"That's Rosa Calderón," Caleb explains quietly. "Ex-military, single mom, teaches half our community classes. Don't let the size fool you—she once flipped Knox over her hip during a demo. He sulked for a week."
Beside Rosa, a young girl—maybe twelve, maybe thirteen—tries to mimic her every move. Her punches are small, but her face is fierce with concentration. Something about her intensity makes my chest tighten unexpectedly.
"That's Lucia," Caleb murmurs, following my gaze. "Rosa's daughter. First one to clock me in the ribs during a takedown demo."
I can't help but raise an eyebrow. "You let her?"
Caleb winces, hand instinctively touching his side as if reliving the moment. "Define 'let.'"
On the mat, Rosa demonstrates a wrist break technique, her movements precise and fluid. She steps back and nods to Lucia. "Again. Think, then move."
Lucia bites her lip, brow furrowed in concentration, then snaps into motion. Her form wobbles slightly, but she finishes strong. Rosa taps her shoulder once—proud, quiet approval—before turning to spot Caleb lingering at the edge of the mats.
"You skipping your own class now?" Rosa calls out, voice sharp as cracked ice—but there's a smile tugging at her lips that softens the reprimand.
Caleb throws up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm on tour duty, Coach."
"You're on ego recovery duty," she fires back without missing a beat, then glances at me with a warmer nod. "You new?"
I hesitate, uncomfortable under the direct attention. Everyone in this place seems to look at you like they're cataloging weaknesses and strengths in equal measure.
"Just visiting," I reply neutrally.
Rosa studies me—not rudely, just assessing. Like a woman who's seen more than she says. "Well. If you stick around, we've got a spot on the mat. No experience needed. Just a reason."
Lucia pipes up from the corner, eyes bright with mischief as she points at Caleb. "And a mouthguard. He talks a lot when he's losing."
Caleb clutches his chest dramatically. "Ouch, betrayed by my protégée."
"You love it," Rosa says with a knowing look before turning back to me. Her voice softens slightly, though her spine remains steel. "You don't have to fight the world alone."
The words catch me off-guard. But I don't answer.
I just watch them—the woman teaching her daughter to stand her ground, the laughter woven into resilience—and for one fragile heartbeat, I wish I'd met people like this before the world cracked open.
Before I became the kind of person who sleeps with a knife under her pillow.
Caleb steers me away with a hand hovering near but not touching my elbow, respecting boundaries I haven't voiced but somehow knew I have.
We continue through the compound, and I meet pieces of the team that make this place run.
As we round another corner, Caleb nods toward a hulking figure inspecting equipment across the room. "The mountain over there is Ryker Quinn. We call him Ryk. Former... well, let's just say his resume isn't for the faint of heart. Extraction specialist. If you're trapped somewhere, he's who you want coming for you."
I catch Ryker's eye briefly—massive, brooding, with the kind of presence that makes even hardened men step aside. He nods at me like he's scanning for weak points, measuring how many seconds it would take to neutralize me if necessary.
"And you've already met our ray of sunshine, Knox Walker," Caleb continues as we pass the man from earlier in a narrow hallway.
Knox Walker doesn't even bother nodding when our paths cross. He just walks past with the silence of a ghost, dark eyes flicking over me once before dismissing whatever he sees.
"Not much for conversation, is he?" I murmur as Knox's back disappears around a corner.
"Knox speaks when it matters," Caleb replies with a shrug. "Rest of the time, the silence does the talking. Best sniper I've ever seen. He's saved all our asses more times than I can count."
But apparently, there's one member of the team I haven’t seen yet.
"That's Asa Vale's domain," Caleb says, pointing to a glass-enclosed tech station surrounded by monitors and blinking equipment.
"Our eyes and ears. He sees everything." He gestures to a cluster of discreet cameras mounted near the ceiling. "He's probablywatching you right now. Surveillance genius. Not big on face-to-face unless absolutely necessary."
