I followed the narrow path she’d pointed to, a dim corridor tucked behind the wine cellar. The walls grew colder as I walked, the air heavier. At the end was a steel door, half-hidden behind stacked crates. I hesitated, then pushed it open.
A staircase spiralled downward into darkness.
I descended slowly, barefoot, the sound of my steps swallowed by the silence. The air was damp. The walls were stone. It didn’t feel like a training space — it felt like a dungeon.
Then I heard it.
Muffled grunts. Laughter. The thud of fists hitting something heavy.
I reached another wooden door — thick but metallic, slightly ajar. I pushed it open.
Inside, Damon, Ryan, and Alex were shirtless, flushed from victory, soaked in sweat and adrenaline, laughing like boys in a locker room.
A massive punchin
