CHAPTER 3 :Fists and Ghosts

The gym was empty save for the rhythmic sound of fists against a heavy bag. Alexander threw punch after punch, his muscles screaming, his body begging for rest. But rest was not something he allowed himself.

A younger fighter—a kid with more heart than skill—approached him. "Hey, Voss. Teach me that hook you used last fight?"

Alexander regarded him for a moment before nodding. He demonstrated the movement, correcting the boy's stance. "Your power comes from the ground up. Without balance, you have nothing."

The kid grinned. "Thanks, man."

Alexander watched him go, an unfamiliar warmth settling in his chest. It was small, fleeting. But it was there.

That night, his dreams were haunted by ghosts. A man's face—twisted in pain, blood pooling beneath him. Alexander's hands covered in red. A voice whispering: "You'll never outrun this."

He woke in a cold sweat, the past pressing against his ribs like a blade.

Maybe Eve was right. Maybe the past never let go.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was time he stopped running.

Then, his phone buzzed. A single message flashed on the screen:

"We need to talk. Now."

The sender? Someone he never thought he'd hear from again.