Christy didn’t wait, charging forward with surprising speed for someone her size. Her first punch whistled toward Kyle's head – a test, not her full strength.
He slipped to the side, the blow missing by inches.
"Not bad," she grunted, immediately following with a combination – a jab, cross, then a sweeping low kick.
Kyle blocked the jab, ducked the cross, and jumped the kick. His movements were fluid, efficient, with no wasted energy. He made no attempt to counter yet, simply observing her style.
Christy’s eyes narrowed. She pressed harder, her attacks becoming more intense, her footwork cutting off his escape routes. Her experience showed in her positioning, her balance perfect despite the uneven ground.
The team watched silently as she backed Kyle toward the edge of their makeshift
