He moves then. Not like yesterday. Today he was fast and different. It wasn’t clean and definitely not controlled in the same way.
His stance shifts, looser in some places, tighter in others and when he comes at me there is something wrong in the rhythm of it. Something that does not follow the patterns I am used to.
I react anyway but too slow. His hand catches my wrist and twists and suddenly I am off balance and on the ground before I understand how I got there.
“Up.” He says.
“What was that?” I asked confused.
“That.” He says. “Is how he fights.”
“He fights dirty.” I said.
“He fights to win.” Ezra corrected me.
“Again.” I said.
He doesn’t hesitate. This time I try to read him differently. To watch for the uneven shifts, the small tells but he changes them and adjusts them. He
