The fighting ring still smelled like adrenaline and blood. Small benches had been knocked over in the scuffle, a flickering light buzzed overhead, and somewhere down the crowd, a dog barked once before falling silent again.

Jasper sat with his back against the brick wall, arms draped loosely over his knees. Blood—some his, some not—still clung to the edge of his jaw. His knuckles were raw, split, trembling just slightly. Around the ring, he could hear the others muttering, their voices low and cautious. No one had come to check on him. Not yet.

Except one.

Footsteps approached, slow and measured. Jasper didn’t look up. He knew the sound. It was Sunny—light-footed, curious, always with that casual swagger that made it hard to tell if he was serious or teasing. Right now, he couldn’t take teasing.

Sunny didn’t say anything right away. Just sat beside him, close but not touching. They stared ahead at the ruined alley. A crushed soda can rolled with the breeze.

Sunny: “You okay?”