Heavy rain tod the glass windows. Thunder rolled.
A young girl's eye peeked through the small crack in the study door, heart pounding.
Her father voice was trembling with fury. "you think you can get away with this, Dalton?"
A man's colder voice shot back. "your name won't even be remembered, old friend. This company will be mine. you've lost".
papers scattered. A drawer slammed.
"you stole the Patent. that was my life's work"
"And what will you do? call the press?Go to court? you'II be buried before morning".
The girl whimpered silently, backing away as the shouting intensified-- until BANG!!!
Everything went black.
The room is dim. The ceiling fan creaks softly above. sweat clings to her forehead as her eyes shoot open
she gasped.
It was that dream again, that memory.
Her father's voice shouting. The sound of glass breaking. Papers scattered across the floor. And that man.... that man with the cold eyes.
She sat up slowly, her breath shaky. her hand reached out automatically, touching the framed photo beside her bed.
Her father----- smiling, proud. The way he used to look before everything crumbled.
she pulled the frame close, brushing her thumb over his face. A tear escaped her eye.
"I found someone," she whisphered.
"A mentor. he's a fighter..... not like you. you were gentle. but i need someone who knows how to survive in a world like this".
she paused, her voice tight.
"I'm starting my first job as a prosecutor today, Dad i know you don't want me to partake in anything concerning the law , but your words you say to me everyday. "Justice starts with knowledge". i don't know if i make you proud, but i'II try. I promise I'II find the thruth for you. For everything they took from you"
she set the frame down and stood. the sun was just Begin to rise outside, casting soft light over the dusty floor.
she dressed in black. not because it was formal. But because it made her feel strong. Sharp lines. Fitted suit. Low bun.
She caught the subway into the city, gripping the cold rail as buildings blurred by her. Her mind replayed legal statuses instead of music. Prosecutor. That's what she wanted. That's what she'd take with or without permission.
The law firm's building stood like a monument to pride, glass and steel reflecting the sun's power.
RHL chamber, etched in silver letters above the revolving doors.
she stepped inside.
Five men awaited in the lobby. Applicants. All older. All in charcoal suits. one of them chuckled when he saw her.
"Lost, sweetheart?" he said.
She didn't respond she didn't blink.
Inside the interview hall, the panel of three watched her approach. one adjusted his glasses, unimpressed.You've applied to join the prosecution division?"
"You're Aria Sinclair," said the woman in the middle. "interesting resume. You've applied to join the prosecution division"?
"Yes".
"Why?"
"Because justice, doesn't serve itself and am not here to babysit corruption. I'm here to confront it."
There was a pause. the woman raised an eyebrow, intrigued. the man in the middle leaned forward slightly,interest piqued. Baldy leaned back, unimpressed.
He crossed his arms. "We don't often see women in prosecution. its..... intense. High risk. Brutal cases. Are you sure that your lane?"
Aria smiled faintly.
she leaned forward slightly. " i grew up in intensity. you call that brutal? she gestured lightly around the silent room. "i call it Tuesday".
The man in the middle chuckled--- just once and jotted something down. the woman gave a sideways glance at Baldy, as if silently telling him to behave.
Baldy cleared his throat. "Alright then. lets test sharp mouth of yours.
say a man walks into a store, shoots the clerk and flee. he confesses to you in a private conversation. Now he wants to plead not guilty. what do you do?
Aria clasped her hands calmly in her lap, her tone steady. "If I'm his defense? I advise him based on evidence,but my duty is to defend his right, not his guilt. I can challenge procedure,test admissibility,even poke holes in motive. But if I'm prosecuting?
she shifted,leaned in, voice low and deliberate. "I bury him in facts. Tie every corner of his story with surveillance footage, ballistics, and time stamps. I won't scream for justice--I'II deliver it silently.
The woman lip parted slightly in admiration. The man in the middle gave a small approving nod. Even baldly looked less smug,adjusting his sleeves as if a little unsettled.
"Last question," Tell us your greatest strength.
"I don't Flinch, she said. "when the thruth is ugly. when the courtroom's cold. when the stakes are high-- i Don't flinch".
A long pause.
"Thank you, Miss Aria Sinclair. the woman said finally, folding her hands. "you'll hear from us".
Aria gave a slight bow and walked out.
She was halfway down the marble stairs when she saw the black car roll in front of the building.
Doors opened.
Silence spread like a cold breeze.
heads turned.Suits starightened. even the arrogant ones on the steps paused.
Aria watched as he stepped out.
Tall.Black doubled- breasted suit. Hands in pockets like he didn't care for rules.
Eyes hidden behind sleek sunglasses. he walked like he was born above protocol- followed by two silent bodyguards and the firm's senior partner who trailed him like a loyal dog.
People bowed slightly.
Aria narrowed her eyes. Who the hell was he?
They passed each other.
just a few feet apart.
A strange thump echoed in his chest.
he turned, slowly, just as she glanced back.
Eye met.
No words.
But a flicker of something passed between them. Not recognition- but something stranger.
Like the memory of a story they haven't lived yet.
He walks through the towering building, people in the lobby bow subtly, whisphering his name.
In the elevator, his personal Assistant (PA), a sharp-looking young man, stands beside him nervously holding a tablet. the air is thick with unspoken tension.
The elevator dings.
They step out onto the top floor- his floor. Glass walls, dark wood panels, and a panoramic view of the city skyline.
The PA drops his bag gently on the leather couch.
"Sir, the files from the last hearing... should i place them on the desk?"
He didn't look up. "Yes. and call Prosecutor Batch. i want to know why the briefing was delayed.
"Yes sir". The PA bows lightly and hurries off.
He finally loosens his tie, walks to the large window, and pulls out a cigar- but pause before lighting it. his eyes narrow.
A flash crosses his mind-- the face of the girl from earlier. her expression. her confidence. her eyes.
He put back the cigar in the pack, went to sit back the moment he sat down back, everywhere feels blurry and a Whisper --deep, eerie-- echoes in his head.
He saw a lady dressed in red who looks like her, the expression of her eyes calls for revenge.
"Your path crosses hers for a reason"
"Justice has a price".
"And the clock... has started tickling".
Soon there was a soft knock on the glass door followed by it opening slightly.
A sharp-looking Attorney in his mid-thirties, dressed in a slate- grey suit, stepped in with a brown leather file clutched tightly. His expression was serious-tinged with the kind of energy that always hinted something unpleasant was on its way.
"Mr. Valen", he said, steady. "I thought you'd want to see this before the board meets later today."
Valen looks so deep in thought, he didnt notice anything around him,
"Mr Valen" the attorney called out again
Soon he was restored back, he felt exhausted
"Sir is everything okay?"
Valen barely looked up at first. he was flipping through a document with the same cold, meticious focus he was known for. After a few seconds, he lifted his gaze, sharp as ever.
"is this about the Eastbridge corruption file?
The man nodded, stepping closer.
'there's been a revision. the prosecutor assigned to it now is.... a bit unconventional. We thought you'd like to take a look."
Valen took the file, flipping through swiftly. A single name caught his attention.
He stilled.
" Senator Draxford".
A pause.
Then a fain scoff. not of ridicule-- more like a faint twinge of curiosity.
"Interesting".
His assistant lingered by the doorway again. "Sir, you're expected at the board in twenty".
Valen stood, fixing the cufflink on his wrist. he tossed the file gently on his desk.
"Let them wait ten. i just found something more interesting.
The sun was too bright, and the world too noisy.
Aria walked halfway far from the chamber when---
"Hey....sweet legs!"
she turned.
A shabby man, probably in his late thirties, stumbled toward her, eyes glassy and breath reeking of alcohol. He held out a flower--- was it plastic?
"I got this for you....pretty lady... Marry me...?"
Aria blinked once. then without missing a step, she pivoted
Wham!
Elbow to the ribcage, not hard enough to injure, but precise enough to drop him like a sack of wet clothes.
people gasped. A security guard rushed over.
"He's drunk", someone muttered.
Aria straightened her jacket and turned to the security guard. "He proposed. I declined."
The guard stiffled, a laugh. "Understood. ma'am".
Aria turned down a familiar street-- narrow, but alive. her heels clicke softly as she walked with a relaxed sway, the day's weight slowly lifting from shoulders.
She paused open the faded glass door of "Luna's spot"-- a tiny, vintage cafe wedged between two music stores. The chime above the door rang with nostalgia.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite troublemaker," came a voice from behind the counter.
"Hey, Luna,"Aria smiled, her eyes lighting up.
Luna, a plump, silver-haired woman in her late sixties with thick glasses and a sassier spirit than most twenty-year--olds, wiped her hands on a cloth and motioned toward the usual corner booth.
"same thing?"Luna called.
"Make it colder this time. I need it to hit my soul". Aria laughed as she slid into the booth.
Moments later, a tall glass of chilled soda arrived-- fizzing, with two thin lemon slices and a pink straw. Aria wrapped her hands around it like it was a lifeline.
Aria gave her a half-smile.
Aria sipped slowly, watching the steam rise from someone's tea across the room.her eyes drifted to the window. she could still see the man from earlier. the way he walked. The aura. who was he?
"You ever just feel like.... something's coming? like your life's about to twist? she asked quitely
Luna didn't smile this time. she only looked at her, steady and serious.
"Then you better twist with it, sweetheart. or it"II break you".
Aria chuckled, taking a sip from her drink. "I'II twist, Luna. But I'm definitely not breaking.
Across the street, partially hidden by the shade of a leaning telephone pole, a figure stood still, his gaze locked onto the scene inside.
Dressed in dark jacket and faded jeans, he blended easily with the late- afternoon crowd.
His posture was casual, almost lazy- yet his eyes missed nothing.
A subtle twitch of his head followed Aria's every move, his hands deep in his pockets, a worn baseball cap shading his face.
He made no move to approach. No move to speak.
A few passersby glanced at him briefly, but he was forgettable-- intentionally so.
Inside, Aria tossed a crumpled napkin at Luna and grinned, completely unaware of the silent eyes tracking her.
After a moment longer, the man shifted, pulling his cap lower and disappearing into the crowd, swallowed by the city's noise and movement.
The glass door jingled again as a group of older folks wandered in-smilling, chatting, a little slow on their feet but full of energy.
"Luna, you didn't tell me the golden club was meeting today," Aria teased as she slid out of the booth.
"They showed up early," Luna huffed,already grabbing cups and plates.
"And my back isn't as young as theirs pretend to be".
Aria laughed. "Let me help. i owe you anyway".
Together, they moved between tables, setting down glasses, cracking jokes, and dodging canes. one of the old men, dressed in a crisp cardigan and flat cap, watched Aria closely as she handed him his soda.
"Hmm," he said slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Did i put too much ice? Aria asked playful.
"No,no. you look like my son's type. Are you married?"
"My son," he went on, adjusting his cap."Tall,engineer, good teeth. You're pretty. sharp eyes. i like you. i can call him now--FaceTime, if you like".
The entire room burst into chuckles. Even Luna had to lean on the counter to steady her laugh.
"she's too expensive for your son, Luna said through her giggles.
"Eh, i didn't say i couldn't pay bride price.
The group of ederly folks finished their drinks with cheerful banter, wiping their mouths and chuckling as they stood to leave.
the older man who had teased earlier reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card.
"You never know, young lady" he said, offering it to Aria with a smile.
"Aria burst into laughter, taking the card politely. "I'II keep that in mind, sir. No promises".
Luna, from behind the counter, narrowed her eyes and shook her head slowly with exaggerated disapproval.
"Don't mind him," she said aloud.
"He's been trying to match people since the 80's. still no success.
The old man laughed heartly. "one day I'll win, Luna. Watch and see!"
As they waved goodbyes and filed out, Aria turned to pick up her bag.
"Alright, i should get going too. its been a long morning," she said, brushing back a few strands of hair.
Luna nodded and stepped into the back briefly. she returned moments later holding a brown paper bag, the scent of spiced rice and fried plantains wafting from it.
"You didnt eat properly again, did you?" Luna handed it to her ."Here take it i added extra sauce.
Aria blinked in surprise. "Luna you dont have to---"
'shh, I'II hear none of that. Eat, before you faint in court or start seeing stars on the street".
Aria smiled touched. "You spoil me to much".
"Somebody has to," Luna said, wiping her hands on a towel. "Now go, before i make you wash dishes too".
Aria laughed, tucked the food into her bag, and gave Luna a quick side hug.
"Thanks Luna you are the best"
"I know", Luna winked.
The boardroom was designed for power. Dark walnuts panels lined the walls, each one whispering of money and legacy. A long obsidian table streched across the room, flanked by high-backed leather chairs. At its head sat a stern-faced man with graying temples and hawkish eyes-- Chairman Elias Crowne, one of the most influential political attorneys in the country.
Around him were a handful of elite partners and stakeholders; heads of political lobbying firms, investment giants, two retired senators, and a quiet man from the National Intelligence Council.
Then the doors opened.
Valen steped in--calm, composed. the room filled with murmuring men in suits stilled just a bit.
"Gentlemen," he said colly, and took the empty seat halfway down the table.
Elias gave him a short nod. "Glad you could join us, Valen"
A pause. Then the man beside Elias leaned forward, clearing his throat.
"I believe we're all aware of why this meeting was called. The Media has exploded with the scandal about Senator Draxford . They're screaming embezzlement.... some are even hinting at sexual misconduct."
Another voice spoke, gruff and impatient. "it's bad optics. He's one of ours-- and a client. we cant let this spiral".
Murmurs of agreement followed.
Chairman Elias folded his hands. "This firm has protected political images before. We've buried worse we can shape this".
He looked at Valen. "The question is whether you're willing to handle it".
Valen leaned back, jaw taut. "I've read the file."
"Then you know there is no hard proff", Elias said.
"There is enough," Valen replied flatly. "Enough to know something's not right".
That silence returned-- heavy, tense.
A man from the far and broke it. "You have your principles, Valen, but we're talking about a client with ties to every governor in the southern states. if he goes down, half of our allies burn with him"
Valen's finger tapped once on the table. Measured. sharp.
"I wasn't aware we were in the business of laundering reputations now".
someone scoffed, someone else shifted uncomfortably.
Elias narrowed his eyes. "We're in the business of protecting what's built. You don't have to like the dirt to keep the walls standing."
Valen stood slowly, eyes sweeping the room.
"Then maybe it's time to knock down the wall".
And just like that, the tension doubled.
He gathered the file, nodded once, and turned to leave--- letting the weight of his defiance speak louder than any final word.
The air reeked of concrete dust and dread,
under the cold glow of a single flickering floodlight, a chair scraped against the floor. A man was tied to it--wrists bound behind his back, ankles lashed tight to the metal legs. his mouth was gagged, eyes swollen and fearful.
He'd been beaten.
Blood trickled from his nose, matting into the collar of his once-crisp shirt. one eyes was nearly shut, the other darting around in terrified jerks.
A few feet away stood the man in charge.
He was of medium height, stocky, with a round face that carried the smooth, well-fed look of power-- a look that came not from kindness, but from corruption, his tailored black coat hung neatly over broad shoulders. Thick black gloves covered his hands, one of which now held a sleek silver pistol.
He didn't wear mask.
He didn't need to.
They all knew he was untouchable.
Behind him several masked guards stood in quiet watch. they wore black combat gear, arms folded, rifles slung over shoulders--silent shadows who had long ago lost the need to flinch death.
The man walked slowly toward the bound man, boots echoing off the unfinished walls.
"You've should have stayed in your lane", he said coldly, voice carrying the weight of menance wrapped in calm. "But you.... you wanted to be a hero.
He knelt silently, looking the prosecutor in the eye. :You were about to hand over the files that didn't concern you. the files you weren't supposed to have".
The bound man whimpered beneath the gag.
The Politician stood again. "You dug your own grave the moment you opened your mouth".
He motioned to one of the guards. A black duffel bag was tossed behind him, he opened it casually--revealing pilers, ropes, a silenced knife, and more.
But he didn't use any..
Instead, he pointed the pistol at the man's chest--precise, swift--and fired. Once. Twice. Blood splattered against the pillar behind.
The prosecutor's body slumped lifeless.
No screams, No noise.
Just the smell of blood and smoke hanging in the wind.
"Clean it up," he said simply.
The guards moved like a well-oiled machine. one of them doused the area with accelerant. Another began wrapping the body.
Within minutes, all traces of life were beign erased.
The politician turned, lit a cigarette, and took one slow drag as he stared out of the half-built window into the night skyline.
"Let this be a warning," he muttered under his breath." Anyone that comes for me... doesn't walk away".
The leather glove dangled from his fingers, sticky with the scent of blood and smoke. He didn't Flinch. didn't pause.
The fire crackled softly in the empty alley's rusted barrel drum. with a flick of his wrist, he dropped the glove in and watched it curl, shrink, and burn--silent and final.
No trace.
He slipped into the black maybach parked just a few steps away. the engine purred to life like it had been waiting for him. he didn't look back.
Hours later
The Wrought-iron gates of his estate creaked open. The mansion stood like a sleeping beast--tall, garnd, layered in shadow. lights flickered behind arched windows.
The moonlight cast a pale sheen over the marble driveway.
A guard in a tailored black uniform starightened as the car aproached.
"Welcome back, sir, " he said with a crisp nod.
He stepped out, jacket over one shoulder, and returned the nod. Inside, the house was quiet, the air conditioned and clean.
His wife stood by the wide archway of living room, her silk robe cinched at the wiast, barefoot, sipping from a glass of red wine.
He leaned in, pressed a cold kiss to her cheek--almost mechanical-- then gave a small smile, the kind that never quite reached his eyes.
"Long night? she asked, brushing invisible lint from his shoulder.
He said nothing.
Instead, he moved toward the couch, where the evening news was already playing.
"Breaking: Body of a prosecutor discovered in the woods outside Westbridge..."
The anchor's voice was tight. Grim.
A photo of the man flashed briefly.
His jaw's twitched. A small, satisfied smirk tuged at the edge of his lips. cold. Almost amused.
He rose slowly from the couch, murmuring, "Finally, they're cleaning up the mess".
Then, without a word more, he disappeared into the hallway-heading for the stairs. and behind him, the smile remained.
Aria steps into the dimly lit, cramped boxing gym—a small but gritty place, with old leather that clings to the air.
The walls are adorned with faded posters of fighters long past their prime, some of them looking back at Aria with a mix of determination and nostalgia.
Heavy punching bags swing back and forth, creaking slightly as they hit the walls. The floors are worn from years of training, and the only light comes from a single overhead bulb flickering above. It feels like the kind of place where people go to lose themselves. A place for hard truths.
She steps inside, the door creaking as it closes behind her. Aria's heels click against the wooden floor as she moves into the gym, her eyes scanning the room.
Her gaze lands on her mentor, The Fighter—a man whose muscles are taut and well-defined, sweat glistening against his tanned skin as he punches the heavy bag. His gloves are black, worn, and frayed, and with every punch, the sound echoes, the force of his hits almost a reflection of his anger.
He's lost in the motion, his breathing heavy and ragged, a reflection of something deeper—something beyond just the physical exertion.
She approaches quietly, leaning against the wall as she watches him. The rhythm of his punches seems almost violent, each strike harder than the last. Aria's gaze narrows, and she can feel the weight of the air—something's off.
Finally, she speaks, breaking the tension.
Aria , with a teasing smile
"Still punching something, huh? At this hour Jet?"
Jet :gruff, not looking at her
"Do you have a problem with that?"
ARIA: (raising an eyebrow, crossing her arms)
"I'm just wondering who you're mad at this time. Or are you just upset that your gloves are getting more action than you are?"
Jet : pauses mid-punch, wiping his face with the back of his gloved hand
"Not the gloves, Aria. The world."
ARIA, steps closer, a little more serious
"The world? Well, that's a lot of rage for one person to handle. What's going on?"
Jet: finally looks at her, his expression hard
"Did you hear the news? About the prosecutor? The one who was found dead in the woods?"
Aria : nods, brow furrowed
"I did... What does it have to do with anything?"
Jet: stops, his fists dropping to his sides as he steps back from the bag
"It was the work of a strong person in politic. It was a setup. A message."
Aria: confused, stepping back slightly.
"A message? What kind of message?"
Jet: shrugs off his gloves, moving toward a nearby bench
"This death—it's someone trying to send a warning to people like us. People who know too much."
Aria pauses, trying to process
"What do you mean 'people like us'? What's really going on?"
Jet sighs heavily, sitting down and wiping sweat from his brow
"There are strings being pulled behind the scenes, Aria. The prosecutor was digging into something bigger—something more dangerous than just corrupt politicians. They didn't just kill him —they made sure it looked like a sucide .
Aria, shaking her head, frustrated
"I don't understand. Who's really behind this?"
Jet: leans forward, voice low and serious
"Someone with the power to make it all disappear. Someone who controls more than just politics. You're getting too close to the truth, Aria. And when you do, you'll learn that some people—some powers—don't care who they take down to protect their secrets."
Aria: looking away, troubled by his words
"I'm not backing down. I have to find out what happened to my father. If it's the last thing I do."
Jet: softly, almost regretfully
"Just be careful. You're walking into something much darker than you think. There's no going back once you step inside that world."
ARIA:determined, though a flicker of doubt crosses her face
"Then let's burn it all down."
The room hums with a silence after the intensity of the conversation. The dim light from the overhead bulb casts long shadows across the gym. Aria stands near the bench, arms crossed, absorbing everything her mentor just told her. The weight of the information settles heavy in her chest.
Jet grabs a nearby water bottle from a cooler, twisting the cap off with a quick snap. He takes a long drink, his muscles still rippling from the workout, sweat dripping down his face.
Without a word, he tosses the bottle toward Aria—aiming it like a perfect shot.
Aria: eyes narrowing, ready for it
"Oh, so now I'm your target, huh?"
Jet: smirks, his voice playful
"I'm just making sure your reflexes are on point."
Aria: (without missing a beat, catching the bottle mid-air, her hand steady)
"Nice try, but I'm always on point."
Jet : raises an eyebrow, impressed
"Hm. Didn't expect that. You're actually keeping up."
Aria: taking a sip of water, sitting down beside him with a casual ease
"I don't always miss the easy shots." (pauses, eyeing him sideways) "You're not the only one who can keep up, you know."
Jet: (chuckling, settling next to her)
"Yeah, but don't get too cocky. I might just be throwing things to test you."
Aria: (mock-serious, crossing her legs and leaning in slightly)
"Oh, so now I'm your guinea pig? What's next, a test of my endurance?"
Jet: (leans back against the wall, folding his arms)
"Endurance? We'll see about that. But let's not forget, you're not just here to work on your reflexes, Aria. You need to stay sharp in every way. Especially now."
ARIA: (her voice quieter, still processing his words)
"I know. The prosecutor's death... there's something bigger at play, isn't there?"
Jet: (nods, his expression more serious now)
"Bigger than we realize. Whoever's pulling the strings is well hidden. And they don't just control politics—they control people. Powerful people. Be careful who you trust."
ARIA: softly, almost to herself
"I have to find out who was behind my father downfall. If I don't, this... it'll all be for nothing."
Jet: (turns to her, his voice low)
"And if you find out... are you ready for what comes next?"
ARIA: (staring ahead, her jaw tightening with resolve)
"Whatever it takes."
Jet: (sighs, placing a hand on her shoulder)
"Just remember, it's not just your life at risk anymore. Once you dig too deep, you can't walk away."
ARIA: (looking at him, her eyes full of determination)
"Then I guess I better get good at playing this game."
He stood up and leaned against the ropes, observing her. "You've been to hell and back, Aria. But you won't survive the real fight unless you're prepared for it. Politicians, gang leaders, they don't play by the rules. They'll crush you if you let them."
She eyed him, unsure if this was just another one of his lessons, but there was something serious in his tone now. She nodded slightly, ready to hear more.
He moved toward the punch bag. "Let's see what you've got. You're a quick learner, right?"
Her heart picked up pace. She wasn't much of a fighter, not physically anyway, but if this was how things were going to go, she wasn't going to back down.
"Alright, but don't expect any miracles," she said with a smirk, feeling a rush of defiance.
Without warning, he slid into the ring and beckoned her forward. "Get in. You want to survive, you need to learn how to fight like they do—hard, fast, and with everything you've got."
He threw her a pair of gloves. Aria hesitated but caught them. She pulled them on, the weight of them settling against her hands. Her heart raced, but there was no turning back.
The ring was quiet except for their breathing. He moved in closer, showing her some basic stances and how to throw a punch. At first, her form was shaky—awkward, unsure. But each time he corrected her, she found herself sinking deeper into the rhythm of it. The sweat trickled down her spine, but her focus sharpened.
"Better," he said, after she landed a solid jab on the bag. "You're learning. Just remember, your enemy won't stop coming, and neither should you."
Her fists clenched tighter as she threw another punch, this time with more force. The crack of leather against the bag echoed in the room.
Aria's gloves felt heavier now. Her arms ached from the quick jabs and awkward footwork. She stepped back, panting slightly.
Her mentor watched her in silence, then stepped forward, pulling off his gloves with a casual flick. "You're trying to overpower the target," he said, tossing the gloves aside. "But force alone isn't how you win a fight—not in the ring, and definitely not out there."
Aria narrowed her eyes. "So what, I outsmart them?"
He gave a half-smile, the kind that never quite reached his eyes. "Exactly."
He gestured for her to drop into a defensive stance, then moved slowly around her, like a predator circling prey.
"Everyone has a weakness," he said, tapping his temple. "You just have to look for the patterns—hesitations, overconfidence, blind spots."
He tapped her side with two fingers. "Most people guard the face, but forget the ribs. They focus on the big threats and ignore the subtle ones."
Then, quicker than she expected, he shifted and tapped the back of her knee. Her balance wavered, and she almost fell.
"The legs—control the base, you control the fight."
He circled back in front of her, locking eyes. "Same applies to people in power. Politicians. Criminals. They act untouchable, but underneath the armor is a pressure point. Find it... exploit it."
Aria swallowed, nodding slowly. "So you're saying I don't need to fight harder. Just smarter."
He smiled. "Bingo."
She smirked, tossing her ponytail back. "Guess I'm learning from the best."
He raised an eyebrow. "Flattery won't save you when they come swinging."
She stepped forward again, this time more confident. "Then teach me how to break them before they land a hit."
He nodded. "That's more like it."
Aria collapses onto the bench, chest rising with effort. Her mentor tosses her a towel and a smirk.
"You don't hit like a rookie anymore."
She snorts, wiping her face. "Don't flatter me."
He sits beside her, cracking open a bottle of water. "So? The interview?"
She smiles faintly. "I got it. Officially a prosecutor now, actually waiting for their email".
She pauses. "But… something feels off. Leaving the building, I noticed someone. Same man I saw the day before. I thought it was in my head, but—"
His smile fades.
"You're not just a prosecutor, Aria. You're a target now. You walk into a room, and half the people will want you silenced. Be suspicious. Of everything."
She swallows hard. "Even shadows?"
He looks her straight in the eye. "Especially the shadows."
They stepped into the night, gym door thudding closed behind them. The city had quieted—just the distant hum of tires against asphalt and the low buzz of a street lamp.
They walked in silence for a few blocks, the kind of silence that wasn't awkward—just reflective. Their footsteps echoed faintly off the walls of shuttered shops and apartment buildings. Aria glanced up at the night sky, then at her mentor, who kept his hands in his hoodie pocket, face unreadable.
About three streets down, laughter broke the quiet.
A sleek black car was parked along the curb, headlights off. Three men leaned against it, chatting, one with a half-finished bottle of beer in hand.
"Yo, coach!" one of them called, straightening.
The fighter's mouth twitched into a grin. "Ahh, these bastards…"
"Where you been hiding, man?" another chimed in, stepping forward and slapping his shoulder. "Come have a drink. You look like you're still punching ghosts."
Aria stayed quiet, observing.
He chuckled. "Training. Same old life." Then he turned to her. "You good from here?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I'll get a cab."
He gave her that quiet, serious look again—lowering his voice.
"Remember what I said—stay sharp. They don't care you're new. You wear the badge, you carry the heat. Eyes up, always."
Aria's chest tightened. She nodded. "I will."
"Be careful."
And with that, he turned and joined his friends, already pulling him toward the car, handing him a bottle.
Their voices faded into laughter as they walked off together, disappearing down the street.
Aria stayed on the sidewalk alone, the wind teasing at her jacket, the street suddenly too quiet.
The street was quieter now, lit only by the occasional flicker of faulty street lamps. Aria walked alone, hands tucked into her coat pockets, her mind replaying everything the mentor had said.
Every sound felt louder. A footstep behind her—a flutter of wind. But no one was there.
She quickened her pace.