Chapter 18 - CLEANING THE MAT
By two o'clock in the morning, the heavy rain over Fort Bragg had tapered off into a fine, misting drizzle.
Inside Building 302, the vast gymnasium was dark and quiet. The forty soldiers who had trained there hours earlier had long since returned to their barracks, leaving behind an empty, silent floor that smelled faintly of floor disinfectant and damp canvas.
A single overhead light strip remained lit above the central white ring on the black rubber floor.
Maya Vance stood in the center of the ring.
She had stripped off her dark grey jacket, wearing only her olive tank top and dark cargo pants once again. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid, her hands wrapped neatly in fresh white athletic tape.
Standing across from her on the black rubber mat was Sergeant Knox.
His jaw was heavily bandaged, a thick ice pack strapped around his chin with white medical tape. His eyes were downcast, his posture broad but entirely lacking the boastful, aggressive swagger he had carried during the afternoon workout.
Beside the mat stood Vance and Kane, watching silently from the shadows of the kettlebell racks.
Maya held her hands up in a low, neutral guard position.
"Again," Maya said flatly, her tone leaving no room for discussion.
Knox hesitated, shifting his heavy weight from his left foot to his right. "Miss Vance... Master Sergeant Vance said I shouldn't—"
"Master Sergeant Vance isn't on the mat, Sergeant," Maya interrupted smoothly. "You spent three weeks boasting that no civilian could handle a senior infantry instructor. You spent three weeks telling your squad that size and weight are the only variables that matter in a hot room."
Knox swallowed hard, wincing as the movement pulled against his bruised jaw.
"I was wrong," Knox admitted quietly, his voice raspy through his bandage.
"You weren't wrong about the physics, Knox," Maya said, taking one small, light step forward, closing the distance between them by six inches. "You were wrong about the discipline. When you enter a fight assuming your opponent is weaker than you, you've already lost half your reaction time. Now raise your guard and show me you learned something today."
Knox looked at Vance, who offered a single, imperceptible nod of approval from the shadows.
Knox raised his heavy, leather-wrapped fists, dropping into a wide, stable defensive stance. He didn't rush. He didn't throw a wild, telegraphic left hook like he had six hours earlier. He stayed light on his toes, keeping his elbows tucked tight against his ribs to protect his midsection.
Maya smiled faintly—a fast, microscopic flash of approval that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
May you like
"Better," she murmured.
She moved.
