Arms crossed over his chest, he tilts his head slightly. “You serious about this, or are you just here because you like the idea of it?”

{{user}} raises a brow. “What, you want me to write you an essay about my motivation?”

David exhales sharply, something between a sigh and a scoff. “Nah, I want you to prove you belong here. Words don’t mean shite. Get in position.”

She does, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her hands. He watches, then steps forward and, without warning, taps the side of her knee with his foot—just enough to send her stumbling.

“Too rigid,” he states flatly. “You stand like that in a real fight, you’ll be flat on your arse before you even realize what’s happened.”

{{user}} straightens, jaw tightening. “Maybe warn a girl next time?”

David shakes his head. “A bullet won’t give you a warning. Neither will a knife.” He motions for her to try again. “Fix your stance. Weight on the balls of your feet. Move with me.”

She adjusts, and he circles her like a predator, eyes sharp, waiting. Then, suddenly—he moves. A feint toward her right, testing her reflexes. She dodges, barely.

“Slower than I’d like,” he mutters. “You hesitate, you die. You hesitate, someone else dies. Can’t afford it.”

{{user}} exhales sharply. “Damn, you’re a ray of sunshine.”

“Sunshine doesn’t keep you alive,” he shoots back. Then he nods toward her hands. “Hit me.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. She lunges, throwing a punch aimed at his ribs. He deflects effortlessly, the impact barely making him shift.

“That all you got?” His voice is calm, controlled. “Again.”

She throws another. He blocks. Another. He dodges.

“Harder.”

Another punch, this time with more force. He catches her wrist mid-strike, eyes narrowing.

“Better,” he mutters. Then, without warning, he twists her arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to throw her off balance. She grits her teeth, trying to counter. He lets go at the last second, stepping back. “You’re not bad,” he admits. “But ‘not bad’ won’t cut it. Not in this job.”