I wipe sweat from my forehead, trying to catch my breath. We've been at this for what feels like hours but is probably only fifteen minutes. My ribs ache, my shoulders burn, and I can feel a bruise forming on my jaw. Kate doesn't look much better - her lip is still bleeding slightly, and she's favoring her left side where I landed a solid hit earlier.

  "You're not going all out," I say, my voice rougher than I expected. "Use your powers. For real."

  Kate's eyes dart around the empty court, searching for invisible observers. "Are you insane? Someone could see."

  "Nothing visible after it leaves your skin," I counter. "No one will see. Stop holding back."

  She hesitates. Then, she shifts her stance to something lower, more aggressive. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

  Kate closes the distance with a double jab feint that I'm ready for. I parry the first, block the second with my forearm, but she grabs my blocking arm with both hands. There's no visual change, but suddenly I smell something sharp and chemical - like vodka but stronger, more industrial. My head swims for a split second as the fumes hit my sinuses.

  That momentary disorientation is all she needs. Her palm drives into my sternum with surprising force, sending me staggering backward, fighting to catch my breath.

  "That's more like it," I wheeze, resetting my stance.

  I push forward with a combination - jab, cross, hook - trying to back her into a corner. Kate weaves around the jab, slips the cross, ducks under the hook. She's moving like water, all that training finally coming together into something smooth and dangerous.

  Then she lunges forward, closing distance faster than I can react. Both hands clamp onto my face, fingers digging into my cheeks. Before I can break her grip, I feel something release directly against my eyes, and-

  Fire. Pure liquid fire.

  I stagger back, hands clawing at my face. My eyes burn like they've been dunked in acid, tears streaming down my cheeks. Pepper spray. She just pepper sprayed me directly in the face.

  "Jesus fuck!" I shout, voice breaking as I try to blink away the pain. It only makes it worse. "What the hell, Kate?"

  "You said not to hold back," she replies, her voice coming from somewhere to my left.

  I can hear her moving, footsteps on the court surface, but I can't see a damn thing through the chemical burn and tears. A fist connects with my ribs - once, twice, three times in rapid succession, light and airy, like a bee sting. My blood sense is still working, but it takes a second to adjust, to just... move through the pain. Hard to focus on the red when I'm literally seeing red.

  I can't see her with my eyes, but I can track her movements.

  She's circling to my right now, looking for another opening. I pivot, following the blood signal, raising my guard in anticipation. When she strikes, I'm ready - a block, then a counter that connects with something solid. I hear her grunt in surprise.

  "Lucky shot," she mutters.

  "Not luck," I reply, wiping ineffectually at my burning eyes. "You're not the only one with tricks."

  Kate adjusts her strategy, moving more erratically, but my blood sense tracks her everywhere. She's within my range; there's no escaping it. Her heartbeat, the rush of blood through her carotid, the subtle shifts in circulation as she prepares to strike - all of it paints a picture more precise than vision.

  She attempts a clinch, grabbing for my shoulders. I'm ready this time, letting teeth pierce through the skin of my forearms as she makes contact. She hisses in pain, releasing her grip as the sharp points cut into her palms.

  "Dirty move, Small," she says, creating distance again.

  "Says the girl who pepper sprayed me," I shoot back, throwing a hook that connects with her side. The impact is solid, and I feel a surge of satisfaction - I don't need my eyes to fight.

  Kate counters with a knee strike that I manage to block, but she's already moving again, circling, looking for weakness. I track her through the burning haze, my blood sense becoming clearer as I focus entirely on it.

  This isn't a street fight. We're not aiming for KOs. We don't want to end this as fast as possible.

  Just pain.

  Our next clinch brings another surprise. As we grapple, I smell something sweet, almost medicinal. The effect is immediate - a wave of light-headedness that makes the edges of my concentration blur. Against my will, a giggle escapes my throat.

  "What the - " I manage before Kate's fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head back. She secures another clinch, hands locked behind my neck, and throws me. I roll with the impact, muscle memory from endless training sessions with Rampart taking over, and come up in a fighting stance despite still being effectively blind.

  "Laughing gas?" I ask, spitting blood onto the court.

  "Nitrous oxide," she confirms. "Borrowed it from a dentist."

  "Borrowed," I repeat, tracking her movement through my blood sense. "Like you 'borrowed' the pepper spray?"

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "You wanted me to stop holding back."

  She's alternating now - sometimes it's the alcohol smell, sometimes the sweet nitrous, both designed to create momentary disorientation. I counter by growing teeth at strategic points - wrists, forearms, shoulders - making her wary of prolonged contact. It becomes a strange dance, neither of us able to fully commit to grappling, both landing strikes then creating distance. Testing. Testing. Testing. Poking.

  The fight drags on, both of us tiring. My legs feel heavy, each breath a little more labored than the last. Kate's movements are slowing too, but she's still dangerous. She lands three consecutive kicks to my thigh, each one precisely targeting the same spot. My leg buckles slightly on the third impact.

  "Getting tired, Shark Week?" she taunts, circling again.

  "You wish," I reply, though we both know it's true. My regeneration doesn't help nearly enough for sustained combat like this. I need her to break my leg or give me a concussion. Then I'll really get going.

  I can sense her stepping back, gathering momentum for something bigger. My blood sense shows her heart rate spike, blood rushing to her legs as she prepares for a powerful strike. She launches forward, and I can almost feel the air displacement as her leg whips toward my head - a perfectly executed high side kick aimed directly at my temple, the top of her foot about to crack my skull open.

  There's no time to dodge. If that connects, I'm going down hard.

  Acting on pure instinct, I clench my jaw and simultaneously push teeth through the skin on the side of my face, creating a jagged armor plate where her foot is about to land. The impact sends a shock wave through my skull, vibrating down my neck into my shoulders, but the teeth absorb most of the force, breaking into a small cloud of white dust and ash. My head barely moves.

  Kate's gasp is audible in the quiet night. She didn't expect me to still be standing.

  I seize my chance, grabbing her extended leg with both hands while she's still off-balance. Using every ounce of strength I have left, I yank downward and sideways, pulling her foot out from under her.

  As she stumbles, I pivot, putting my entire body behind a cross punch aimed at her sternum. This is it - all or nothing. If this connects clean, she's done.

  But Kate isn't finished. Her torso twists slightly as she exhales sharply - a perfect kiai that stabilizes her core. "Hup!" Her right hand catches my wrist mid-punch while her left seizes my elbow. I hit, but only glancing - she turns into it, totally deflecting my energy. Using my own momentum against me, she executes a textbook aikido throw that sends me flying.

  Damnit. I threw another crazy mack truck haymaker.

  I hit the court hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs, stars dancing behind my still-burning eyelids. Before I can recover, Kate drops onto my torso, straddling me, her weight pinning me to the ground. I'm out of juice. Getting thrown onto the ground, kicked, punch - fights are normally over faster than this. Multiplex's spars go on for three minutes. This feels like it's been hours. Ten, fifteen minutes of just blow by blow by blow.

  I'm out of juice.

  "I win," she declares, breathing hard.

  I refuse to concede, jabbing stiffened fingers into her floating ribs. She gasps, doubling over, and I attempt one final, desperate haymaker. But there's nothing left in the tank. My arm feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and the punch barely has enough force to disturb her hair.

  We both collapse then, side by side on the basketball court, chests heaving, limbs leaden with exhaustion. The night sky spins lazily above us, stars blurring through my tear-filled eyes.

  "You were taking it easy on me. That armor trick," Kate says between ragged breaths. "When did you figure that out?"

  "Few weeks ago," I manage, blinking repeatedly as my eyes slowly start to recover. Everything is still red and blurry, but I can make out vague shapes now. "Only works for impact though. Doesn't do shit against throws."

  "No kidding." She coughs, wincing as she prods her side where I jabbed her. "Clever trick. But cleverness only gets you so far."

  "You sound like Jordan. Or, like, anti-Jordan," I counter, wiping my face with my tank top, which just smears sweat and tears around. "I'd complain about you not fighting fair, but I did ask for that."

  "That's why I'll always win," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice without having to see it.

  We lie there in silence for a while, neither of us having the energy to move. My eyes are starting to clear, the worst of the burning fading to a persistent irritation. I risk a glance at Kate. She's staring up at the stars, her profile outlined in the dim light, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

  "You're really good," I admit quietly.

  Kate turns her head to look at me, surprise evident even in my blurry vision. "You sound shocked."

  "Not shocked. Impressed." I push myself up onto my elbows, wincing at the various pains that flare up with the movement. "All this time, I thought..."

  "You thought I was just playing dress-up," she finishes for me. "That's why I had to be better. I didn't have a choice."

  "You always had a choice," I say, but the words sound hollow even to me.

  "Did I?" She sits up, pulling her knees to her chest. "When your best friend gets superpowers and joins the Young Defenders, when she's out there saving people while you're stuck working corner stores to make ends meet, what choice is there?"

  I don't have an answer for that. Not a good one, anyway.

  "I'm sorry," I say finally. "For leaving you behind. I never meant to."

  Kate shrugs, but the casualness of the gesture is betrayed by the tension in her shoulders. "Water under the bridge."

  "Is it?"

  She doesn't answer right away, just picks at a scab forming on her knuckle. "It has to be, doesn't it? Next week, I'm someone else. Kay. Or whatever."

  "We'll figure something out," I say, because I can't accept the alternative. "This isn't goodbye forever."

  "Maybe not," she concedes, though she doesn't sound convinced. "You think I'm going to stop?"

  "No," I admit.

  "Me neither," she says, and I realize that she was asking a question, not asking rhetorically.

  We fall into silence again, both too exhausted to continue fighting - either physically or verbally. The night air feels cooler now against my sweat-dampened skin, and I shiver slightly.

  "We should go," Kate says, finally breaking the silence. "Before we get caught or catch pneumonia."

  "Yeah," I agree, but neither of us moves.

  "That was a good cross at the end," she says suddenly. "If I hadn't countered, you might have won."

  I snort. "Bullshit. You had me beat from the start."

  "Not from the start," she corrects. "But by the end? Yeah."

  She stands with a groan, her body clearly protesting every movement. Once up, she extends a hand to me. I take it, letting her pull me to my feet. We stand there for a moment, hands still clasped, both of us battered and bruised but somehow lighter than when we started.

  "Do I look as bad as I feel?" I ask, attempting to lighten the mood.

  Kate studies me, head tilted slightly. "Worse, probably. Your eyes are totally bloodshot, and you've got bruises forming pretty much everywhere I hit you."

  "Which was everywhere."

  "Pretty much." She smiles, a small, genuine thing that reaches her eyes. "You'll heal though. Always do."

  "And you'll..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that thought.

  "I'll adapt," she says simply. "Always do."

  We make our way off the court, each step reminding me of a different injury. Tomorrow, most of them will be healed, thanks to my powers. Kate doesn't have that luxury. She'll be feeling every hit, every bruise, every strained muscle for days.

  Yet somehow, she still won. Fair and square, ish.

  "Are we good?" I ask, suddenly needing to know.

  Kate follows my gaze back to the court, then looks at me, really looks at me, her eyes reflecting the distant streetlights.

  "Yeah," she says. "We're good."