Chapter 7
Cross looked at the mat. He looked at his hands.
"You've been here three days."
"Since Monday."
"I never saw you."
"You weren't supposed to."
He was quiet for a moment. Around him, the gym was beginning to cautiously resume its own sounds — boots shifting, a water bottle being picked up, the industrial fan in the corner returning to prominence in the acoustic space now that two hundred people were no longer collectively holding their breath.
Cole picked up the folded paper from the mat, looked at Cross, and set it back down when Cross didn't object.
"The right-hand lead," Cross said.
"Consistent for twelve sessions," Olivia said. "It's documented. It's also correctable, and the report says so."
Cross sat on the edge of the mat for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, with the unhurried quality of a man letting something settle before he stood up into it. Then he stood.
He was still six foot three. He was still built the way he was built, and his record was still his record, and none of that had changed in the past ninety seconds. What had changed was smaller and more important than any of it.
"Cole," he said.
"Sir."
"Give me twenty minutes, then bring the class back in."
"Yes, sir."
Cross looked at Olivia for a long moment.
"I'll read the report," he said.
She nodded.
May you like
He walked off the mat toward his office without looking at the operators, who parted for him in the way that two hundred people part for someone when they are not entirely sure what they are making room for.
Olivia sat back down at the edge of the mat and began unwrapping the tape from her left wrist.
