He was supposed to apologize.
He was supposed to make Trent feel powerful.
Agrippa's refusal had become intolerable.
"All right," Trent said. "Let's do this the easy way."
He pointed toward the ground.
"Get on your knees."
Larry's head snapped up.
"Dad?"
Agrippa did not answer immediately.
He watched Trent's hands, the positions of the other men, the open stretch of pavement behind Denny, and the distance separating the group from his son.
His mind became strangely quiet.
Years of training returned not as excitement, but as information.
Five men did not make five times the danger. They made a different kind of danger—unpredictable, crowded, and difficult to control. Their movements could interfere with one another. Their confidence could disappear the moment consequences became real.
But there was no guarantee.
And Agrippa did not want to test one.
"Trent," Cole said, his voice low. "Seriously. Let's go."
"Shut up."
"He's got a kid here."
"I said shut up!"
Trent swung his attention back to Agrippa.
"Last chance, old man."
Agrippa looked at him for a long moment.
Then he said something none of the five men expected.
"You're right about one thing."
Trent blinked.
"What?"
"My son is watching."
Agrippa glanced toward Larry, whose eyes were wide and wet.
"So I'm going to give you every opportunity to walk away before he learns something about violence that he shouldn't have to learn today."
For one heartbeat, nobody spoke.
Then Trent's face twisted with fury.
He lunged.
Agrippa moved aside.
The attack was over almost before Mason understood what he had recorded.
Trent's momentum carried him past the man he had intended to hit. His foot caught the edge of the pavement, and he stumbled forward, catching himself against the bench.
Agrippa had barely touched him.
But the laughter that followed came from the wrong direction.
Denny snorted.
Bryce covered his mouth.
Even Cole looked startled.
Trent straightened slowly.
His face had turned scarlet.
Agrippa raised both hands, palms open.
"Stop," he said.
Trent stared at him.
For the first time that afternoon, the young bully was no longer certain who controlled the situation.
And that uncertainty frightened him far more than any insult could have.
Trent recovered by pretending nothing had happened.
"Slippery ground," he announced.
Mason lowered his phone slightly.
"Bro, the ground is dry."
"Did I ask you?"
Mason immediately raised the camera again.
Agrippa stood still, watching them. He could feel his old instincts gathering strength, each one urging him to prepare for the moment when words would no longer be enough.
He resisted them.
The first mistake in a confrontation was believing that it had to end with someone proving something.
The second was believing that the person who struck first was necessarily the person who controlled what happened next.
Agrippa had learned both lessons the hard way.
Seven years ago, he had been known as The Iron Wolf, a name shouted by commentators and printed across promotional posters. He had held the North American middleweight championship, defeated opponents who had seemed unbeatable, and headlined arenas where the crowd's roar shook the lights.
His real name had once meant very little to people outside his hometown.
His fighting name had meant everything.
Then came the injury.
Then the surgeries.
Then the financial disputes with his former management company.
And finally, the night Elena's car was struck by a drunk driver on a rain-slicked highway while Agrippa waited at home with their newborn son.
The life he had built collapsed in a sequence of phone calls, hospital corridors, and paperwork.
For months afterward, he had moved through the world as though he were watching another man's tragedy.
He stopped training.
He stopped answering invitations.
He sold the championship belt to pay medical bills and rent. He left the apartment near the training facility and moved to a smaller place where Larry could grow up without reporters occasionally appearing outside the building.
He found work at the lumberyard.
He learned to make a living with his hands rather than his reputation.
Eventually, he stopped correcting people when they assumed he had never done anything extraordinary.
It was easier that way.
A quiet life had seemed impossible at first.
Now it was the only life he wanted.
"What's the matter?" Trent asked. "You thinking about running away?"
Agrippa returned to the present.
"No."
"Then do something."
"I am."
"What?"
"Trying to make sure your worst decision today doesn't become the worst decision of your life."
Trent stared at him.
Then he laughed, but the sound was thinner than before.
"You really think you're somebody."
"No," Agrippa said. "I know who I am."
That answer irritated Trent because it offered nothing he could attack.
Mason moved closer, searching for a better angle.
"What's the scar from?" he asked.
Agrippa did not respond.
"Hey, I'm asking you a question."
"Then learn to accept that people don't owe you answers."
Mason looked at Trent.