Page 53 of Bloom in Darkness

Forrest’s gaze drops to the bag at Astra’s side. “If you draw anything embarrassing, I want a copy before Bryn sees it.”

Astra smiles. “That can probably be arranged.” Forrest gives a quiet huff that might be a laugh before stepping around us.

“You’ll fit in fine,” Forrest says over his shoulder before disappearing into the next corridor.

Astra watches him go. “That was warmer than I expected.”

“That was Forrest being charming.” I start toward the box, and Astra follows after another second.

The private box is quieter once I pull the heavy door shut behind us. The glass cuts most of the arena noise, leaving the crowd as a low vibration under our feet instead of a wall of sound, and Astra goes straight to the window while the lighting crew finishes its checks below.

“The ring looks bigger from up here.” Astra rests both hands against the glass.

“It’ll feel smaller once there are two people in it trying to hurt each other.” I stop beside him.

Astra glances over his shoulder. “Very comforting.” He drops into one of the leather chairs for all of five seconds before getting back up again.

“What do you actually do on nights like this?” Astra asks.

I lean against the console beside the glass. “Whatever needs doing. Keep the card moving. Deal with fighters who think rules are suggestions. Deal with people upstairs who think money means they can walk wherever they want. Forrest handles the big picture; I take whatever’s trying to catch fire.”

Astra looks back toward the ring. “And Bryn?”

I follow his gaze. “When he’s fighting, I watch.”

He turns fully toward me. “Always?”

“Always.” There’s nothing to think about.

Astra studies my face for a second before looking back toward the tunnel. “Does he look for you?”

“Every time.”

The first undercard bout starts while we’re still talking. When one fighter keeps giving up the center, I point to his lead foot. “He’s buying an angle. Watch where he steps when the other guy comes forward.”

Astra follows the next exchange by balance, weight transfer, and the line of a shoulder before the strike lands. When the round ends, he reaches for his sketchbook.

“You always pick the part nobody else is looking at,” I tell him as I glance at the page.

Astra shades the line of the man’s neck with his thumb. “That’s usually the interesting part.” He closes the book when the arena lights dim again for Bryn’s entrance.

The arena lights drop. Astra’s entire attention shifts toward the tunnel as the crowd builds into something physical enough to feel through the floor, and when Bryn steps into the light with his shoulders loose and his face empty, Astra goes quiet beside me.

People mistake Bryn’s size for the dangerous part of him. His real advantage is patience: he’s patient enough to let the other man make the first mistake, never chasing an opening that isn’t there or getting rattled because somebody wants him to. I know the exact set of his shoulders when he’s serious, and I know the way his left hand hangs a little lower when he’s baiting somebody into believing there’s room to come over the top.

Astra leans closer to the glass. “He looks different.”

I keep my eyes on Bryn. “He is.”

Astra glances at me. “Are you worried?”

“Always a little.” I rest one hand against the console. “I know he can handle himself. I also know how much damage somebody can do in thirty seconds if something goes wrong.”

Astra looks at me instead of Bryn for a moment. "That’s why you stay close," he says, and I nod before the referee brings them together and the bell cuts off anything else we might’ve said.

Bryn’s opponent comes forward hard, a broad Alpha with a reputation for ending fights early. Bryn gives him ground instead of meeting him in the center, drawing a reaction from the crowd because they think he’s yielding.

“Watch his feet, not his hands.” I point toward Bryn as the Alpha throws wide and heavy, trying to trap him against the ropes. “He’s making him overcommit.” Bryn pivots before the angle closes and answers with one short hook to the body, then another.