Lennox was still kneeling in front of Sloane, his hand hovering above her shin—close, but not yet touching. The movement remained unfinished, like a sentence we're too afraid to speak because we don't know where it might lead.
But then... something shifted. A flash. A realization. A feeling that refused to wait any longer.
Sloane's pain was no longer just a movement. No longer just poor weight distribution. Not just "a mistake on the mat." It was real, human injury—and the person sitting before him had become important. Truly. Deeply. Rawly. In a single moment, she became that—and there was no turning back. Lennox shot to his feet.
He didn't look at anyone. Didn't ask for permission. Didn't give a speech. He just stepped toward Sloane and, with a decisive motion, lifted her into his arm
