Chapter 6 · free to read
A serve straight at the monster. Every instinct in the gym screamed the same thing: don't wake it up.
I should call timeout. I should pull the plug. Instead I sat back down. Because his eyes were doing the thing again.
There. For one thousandth of a second, the monster committed. Elbow line, hip torque, the angle of that wrist.
One lane. Not the whole monster. Just one. But a man with one lane isn't a wall anymore. He's a door.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.