The Grip Test machine sat in the centre of Vance’s private gym like a threat disguised as equipment. Polished steel. Reinforced pistons. A digital display that glowed an unfriendly red even before it was switched on. The whole thing looked less like a fitness device and more like something you’d use to test industrial machinery.

  Vance stood beside it with the calm of someone who already knew the outcome. His suit was immaculate. His shoes were too clean for a gym. His expression was the kind that made people want to impress him or punch him — sometimes both.

  “The Grip Test,” Vance said, tapping the frame with a knuckle. “Pure torque. No momentum. No theatrics.”

  Taylor wiped sweat from his forehead. “Easy.”

  Vance didn’t even look at him. “If he breaks it, I fix the lining. If he fails, I keep the arm.”

  Leo made a small, strangled noise.

  Kam didn’t hesitate.

  “Deal.”

  He stepped forward. The limiter buzzed under his skin — a low, angry vibration that made the hairs on his arms stand up. Sixty percent. Leo shook his head behind him, mouthing don’t, but Kam was already reaching for the cold steel handles.

  The metal felt like winter.

  The room felt too small.

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  “Begin,” Vance said.

  The machine hummed to life. Numbers climbed immediately — two hundred, four hundred — and Kam felt the resistance settle into his bones. His muscles tightened. The lead lining inside his arm groaned like something alive and unhappy.

  Six hundred.

  The numbers froze.

  A wall.

  A hard one.

  “Pathetic,” Vance said. “My coffee machine does better.”

  “He’s lagging!” Taylor shouted, stepping forward like he could help by proximity alone.

  Kam closed his eyes. He couldn’t use the heat — the limiter would crash, and then he’d be on the floor again, screaming, useless. He had to use the meat. The pain. The memory of the gym. One-forty kilos. The humiliation. Maya watching him fail. The way his arms had trembled. The way he’d pretended it didn’t matter.

  He gritted his teeth and pushed.

  His arm shook violently.

  Veins bulged, glowing faintly under the skin.

  “Don’t blow the fuse,” Leo whispered, voice thin.

  Seven hundred.

  Eight hundred.

  The machine whined. The handles bent under his grip, metal warping like soft clay.

  Vance’s posture changed — a slight lean forward, interest sharpening like a blade.

  Eight-fifty.

  A sharp crack split the air.

  Not the machine.

  Kam’s lining.

  A thin fracture opened along his forearm, glowing orange at the edges. Steam hissed out in a furious white jet.

  “Kam, stop!” Maya shouted from the far side of the room, voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

  He didn’t stop.

  He couldn’t.

  Nine hundred.

  The display flashed red.

  ERROR.

  The piston burst with a violent pop. Oil sprayed across the polished floor, splattering Vance’s shoes, streaking the mirror, dripping down the machine like blood from a wound.

  Kam let go.

  He staggered back, clutching his arm.

  Steam poured from the crack, rising in frantic curls.

  Silence fell like a dropped curtain.

  Vance looked at the oil.

  At the bent steel.

  At Kam, who was breathing like he’d run through fire.

  “Sloppy,” Vance said. “Primitive. Dangerous.”

  He took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his shoe with delicate precision, as if the mess offended him personally.

  “I love it.”

  He tossed the cloth to Maya without looking. She caught it automatically, eyes still on Kam.

  “Put him in the chair,” Vance said. “We’re voiding the warranty.”

  Kam didn’t move.

  He couldn’t.

  The heat was crawling up his arm again, slow and venomous.

  Taylor stepped forward. “Kam—”

  Kam shook his head once, jaw clenched, breath shaking.

  He wasn’t scared.

  He was furious.

  And underneath that deeper, quieter something else was waking up.