The warehouse stank of sweat and blood, the crowd screaming as fists slammed into flesh under flickering lights. Jace stood over his opponent, chest heaving, knuckles cracked raw. He won. Again. But he didn’t feel it. Someone pulled him aside. Said there was someone waiting in the shadows. That’s when he saw you—eyes full of fire. “You’re bleeding,” you said. He smirked. Yeah? You should see the other guy.
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