Afternoon session.
More combat. More weapons. More drilling.
But something was different.
Halfway through sparring, the girl stopped.
Looked at Atlas. Really looked at him.
At his bandaged nose. At the blood on his shirt.
Her head tilted. Just slightly. Like processing. Trying to understand something.
"Continue," Isabella said.
The girl looked away. Resumed fighting.
But that moment—that pause—it was something.
Awareness. Recognition. Maybe even the beginning of understanding cause and effect.
After the session, as they walked to the showers, the girl spoke.
Not to Isabella. Not prompted. Not commanded.
She looked at Atlas. And said one word.
"Sorry."
Atlas stopped. Stared at her.
The girl kept walking. Disappeared into the bathroom.
Atlas stood there. Heart pounding.
"Di
