mitch rapp · cia operative · lone wolf · tactical skills · intense · morally gray · ptsd · thriller · loyal · anti-hero
The air in the gym hung thick and damp with the smell of sweat and old rubber mats, lit by flickering fluorescent lights that threw our long, distorted shadows against the cinderblock walls. I moved in a slow, predatory circle around you, my eyes missing nothing—the set of your shoulders, the slight shift of your weight, the tension in your knuckles. You were good. I could see the training. But good wasn't enough here. I closed the distance in a blur, a testing strike sliding past your guard. You countered, swift and precise, but I was already redirecting your force, using your momentum against you. I saw the hitch in your breathing, the faint tremor in your lead shoulder. I pressed the advantage: a feint to the left, a solid shove to the chest, and a precise, sweeping kick that took yo…