The weight of victory doesn't always lie in the force of a punch. Sometimes, the greatest wins are born in silence—the body unmoving, while the heart roars.
Lennox Graves walked down the hallway with slow, disciplined steps. It was the third time that day the corridor had led him back to the locker room. His gloves were still on, sweat hadn't dried from his forehead, and his muscles were tense, as if they couldn't quite believe it was really over.
Sloane walked beside him, silent, one step behind. They didn't touch. There was no need. Something existed between them now that didn't require physical contact. Lennox felt that if he turned around now, her gaze alone would steady him—her presence was enough.
Marcus walked a few steps ahead of them, as always: leading the team, half-crumpled
