One hour later, the alloy doors had long since sealed shut.
From the outside, the cell seemed dormant save for the muted thuds and distant booms that pulsed through the reinforced walls.
Inside, it was another story.
Don stood in the center, stripped down to black briefs, his body slick with sweat. Each breath came fast, chest rising and falling in hard rhythm.
His hand dragged once across his brow, flinging moisture aside, but his eyes never left the woman in front of him.
Red Star.
Unlike him, her breathing was steady. Sweat clung to her as well, tracing across her shoulders, chest, and abdomen, but her composure hadn't cracked.
Arms crossed, her gaze stayed pinned on him, one bare foot tapping against the alloy floor with controlled impatience.
"In real battle," she said flatly, "there will be no time to catch the breath."
The sound of her foot tapping carried louder than it should have in the pressure-thickened air.
Don dropped his hand, his jaw tightening.
