The voice arrives without warning.
I am alone in the small training annex behind the eastern range, the one most people avoid because the lighting is uneven and the mats still smell faintly of old sweat and disinfectant. I had come here to move, to let the residual tension from the last few days burn itself out through repetition. Forms. Footwork.
The clean geometry of the dagger work that has always felt more natural in my hands than any longer blade. My body is warm. My breathing is steady. For a few minutes the only sounds are the soft impact of my feet and the quiet rush of air through my lungs.
Then the system speaks.
