He turned to face the heavy bag and threw a punch, the impact echoing through the empty gym with a solid thud that made me flinch.
Then another punch, harder this time, then another and another, each one landing with brutal precision and controlled power.
I watched him, mesmerized by the rhythm of it, the way his shoulders moved, the way his breathing stayed steady despite the force behind each hit.
He wasn't just working out, I realized, he was working through something, channeling whatever rage or pain he carried into something physical and tangible.
After a few minutes, he stopped and turned to look at me, barely winded.
"Your turn," he said.
"I don't know how to box," I protested.
"I'll teach you," Julian replied, pulling off one of his gloves and walking over to another set of
