Simple beginnings do not guarantee simple ends…

The rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the gym as Page snapped the clamps
onto the barbell. Sweat streaked her brow, her rocket-red hair tied into a high
ponytail, sharpening the determined angles of her face.

Page exhaled once, steady and controlled, before sinking into a squat. The weight
pressed into her shoulders — a familiar burden.

The gym was her sanctuary.
Her battlefield.
The place where she forged her body into something that could endure anything.

“You’re here earlier than usual,” came Thomas’s voice, cutting through the steady
rhythm of her workout.

Her manager leaned against the doorway, suit slightly rumpled, cup of steaming
coffee in hand. He looked out of place among the racks of weights and punching
bags, but the expression on his face was familiar — a mixture of amusement and
mild exasperation.

“Gotta stay sharp,” Page half yelled over her music without breaking form.

She finished her last rep and racked the bar with a metallic clink. Grabbing a
towel, she wiped her face and turned toward him.

“What’s got you up at dawn? Thought you’d be nursing a hangover from
schmoozing sponsors last night.”

Thomas smirked. “I’ll have you know I’m a professional. No hangovers, just
business. Speaking of which — tonight.”

Page arched a brow, tossing the towel onto her raggedy gym bag. Then added the
clips as she reracked.

“The meet-and-greet? Pretty straightforward. Smile, sign some autographs,
shirts and selfies. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Thomas said, though his tone suggested there clearly was.

He took a sip of coffee, gaze flicking to her hands as she began wrapping them for
some bag work.

“But it’s a decent crowd this time. Lots of eyes. Keep your energy up, charm them a
little. Sell the brand.”

Page snorted. “Right. Because I’m the poster child for charm.”

Thomas chuckled. “You’ve got more charm than you think, Red. Just don’t scare
off the newbies.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at her lips. Annoying
as he could be, Thomas had been in her corner for years — half manager, half big
brother, and occasionally an overbearing mother hen.

“Anything else?” she asked, throwing a few sharp jabs into the punching bag.

Thomas hesitated.

She froze mid-swing.

“Spit it out.”

“Just… keep your eyes open tonight.” His voice dropped, losing its usual easy
cadence. “There’s been chatter. Weird vibes. New faces asking the wrong kinds of
questions. Probably nothing — but I want you ready.”

Page crossed her arms. “Trouble?”

“I don’t know yet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But you’re smart. You’ll notice
things before I do. Just promise me you’ll stay alert.”

“Fine,” she said with a short laugh. “But if this is another one of your dramatic
hunches, you’re buying breakfast.”

“Deal,” he said, though the tension in his shoulders lingered.

He checked his watch and straightened.

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to it. Don’t kill yourself before tonight.”

“No promises,” she called as he stepped out.

When the door clicked closed, Page hit the bag again — harder this time. The chain
rattled overhead as the force of her punch sent it swinging.

Whatever was coming, she’d be ready.

It was a shame, really.

Maybe she would’ve skipped the event if she’d known.

Known about the man waiting on the far side of the street — still as a statue, carved
from shadow despite the morning sun.

Watching Thomas leave the gym.