The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the training field. I stood in the middle of the open space, rolling my shoulders and bouncing on my toes, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the contest. Devin was already there, stretching lazily with his back to me. He had his usual air of confidence, like this was just another day.
For him, maybe it was. For me, it felt like everything depended on this.
I tightened the straps on my gloves, focusing on the small, familiar ritual. It gave me something to anchor to before the chaos started. Devin finally turned around, motioning for me to step forward. No words were exchanged—we both knew why we were here.
I squared up, planting my feet firmly on the ground. Devin didn't wait for me to prepare any further. He lunged, fast and deliberate. I barely managed to dodge his first strike, feeling the air ripple as his fist passed by my face.
I spun on my heel, countering with a sharp kick aimed at his side. He caught it effortlessly, smirking as he pushed me off balance. I stumbled but recovered quickly, refusing to let him get the upper hand so soon.
The rhythm of our movements quickly settled into a pattern—strike, dodge, counter, repeat. Devin was faster than me, his reflexes honed from years of practice. But I had power, and I wasn't afraid to use it.
I focused, letting my hair extend into tendrils, whipping them toward him in quick, precise strikes. He weaved between them, light on his feet, but one managed to graze his arm. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he retaliated with a burst of speed.
The impact of his next move sent me skidding backward, my boots digging into the dirt to stop my momentum. My chest heaved as I regained my footing, sweat already starting to bead on my forehead.
Devin didn't slow down. He pressed the attack, forcing me to stay on the defensive. Every move he made was calculated, a test to see how far he could push me.
I gritted my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter. My muscles burned as I fought back, each strike becoming more aggressive. I channeled the frustration from the contest, from the voice in my head, from the way Devin had brushed it off earlier.
He blocked my punches with ease, his stance remaining solid. "Focus," I reminded myself silently. "Don't let him distract you."
The world around us blurred as we moved faster, the sound of our training echoing across the empty field. My hair tendrils lashed out again, this time weaving together to create a shield as Devin closed the distance between us. He hesitated for a split second, giving me the opening I needed.
I surged forward, using the tendrils to pull myself closer to him. My fist connected with his shoulder, throwing him off balance. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make him step back.
For a brief moment, I felt a spark of satisfaction. Then Devin recovered, and the tables turned.
He shifted his weight, sweeping my legs out from under me before I could react. I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me.
Devin stood over me, offering a hand. I stared at it for a moment, considering my options. Swallowing my pride, I took it, letting him pull me to my feet.
The training wasn't over yet, and we both knew it.
I stepped back, resetting my stance. My arms ached, my legs felt like lead, but I wasn't done. Not yet.
Devin raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in his expression. I met it head-on, launching myself at him with everything I had.
We sparred until the sun dipped below the horizon, the field bathed in the soft glow of twilight. By the time we called it quits, my body was screaming in protest, every muscle pushed to its limit.
Devin didn't say a word as we walked back toward the squad room, the silence between us comfortable. This wasn't about winning or losing—it was about pushing each other to be better.
As we reached the door, I glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
Weirdo.