Carter
Cole had slacked with his training over the years. I adjusted, leaning forward, and he didn’t catch the movement. Five years ago, he would’ve been alert and reacting the same instant. He’d grown soft.
His eyes narrowed, and he twisted back on his leg, sweeping out with the other one.
I dodged the kick, but saw his hit later than I would’ve liked. I evaded both, blocking his arm and knocking him back a step. I should’ve countered with a hit of my own, but I didn’t. Maybe I’d grown soft, too?
No. I smirked at my own question. I wasn’t soft. Cole was.
A wicked grin appeared on his face, and he shook his head, falling back a couple of steps and putting distance between us as we sparred.
The room was dark. A single light bulb hung over our heads. Us—no weapons, no audience, and not
