The lights of the ring still burned into Lennox Graves' retinas as he stepped off the canvas.
His legs buckled slightly with the movement—not from exhaustion, but from releasing a tension he could no longer hold. There was no triumphant posture in him, no raised arms, no demand for applause. He simply walked off. Out from the ropes, away from the lights, back into the corridor. Into the silence. Into reality.
There was no applause in the back halls of the stadium. No cheers, no cameras, no crowd. Just grayish walls, fluorescent ceiling lights, and the muted, dull squeak of rubber soles beneath his feet. Every sound was muffled, every movement heavier—because the world was no longer watching. Only the three of them remained.
When they reached the assigned locker room, Lennox sat on the f
