CHAPTER 125: WINNER...

Arlo surged forward, throwing a barrage of punches that sent Noah sliding back for a few seconds.

But Noah wasn’t a stranger to pain. He grunted, taking a few hits in order to land some of his own.

A few exchanges later, and it seemed like they were evenly matched once more.

But as the fight continued, it was as if they had become clumsy on purpose. Their attacks slowly began losing the sense of class it had and began gaining the effectiveness of alleys.

Arlo hooked his fingers behind Noah’s neck and slammed his head towards Noah’s nose.

Noah ’s hand snapped forward, stopping Arlo’s face, then shoved him back, breaking his grip on his neck.

As Arlo stumbled back, Noah hammered him with a cross. Arlo’s nose began bleeding for the effort.

Roars filled the air from the students, but all Noah could hear was the impatient whispers of his shadows.

"Finish it!" They snarled at him. "End this. He chose his side when he chose silence."

Arlo stumbled. He was getting slower. A kick to his calf had numbed the leg.

"I don’t deserve this from you." He snarled, eyes wide. "I kept your secret too! I told nobody you were—"

And Noah shut it down with a left hook that almost took him off his feet.

Oliver shifted closer to the ring, attention narrowed, the balance point approaching.

Noah feinted to the body and brought it back high. Arlo raised his guard and parried, but the parry didn’t move enough meat.

The punch slid through anyway and kissed the jaw. Arlo’s knees wobbled.

Noah seized the moment with a low kick inside Arlo’s thigh, then an elbow into the cheek, and finished it with a shoulder to the chest.

A short trip sent the blindfolded boy down. He rolled to hands and knees and Noah was there, shoving and striking in messy tandem, not letting up a bit.

Arlo surged upwards in an attempt to break free, and they collided. He tried to frame Noah’s neck and hurl him aside.

Noah sank his weight, stepped around the outside foot, and tore Arlo off balance with a dragging hook of the ankle.

They fell together. Noah landed on top.

He didn’t swing his head. Instead, he pinned Arlo’s wrist with one hand, stuffed the other forearm across Arlo’s throat, not choking, just holding, and drove two short, heavy shots from his knee into Arlo’s ribs.

Arlo gasped like a fish in the air and heaved, trying to buck.

Noah slid with it, refused to be displaced, hammered him again. The fight’s sound narrowed to the wet thud of knee on ribs.

"Enough." Oliver said, stepping forward.

Noah didn’t stop. He kept hitting.

"Enough!" Oliver thundered.

Noah pulled his fist back, before the roar entered his consciousness. He froze, holding the fist in the air.

For a moment, it trembled, Noah’s memory and fury arguing. Then he let the hand fall to the sand and pushed himself back, off Arlo, onto his own heels, chest rising and falling.

Oliver slid between them, hands out. He touched Arlo’s shoulder. "Can you stand?"

Arlo’s answer was a rough laugh that sounded like it hurt. He sat up, winced, and made the effort.

The first try failed. The second brought him to a knee. The third put him on his feet, swaying.

"Winner," Oliver said, turning for the class to hear. "Noah Webb."

The murmurs surged, cresting and breaking like a tide. Some students clapped, the sound small and scattered. Others didn’t.

There were faces pale with secondhand adrenaline. There were faces gleaming with a different kind of excitement.

Noah didn’t raise his hand. He just stood there, sweat crawling down the side of his face, blood on his lip, the cold still steady inside him.

Arlo lifted his head and angled it towards Noah. There was no accusation in it. No plea left. Just a tired acknowledgement.

’Not yet,’ Noah told the thing in him that wanted to finish what Oliver had interrupted. ’Not here.’

Healers hurried from the side doors with satchels and stretchers. The woman at the front glanced at Oliver, got the nod, and split her crew.

Two went for Arlo, voices brisk as they asked him to breathe, to lift an arm, to let them check the ribs. He obeyed until breath hurt too much and then he let them carry him.

The others reached for Noah. He waved them off once, then let them fuss when the world tilted dizzily to the left and he had to set a hand on the attending healer’s shoulder to keep the floor where it belonged.

"You’re both stubborn idiots." Oliver said, voice pitched low for them alone as the healers steadied each boy. "Good. It’ll keep you alive. But next time you want to have a conversation this loud, use words."

Noah’s mouth tugged. It wasn’t a smile. "Words don’t change much."

"Sometimes they change enough." Oliver said, then louder, to the watching class.

"What’s the lesson here? You saw clean technique earlier. You saw grit now. Know both. You’ll need both. Webb wins. Kael, you gave as good as you got. Medical bay, both of you. The rest of you still have your fights. We’re not done."

It was as if a spell had been broken. The students broke into conversation, each one with their opinion on what just happened.

As the healers guided Noah toward the tunnel, he caught the tail end of a stare. Ben Stanley, frozen with one hand gripping the rail, eyes wide. And Damien Krell, arms folded, mouth thin.

Noah looked past them all. The cold inside him didn’t warm with the win. It never did. It simply held.

The healer at his elbow said something about bruising and ice. He nodded without listening.

The stretcher bearing Arlo rolled beside him. He didn’t look over. He didn’t need to see the blindfold to feel the weight of the name.

Kael.

’Almost means nothing,’ he thought, and the thought rang with the iron of his own voice.

They vanished into the tunnel’s shade. Behind them, Oliver’s orders filled the ring as another pair stepped forward for their duel.

Outside, the sky was a vast, clean thing that made promises it never planned to keep.

It soon began to rain.