They laughed when an elite soldier shoved her across the training mat, right up until her counter-punch dropped him like a stone.

The sound of leather hitting canvas echoed through the empty gym like small, controlled pistol shots.

For twenty minutes, Maya and Knox moved within the boundaries of the white circle. There was no malice, no pride, and no brutal knockout blows. Maya delivered fast, controlled strikes that landed with precise, measured pressure against Knox’s guard—testing his balance, breaking his rhythm, forcing him to adapt his footwork to counter a faster, more agile opponent.

Knox didn't fall. He absorbed the strikes, adjusted his shoulders, and delivered compact, defensive counter-punches that showed he was finally understanding the economy of motion required for high-level hand-to-hand combat.

By two-thirty, both of them were drenched in sweat, their breath coming in heavy, synchronized rhythms under the harsh white light.

Maya stepped back, dropping her hands to her sides, stepping outside the boundary of the white ring.

"Set complete," she declared quietly.

Knox lowered his hands, breathing heavily through his nose, his broad chest heaving as he wiped sweat from his eyes with his forearm. He looked at Maya, then bowed his head slightly in a gesture of absolute, genuine respect.

"Thank you, Ma'am," Knox said, his raspy voice clear and firm.

"Don't thank me, Sergeant," Maya replied, unwrapping the white tape from her hands and tossing the used strips into a nearby trash bin. "Thank your Master Sergeant. He’s the one who kept you from making a bigger mistake in Building 314."

Vance stepped out from the shadows, stepping onto the rubber mat alongside Kane.

"Get to the showers, Knox," Vance ordered smoothly. "You have primary PT instruction at zero-six-hundred."

"Yes, Master Sergeant," Knox replied, grabbing his towel and walking quietly toward the locker room doors, his heavy footsteps echoing down the dark corridor until the door clicked shut behind him.

Vance turned to look at his daughter, his hard, granite face relaxing into a soft, rare expression of parental warmth.

"Blake is in federal custody," Vance reported softly. "The Department of Justice has already seized his offshore accounts in Switzerland. The remaining Division Four operators are being placed under dark protection protocols as we speak."

Maya nodded slowly, looking down at her bare, calloused palms.