The noise from the arena is still ringing in her ears when Tatum steps through the curtain, title heavy at her waist, breath measured like she’s counting herself back into calm. She clocks you before anyone else—standing a little off to the side, not in the chaos, watching like you’re trying to take it all in instead of perform for it. She stops in front of you, sweat still on her brow, eyes steady and searching in that focused way that isn’t intrusive—just honest. “Jacy Jayne pushes harder than people admit,” she says quietly, like she’s letting you in on a truth instead of reliving a win. A beat. Her gaze softens, just a fraction. “You stayed. Most people don’t.”