It landed harder than anything else. I let it sink in and still my buzzing mind.
Lo clapped her hands once, bright and decisive, breaking the moment before it could stretch into something neither of us knew how to hold. “All right, before I start crying and ruin my mascara—we have a plane to catch.”
She reached for my suitcase, already moving, already orchestrating. I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the other, grounding myself in the solid weight of it.
I stepped into the doorway and paused—just for a second.
My father stood where I’d left him, already turning back toward the apartment. Toward the boxes. The paperwork. The life that didn’t stop just because mine was changing.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Not lingering.
Fleeting.
Enough.
I stepped forward.
Lo fell into stride beside me, warm and certain, already talking—flights, weather, boots, plans—pulling me into motion before I could look back again.
The elevator ride blurred. The lobby lights were toobright. The rain had softened to a steady hush by the time we stepped outside.
A town car waited at the curb, sleek and black against the slick street, engine running like it had somewhere to be. The driver stepped out and reached for our bags without asking, practiced and efficient.
For Lo, it was routine.
For me—departure.
I slid into the backseat, the leather cool beneath my palms, the scent of it clean and unfamiliar. Lo followed, already issuing directions in her flawless, lilting Portuguese.
The door shut with a quiet, final sound. The car pulled away from the curb.
Florianópolis blurred past the window—colors bleeding into motion, edges softening, the city letting me go in pieces.
Behind me, my father stayed.
Ahead of me—Chicago.
Midway University.
A life I had fought my way into.
I didn’t look back again.
CHAPTER 1
ALOIS
PRESENT DAY
My fist connected before the whistle ever thought about blowing.
Solid.
Bone on bone, knuckles damp with sweat and heat and impact, his head snapping sideways as the crowd detonated around us—fifteen thousand people on their feet, the sound ripping through the Talon Arena like it had teeth.
Petrov came back at me anyway.