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Maurice intercepted me before I could even reach the staging corridor. He pressed a thick, folded packet into my hand. I could feel the edges of bills inside.

“Your cut,” he said. “You move well. Crowd liked you. That kind of poise under pressure is useful.”

“Glad to be of service,” I said dryly, tucking the envelope into my gym bag.

His gaze sharpened. “Less useful,” he added, “is how curious you are.”

I went still.

“I don’t need a man in my rotation who can’t mind his own business,” he continued. “You keep trying to mother my prospects, we’re going to have a problem.”

“I’m not nosy,” I said, jaw tight. “I’m concerned. That kid earlier—Tyler—he was already compromised. My job, my entire life, has been about keeping people like him alive. Watching out for newbies, rookies, civilians. Told you that’s not something I just switch off because you put cash in my hand.”

“And I told you you’d better learn,” Maurice repeated, voice like ice. “Or decide this isn’t for you.”

We stared at each other.

“I heard what he said,” I said quietly. “About missing the ultrasound. About his wife. Him coming home brain damaged⁠—"

“He won’t,” Maurice cut in. “And if he does? That’s between him and the choices he made. Not you. You did your part. You fought. You entertained. You got paid. That’s the whole arrangement.”

The whole arrangement.

My stomach turned.

“Where can I clean up?” I asked, grasping for something normal. “Rinse the sweat, at least.”

Maurice barked out a laugh. “This isn’t some kind of spa,” he said. “Get your ass out of here and clean up at home.”

He clapped my shoulder once—too hard—and turned away, already moving toward another cluster of men near the bar who were watching me like I was a new racehorse they were thinking about betting on.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit.

On the way, I slowed, scanning.

I didn’t see Tyler. Didn’t see JJ. Didn’t see Cole.

No fighters were coming out the door I was headed toward. No one limped past me to the parking lot, no one icing their jaw under the chandelier.

The only people leaving were a couple of over-excited spectators who needed air and one woman whose heels had finally given up on the concrete.

I pushed through the steel door and stepped back out into the night.

The air felt too clean. The stars were still where I’d left them. The lot was still crowded with shiny cars and stone-faced drivers, most of whom didn’t even glance my way as I limped toward my truck.

I threw my bag in the passenger seat, slid behind the wheel, and sat for a second, hands resting on the steering wheel, heartbeat thudding in my bruised ribs.

Where did they go?

There were only so many doors in that building. I’d come in one, seen another swallow Tyler, watched Cole disappear down a third hallway that didn’t lead back to the main hall.

None of them had come out front.

The envelope in my bag felt heavier than the cash inside should account for.

I started the truck. Gravel crunched under my tires as I pulled out, headlights slicing through the trees.

By the time I hit the main road, the distillery was just a dark smear in my rearview mirror.