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Thorne's office smelled like burnt coffee and leather cleaner. I stood by the door while Lila sat in the chair across from his desk, her back straight, hands on her knees. She hadn't said a word since we walked in. That worried me more than if she'd been running her mouth.
Thorne slid a thin tablet across the glass. "Three fights. Sanctioned underground circuit. Twenty thousand up front, fifteen per win."
Lila leaned forward. Her fingers didn't quite touch the screen.
"Don't," I said.
She didn't look at me. "That's real money."
"That's a leash."
Thorne smiled. He was good at smiling. "Cole, you of all people know how this works. The girl's got talent. Talent needs a stage. I'm offering a stage."
"You're offering a contract."
"Same thing."
"No. It's not."
Lila turned in her chair. "You said we needed money. This is money."
"Not this money."
"Why not?"
Because I signed one just like it. Because I spent two years trying to buy my way out and only dug deeper. Because the moment you sign, you're not a fighter anymore, you're inventory.
I didn't say any of that. I just shook my head.
Thorne tapped the tablet. "Let me clarify the terms. Three fights, as I said. All in registered underground venues, so no legal blowback. The opponents will be vetted. No mismatches, no ambushes. Clean matches, clean payouts."
"And after three?" I asked.
"She walks. Free and clear. Or we renegotiate, if she's interested."
Lila was still watching me. "Cole, I can do three fights."
"You don't know what three fights means."
"I won last night."
"You won a basement scrap against a guy who could barely stay upright. This is different."
"How?"
Thorne leaned back in his chair. "The difference, Lila, is exposure. You fight for me, people see you. Sponsors see you. League scouts see you. You're not just collecting cash, you're building a name. That's what you want, isn't it? To be somebody?"
Her jaw tightened. I saw the spark in her eyes, the same one I'd had at seventeen. The one that got me through the door and locked inside.
"She's not signing," I said.
Thorne's smile thinned. "Cole, you owe me sixty-three thousand. You've paid off eight in four months. At this rate, you'll clear it in two years. Or Lila fights three times and we cut thirty off your tab."
The room went quiet. Lila turned fully in her seat now, staring at me.
"You didn't tell me that," she said.
"Didn't need to."
"Thirty thousand. That's half."
"It's a trap."
"It's a deal."
"Same thing."
She stood. "Stop saying that."
I met her eyes. She was angry. Not the sharp, quick kind. The slow kind, the kind that sticks.
"You think I can't do this," she said.
"I think you can. That's the problem."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It will."
Thorne cleared his throat. "I'll give you two a moment. But Lila, the offer expires tonight. If you're serious about getting out of the slums, this is the door."
He stood and walked out. The door clicked shut behind him.
Lila turned on me. "What the hell, Cole?"
"You don't sign contracts with people like him."
"People like him? He's your creditor. You already signed."
"Yeah. And look where I am."
"You're here because you quit. You walked away."
I almost laughed. "You think I walked away?"
"You were the best. Everyone says so. You just stopped."
I took a step closer. She didn't back up. I could see the faint bruise on her temple from last night's fight, already yellowing at the edges. Her hands were still taped.
"I stopped because my sync rate hit ninety-four percent," I said. "You know what that means?"
"It means you're fast."
"It means I started losing time. Minutes at first. Then hours. I'd finish a fight and not remember the last three rounds. I'd wake up and not know what day it was. The docs called it neural burn. The league called it acceptable risk."
She was quiet for a second. Then: "That won't happen to me."
"You don't know that."
"I'm different."
"Everyone's different until they're not."
She shoved past me, grabbed the tablet off Thorne's desk. The screen lit up under her thumb. I saw the contract outline, the payout schedule, the fine print that didn't matter because the big print was enough.
"I'm signing," she said.
"No, you're not."
"You don't get to decide that."
"I'm your coach."
"You're my debt."
That landed. I felt it in my chest, sharp and clean.
She pulled the stylus out of the tablet's side. Her hand was steady.
"Lila."
"I need this, Cole. I'm not staying in that apartment. I'm not working graveyard shifts at some loading dock for the next ten years. This is my way out."
"It's not."
"Then what is?"
I didn't have an answer. Not one she'd take.
She touched the stylus to the screen.
I moved without thinking. My hand came down hard, catching her wrist. The stylus skittered across the desk and hit the floor.
We stood there, my fingers wrapped around her wrist, her breath coming fast. I could feel her pulse under my thumb. It was racing.
"Let go," she said.
I did. She pulled her arm back, rubbing the spot where I'd grabbed her.
"I'm trying to help you," I said.
"No. You're trying to stop me."
"Same thing."
Her eyes went flat. "You keep saying that."
The door opened. Thorne stepped back in, glanced at the stylus on the floor, then at us.
"Lovers' quarrel?" he asked.
"She's not signing," I said.
Thorne looked at Lila. "Is that true?"
She didn't answer right away. I could see her thinking, weighing it. Finally, she shook her head. "I don't know."
Thorne picked up the stylus, set it back on the desk. "Take the night. Think it over. But Lila, if you want in, you're fighting tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I said.
"Short notice, I know. But the slot opened up. Main card, third fight. Good visibility."
"Who's the opponent?"
Thorne pulled up a profile on the wall screen. A man's face filled the frame. Mid-thirties, scar through his left eyebrow, flat expression. His name sat under the photo in block letters: Ramon Skaggs.
I knew the name. Everyone who'd fought in the League knew the name.
"Skaggs washed out two years ago," Thorne said. "Sync rate dropped, lost his spot. He's been running the underground circuit since. Forty-three wins, nine losses. He's slow now, but he's mean."
Lila stared at the screen. "He fought in the League?"
"For six years."
She looked at me. I saw the question in her eyes.
Can I beat him?
I didn't know. A washed League fighter was still a League fighter. Skaggs had forgotten more about mech combat than Lila had learned.
But I also saw something else in her face. She wanted this. Not the money. The fight. The chance to prove she could stand across from someone who'd been where she wanted to go.
Thorne smiled. "So. Do we have a deal?"
Lila reached for the tablet.