An unknown number had sent a photograph.
It showed the front entrance of Ironclad, taken from across the street that morning.
Beneath it were six words.
You have no idea what you're opening.
Lena showed the message to Ward and Julian.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Ward locked the office door.
"Someone wants us frightened."
Julian studied the photograph.
"Perhaps they're worried about what we'll discover."
Lena saved the image.
"Then we should discover it carefully."
She looked toward the training hall, where Marcus and Derek were beginning their morning drills.
The investigation had become more dangerous, but it had also become more important.
Whatever Sloane had hidden behind the polished language of sponsorship and professional opportunity, someone was willing to threaten an entire academy to keep it concealed.
And Lena intended to find out why.
Marcus Vane had never considered himself a coward.
He had entered competitions with broken fingers, trained through injuries that should have kept him away from the mats, and faced opponents whose reputations intimidated everyone around him.
But none of those experiences had prepared him for the shame of discovering that his ambition could be used against him.
For three nights, he barely slept.
He kept replaying his conversations with Victor Sloane, remembering how easily the promoter had identified his deepest desire: the need to become more than a talented fighter in a neighborhood academy.
Sloane had offered him sponsorships, national exposure, and a path toward professional competition.
Marcus had wanted those things so badly that he had ignored every warning sign.
On Tuesday morning, he found Derek waiting beside the training mats.
"You look terrible," Derek said.
"Good morning to you too."
"Have you slept?"
"Some."
"That means no."
Marcus dropped his bag.
"I keep thinking about the contract."
Derek leaned against the wall.
"You haven't signed it."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't."
"Because Lena exposed him."
Derek shook his head.
"No. Because you finally stopped long enough to look at what you were doing."
Marcus frowned.
"What's the difference?"
"The first makes you a victim. The second gives you responsibility."
Marcus stared at him.
"You've been spending too much time with Julian."
"Maybe. He's becoming irritatingly wise."
Despite himself, Marcus laughed.
The sound surprised them both.
Then the academy door opened, and Julian entered carrying a folder.
"We need to talk."
They gathered in Ward's office, where Lena had already arranged several documents across the desk.
Julian explained that the files from Adrian's archive suggested Sloane had used promotional rivalries to pressure athletes into accepting unfavorable contracts. Some competitors had received favorable match assignments after agreeing to exclusive representation. Others had been excluded from major events after refusing.
The records did not prove that every tournament had been manipulated, but they revealed a pattern that deserved independent investigation.
Marcus listened quietly.
Finally, he asked the question that had been troubling him.
"Did Sloane ever do this to someone who actually deserved to win?"
Lena considered the question.
"That isn't the right way to look at it."
"Why not?"
"Because a fighter can deserve an opportunity without deserving special treatment. If the competition is unfair, even the person who benefits from it becomes part of the problem."
Marcus looked down.
He remembered the tournaments he had won, the compliments he had received, and the sponsors who had praised his aggressive style. He had assumed that every victory was proof of his superiority.
Now he wondered how much of his reputation depended on circumstances he had never examined.
"Was I being used?" he asked.
"Yes," Julian replied.
Marcus flinched.
Julian continued.
"But being used doesn't mean you had no choice. You wanted what Sloane offered, and you were willing to overlook the warning signs."
The words hurt because they were true.
Marcus rubbed his face.
"I wanted to be somebody."
Lena sat opposite him.
"You already were somebody."
"Not to the people who mattered."
"Who are those people?"
He did not answer.
For years, Marcus had measured his worth through rankings, medals, and the reactions of spectators. His father had once told him that fighting would never pay the bills. His former coach had called him talented but undisciplined. Every criticism had become another reason to prove that he deserved recognition.
Sloane had understood that hunger and offered him a shortcut.
Marcus finally understood the cost.
"What should I do?" he asked.
Ward folded his hands.
"Tell the truth about your involvement. Preserve every message you received. If investigators ask questions, cooperate honestly."
"And if it damages my career?"
"Then you will have to decide whether the career you want is worth protecting at any cost."
Marcus sat in silence.
Later that afternoon, he approached Lena on the training floor.
"I owe you an apology."
She stopped wrapping her hands.
"For what?"
"For the way I treated you when you arrived. I judged you before I knew anything about you. Then I tried to turn your visit into a contest because I couldn't tolerate the possibility that you were better prepared than I was."