Robert keeps to himself during training. He lingers near the far end of the yard, running through solo forms, quiet and methodical. He doesn’t speak to me, doesn’t offer his usual sharp commentary, but his eyes still track me.
He’s given up trying to provoke me, but whatever thoughts keep him staring haven’t faded. The tension between us isn’t gone. It’s just settled into something quieter, something more complicated. He doesn’t have anything left to say, but he still hasn’t let go. I can feel it.
I push harder through my routine. Faster, cleaner. I don’t need him to say anything because I already know what it would be. He’s watching because he thinks there’s something still open between us, some door he could walk back through if he tried hard enough.
But that door closed a long time a
