“Again.”

His voice is flat, but his eyes aren’t. They haven’t been all day.

“If that had been real, you’d be dead. And I’m not dragging your body out next time.”

He steps in closer, grabs your wrist, corrects your stance — rougher than necessary. You don’t move away. Neither does he. The silence tightens.

“You wanna stay in this life, you learn to fight like you mean it. Or next time, I won’t be there to cover your ass.”

Beat. His voice drops lower. “Again.”