I stared at the paper a little too long.
The neon light in the Slither Ring locker room hummed softly above my head, casting pale shadows onto the damp concrete floor. The smell of this place, a mix of sweat, boxing glove leather, and cleaning fluid hung heavy in the air.
The white paper in my hand looked ordinary.
But what was written on it made my chest feel slightly tighter.
Handwriting.
No name.
No signature.
Just one short sentence.
I read it again.
And again.
"Great," I muttered quietly.
I folded the paper once. Then once again. Until it was small enough to slip into the inner pocket of my jacket.
My movements were quick.
Reflex.
As if someone might walk into the room and see what I was holding.
Even though the locker room was empty.
I stood up from the long wooden bench in front of the row of metal lockers. With one hard push, I shut my locker door.
CLANG.
The metallic sound echoed through the room.
