The mats were cleared.
Most of the fighters had taken a seat along the wall, some sitting on the floor, others standing with their hands on their hips, sweat still drying from their last rounds.
They weren't leaving. No one wanted to miss this.
Damon and James stood across from each other.
There was no music, no loud countdown, just the thudding hum of the AC and the low murmur of voices.
Damon rolled his shoulders back. James tugged lightly at his gloves, adjusting the fit.
This wasn't a fight. But it wasn't a drill either.
They met in the center with a light touch of gloves.
Then they began to move.
James circled to his left, light on his feet. Damon mirrored the pace, staying relaxed, bouncing slightly on his toes. They kept their hands up, eyes fixed on each other's chest, reading for tells.
James feinted a jab.
Damon didn't bite. He edged back, readjusting his stance. Then he slid forward with a low calf kick.
