The sparring area was marked by soft-floor mats, bordered by caution stripes and low lights. There were no weapons. No armor. Just an open space and the pressure of eyes watching.

  Celine hesitated at the edge of the mat, her fists loosely clenched at her sides. Her hoodie had been traded for a training shirt provided earlier, exposing her arms—lean and strong, despite her unassuming frame.

  Hazel stood across from her, calm as ever. Her posture was straight but not threatening. Elegant. Still.

  “First match,” Verity said, tablet in hand. “Hazel versus Celine. No blows to the head. No joint breaks. Call it when one submits or yields.”

  Mariah leaned on the wall nearby, arms crossed. “This should be fun.”

  Hazel gave Celine a faint nod. “You ready?”

  Celine took a slow breath. “Not really.”

  Hazel offered a hand. “Come at me.”

  And Celine did.

  Her hesitation vanished the moment her foot touched the mat. She moved fast—faster than she expected—her instincts flooding through her like fire catching dry leaves. She struck low with a sweeping kick that Hazel sidestepped with an elegant pivot.

  Celine followed through, twisting into a second strike, aiming for Hazel’s ribs. Hazel deflected it with a forearm—light, effortless—but her brow lifted slightly.

  “Good,” she said.

  Celine didn’t reply. She spun, aiming a sharp elbow toward Hazel’s colrbone. Hazel blocked it again, but this time with more effort. The contact echoed with a thud.

  There was no fear in Celine’s eyes now—only focus. Her movements weren’t wild or filing—they were sharp, efficient, beautiful in their own rough rhythm.

  She lunged again, ducked under Hazel’s counter, and slid past her shoulder before pivoting into a backward kick.

  Hazel caught her ankle midair.

  For a moment, they both froze—Celine half-banced, Hazel holding her like the ending frame of a dance.

  Then Hazel released her smoothly.

  “You’re not nearly as hesitant as you let people believe,” she murmured.

  Celine backed off, panting lightly. “It’s easier when I’m not thinking.”

  Hazel smiled faintly. “You should do that more often.”

  Celine rushed in again, this time less precise—but faster. Hazel ducked under her strike, swept her leg in a wide arc, and caught Celine’s footing just enough to send her stumbling.

  But Celine caught herself. Landed on one palm, flipped up, and crouched.

  Hazel blinked—impressed.

  Verity’s voice rang out: “That’s enough.”

  Both stopped immediately.

  Celine stood slowly, breath quick, chest rising and falling—but her hands didn’t tremble this time.

  Hazel walked over, offered a hand. “You’re stronger than you think.”

  Celine took it, her smile soft and stunned. “That felt… good.”

  Mariah pushed off the wall with a low whistle. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

  “I didn’t either,” Celine said.

  Verity tapped her notes, eyes flicking up. “Control: retained. Instinct: active. Response tency: excellent.”

  She looked to Hazel. “You didn’t go easy.”

  Hazel’s voice was calm. “She didn’t need me to.”

  The air still crackled faintly with the afterglow of Hazel and Celine’s match. The mats remained warm beneath their feet, the lights above casting long shadows that shifted as the two new opponents took their pces.

  Celine was still catching her breath, cheeks slightly flushed, braid loosening at the ends. Across from her, Mariah cracked her knuckles with casual confidence, her stance already squared.

  “You sure you’re ready for round two?” Mariah asked, rolling one shoulder.

  Celine lifted her chin. “I’m not breaking.”

  Mariah smirked, clearly pleased by the answer. “That’s the spirit.”

  Hazel stepped back, watching intently from the sidelines. Verity tapped her tablet, then nodded.

  “Same rules apply. Begin.”

  Mariah moved first—quick, decisive, her steps heavy with presence but not recklessness. She unched a sharp jab toward Celine’s shoulder, testing.

  Celine blocked it with both arms and stepped back, absorbing the impact but staying on her feet.

  Mariah didn’t press the advantage—not yet.

  Instead, she circled, her gaze calcuting.

  “Don’t freeze,” she said. “I won’t hit hard unless you give me a reason to.”

  Celine exhaled slowly and surged forward with a straight punch that Mariah barely swayed aside from.

  The taller woman caught Celine’s wrist and tried to spin her off bance—but Celine turned with it, dropping low to try a sweeping leg strike.

  It didn’t nd. Mariah danced back, eyes gleaming. “You do learn fast.”

  She came in again—quicker this time, with a short hook aimed for Celine’s ribs. Celine raised her arm in time and absorbed it with a grunt, sliding sideways and countering with an elbow aimed at Mariah’s midsection.

  Mariah took the hit—light, but solid.

  They disengaged, and for a heartbeat, both stood still. Breathing. Watching.

  Then they were at it again.

  Celine ducked, twisted, moved like her body was finally listening to instinct. Mariah stayed close but never struck with full force, always just shy of it—correcting herself mid-motion with a kind of restraint that didn’t dull her strength.

  She didn’t want to hurt Celine. That was clear.

  She just wanted to see what she could take.

  When Verity called time, they both stopped instantly, panting and flushed, hair clinging to their foreheads.

  Mariah let out a low whistle. “You hit harder than you look.”

  Celine grinned, chest rising with quiet pride. “You hold back more than you act like.”

  They bumped fists once—light, unspoken respect passing between them.

  Hazel, watching, gave a small nod. “Both of you held control.”

  Verity’s voice confirmed it. “Instinctual aggression moderated. No signs of snap response. Reflex strength managed. All three of you are stable under pressure.”

  Mariah raised an eyebrow. “Stable’s the word we’re going with?”

  Verity met her gaze. “It’s the word that keeps you free.”

  The room felt heavier now—thicker, quieter—as Hazel and Mariah stepped onto the mat together. The soft thump of their footsteps echoed off the padded walls, the only sound as Celine stepped back, her wide eyes fixed on them both.

  Verity gnced up from her tablet but didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The tension between the two women had shifted—no hostility, just a sharp awareness of what each was capable of.

  Hazel pulled her dark hair into a loose twist and tied it back with a single fluid motion. She looked across the mat at Mariah, who rolled her wrists and lowered into a guarded stance.

  “I won’t hold back,” Hazel said softly, her voice smooth but direct. “Neither should you.”

  Mariah grinned. “Didn’t pn to.”

  They moved at the same time.

  Hazel’s first strike came in like silk—fluid, precise, a palm aimed for Mariah’s shoulder. Mariah dodged, twisted, and countered with a sharp elbow that Hazel deflected without losing her rhythm.

  It was a dance, but the tempo was dangerous.

  Mariah surged in again with a burst of strength, aiming low. Hazel sidestepped and pivoted, catching Mariah’s arm and pushing her momentum wide—but Mariah let it happen, rolled with the motion, and unched a backhanded strike that Hazel ducked cleanly.

  Their feet moved in perfect opposition—Hazel floating across the floor like water flowing around rock, Mariah sharp and rooted, every step deliberate.

  Then the hits came faster.

  Mariah feinted right, struck left—Hazel caught it.

  Hazel kicked toward Mariah’s knee—Mariah blocked with both arms, but staggered slightly.

  Celine watched with awe, barely breathing. It was like watching a conversation made of limbs—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Where Hazel was elegant precision, Mariah was raw intent. Neither gave an inch.

  Hazel spun and swept low. Mariah leapt. Landed hard.

  Their eyes locked for half a second before both unched forward.

  Hazel’s strike stopped a fraction from Mariah’s throat.

  Mariah’s fist hovered inches from Hazel’s ribs.

  Silence.

  Then both slowly lowered their arms.

  Their breathing was light. Controlled. Neither had touched the other—but either could have.

  Hazel broke the silence. “You’re faster than I expected.”

  Mariah smirked. “You’re meaner than you look.”

  They both stepped back, chest rising and falling, and bowed their heads—almost imperceptibly—in mutual acknowledgment.

  Verity tapped the side of her tablet, the screen glowing green. “And that,” she said, “was exactly what I needed to see.”

  Celine let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Hazel and Mariah walked back to the bench together, neither one triumphant, but both changed—having seen something in the other few people ever would.

  They lingered in the warehouse after Verity had dismissed the formalities, the cool air now filled not with tension, but with a quiet hum of something softer. Respect. Relief. Maybe even trust.

  Hazel sat on the bench, loosely rolling the sleeves of her blouse back down with careful fingers. Her hair, once pinned neatly, now framed her face in loose strands. She didn’t mind. For once, she felt no eyes on her that needed impressing.

  Across from her, Mariah leaned back against the wall, sipping slowly from her water bottle, her curls frizzed at the edges from movement.

  Celine sat nearby on the mat, legs folded beneath her, cheeks still flushed from effort and exhiration.

  “I thought you were going to hit me,” Mariah said suddenly, looking at Hazel over the top of her bottle.

  Hazel raised an eyebrow. “I almost did.”

  “You really don’t pull your hits,” Mariah added, but there was no bite in her voice. “That was… different. In a good way.”

  Celine smiled faintly. “You two looked like you were dancing. If dancing came with bruised ribs.”

  “No bruises,” Mariah said. “Just dignity, maybe.”

  Hazel gnced between them, then leaned back against the bench. “You were both excellent. Strong. Controlled.”

  Celine looked down, almost shy. “I didn’t think I’d hold my own in that st match.”

  “You didn’t just hold your own,” Hazel replied, voice warm. “You surprised both of us.”

  Celine’s smile deepened, small and genuine. “I didn’t know I could move like that. It’s like… something clicks when I stop thinking. Everything feels clearer.”

  Mariah nodded. “Yeah. It’s scary, though. Like the moment you stop being scared, something else takes over. I’m not sure if that’s me, or the virus.”

  Hazel was quiet for a moment, then said, “Maybe it’s both. Maybe we’re not just changed—we’re evolving into something else. But it doesn’t mean we lose who we are.”

  Celine looked thoughtful. “You think Lena felt like this too? Before...?”

  Hazel’s gaze darkened, but her voice remained soft. “I think she was just starting to. And someone took that from her.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was shared.

  Mariah stood and stretched, her voice lighter. “Well, whoever’s out there thinking they can pick us off like science projects—they’re going to have a harder time next time.”

  Hazel nodded. “They will.”

  Celine pushed herself to her feet, brushing off her hands. “I’m really gd we did this. I feel less... alone.”

  “You’re not alone,” Hazel said, rising as well. “None of us are.”

  Verity reappeared at the far end of the room, clipboard tucked beneath her arm. “You’ve all exceeded my expectations. I’ll follow up tomorrow. For now—get some rest.”

  Mariah waved zily. “You buying coffee next time?”

  Verity didn’t smile, but her eyes softened slightly. “I’ll consider it.”

  As they stepped outside into the fading afternoon light, the air fresh and cool against their skin, Hazel gnced sideways at the two walking beside her.

  This was no longer a group of strangers with a shared condition.

  It was the beginning of something more.