« Deal, » Evan laughed from the sidelines, thinking it was a joke. « Let’s go, Tyson. Show her. »
But Tyson didn’t laugh. His smirk was back, but it was thinner now, stretched tight over a sudden, inexplicable sense of doubt. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had just agreed to.
Sensei Calder stepped forward, giving the smallest of nods. « Light contact, » he said, but his voice had changed. There was a weight to it now. He stepped back, giving them the center of the mat.
The room’s air thickened. The mat suddenly felt incredibly small, as if the entire dojo had shrunk down to just Isla and Tyson. Every student, every parent, every black belt in the room seemed to hold their breath.
Tyson adjusted his stance. He tried to puff his chest out, trying to look confident, but the swagger that had dominated his morning was gone. There was a visible hesitation in the way he distributed his weight.
Opposite him, my daughter stood like a statue.
Isla’s braid brushed her gi. Her hands were relaxed, hovering loosely near her belt. She didn’t bounce on her toes. She didn’t flare her nostrils or try to look intimidating. Yet somehow, every inch of her presence conveyed a terrifying, unspoken command: I see you. I am ready.
Calder’s eyes swept over her. « Remember, this is about control. Precision. »
