Afternoon gradually took over the day. The lighting in the gym shifted: the pale glow of the overhead bulbs swallowed the last rays of sunlight, and echoes rolled gently above the floor. The air was warmer now, more charged, as if even the walls sensed that a different kind of energy pulsed between them.
This wasn't correction.
Not rehab.
Not coordination.
They came to strike now.
Lennox stood at the edge of the boxing floor, in front of the bag. His hands were already wrapped in tight, even layers of black tape, the wrists perfectly finished, symmetrical. His movements were precise and calm—but in his eyes, a familiar old tension pulsed.
Not fear.
More like anticipation.
He could finally use his power. Finally release it. But for the first time—not to break something apart.
To bu
