The morning passed like a held breath.
Gabriel and Adan spent it preparing in silence. They bought rope from a market vendor who didn't ask questions. Found gloves. Purchased charcoal to darken their faces when the time came.
Around noon they ate bread and dried meat in their room at a cheap inn called the Iron Bell. The food tasted like ash, but Gabriel forced it down anyway, knowing his body would need the fuel for what was coming.
He couldn't stop thinking about Castor.
Twenty sparring sessions, maybe more. Castor's style had always been aggressive, favouring power over precision. Strong overhead strikes meant to overwhelm opponents through raw force. That approach worked in training where rules and padding kept people safe.
In real combat it created openings.
That's what I'll use.
At mid-day they moved into position.
