleed. Not the kind that leaves a mark or draws concern, but the kind that empties the noise. The gym sits underground, carved into the city’s ribs. No neon signs, mirrors, or playlists, just the slap of bodies hitting mats, the thud of gloves, and Jordan’s voice slicing through the air like a whip.
I’ve been coming here since I was eighteen. Back when I thought self-defense could erase my ghosts. Now it’s not about survival anymore. It’s about power and control. It’s about letting the storm out somewhere it can’t hurt anyone else.
Vera stands across from me on the mat, knuckles taped, ponytail slicked back, sweat already shining on her collarbones. Jordan circles us like a wolf with his arms folded. “One of you moves like she’s pissed off,” he says. “The other moves like she
