Someone had created a rivalry before the two fighters even met.
Someone had pressured Adrian to compete.
Someone had forged an agreement to make an unauthorized session look legitimate.
But one question remained unanswered.
Why had Catherine Ward become involved—and why had she died before she could reveal what she knew?
The following morning, Ironclad Academy opened later than usual.
Master Ward had barely slept. He sat in his office surrounded by boxes of old correspondence, tournament schedules, and Catherine’s handwritten notes.
For six years, he had kept these things because throwing them away felt like abandoning his daughter a second time.
Now he was afraid of what they might reveal.
Lena stood beside the desk while Julian carefully arranged the documents into chronological order.
“Catherine knew something was wrong before Adrian was injured,” Julian said. “The question is how much she knew.”
Master Ward lifted a small notebook.
“This belonged to her. I found it after the funeral, but I couldn't bring myself to read everything.”
He opened it to a page marked with a folded corner.
Catherine’s handwriting filled the paper.
Victor believes people are easier to control when they think they are competing for something they cannot afford to lose.
Below that sentence were three names: Adrian Cross, Lena Mercer, and a third person whose name had been scratched out.
Lena leaned closer.
“Why is that name crossed out?”
“I don't know,” Elias said. “I assumed she changed her mind about including it.”
Julian examined the page under a desk lamp.
“The indentation is still there. Someone pressed hard enough to leave marks on the next page.”
He carefully turned the notebook over.
Using the side of a pencil, he shaded the blank paper beneath the entry. Gradually, faint letters appeared.
- VALE.
Derek, who had just entered the office, stopped in the doorway.
“Martin Vale?”
Master Ward looked up.
“You know him?”
“He used to be a senior event coordinator for Sloane. He left the organization shortly after Adrian’s injury.”
Adrian, seated near the window, stiffened.
“Martin was there that night.”
Everyone turned toward him.
“He helped organize the tournament,” Adrian continued. “He was the one who told me Lena had requested a private sparring session.”
Lena’s stomach tightened.
“I never requested one.”
“I believe you,” Adrian said. “But at the time, Martin told me you had accused me of being afraid to face you without an audience.”
“And what did you do?”
“I went looking for you.”
The room became very still.
Adrian closed his eyes.
“I was angry. I wanted to prove I wasn't afraid. When I found you in the training room, you were packing your equipment. You told me you didn't know what I was talking about.”
Lena remembered that evening in fragments: the exhaustion after competition, the cold air in the corridor, Adrian’s furious expression, and the argument that followed.
She had tried to leave.
He had challenged her.
They had agreed to a short, controlled exchange, believing both were consenting to an ordinary sparring session. But Adrian had been injured when he resisted a throw and landed awkwardly. Lena had stopped immediately and called for medical help.
The injury had ended his competitive career.
For years, Adrian had told people she had deliberately attacked him.
Now he lowered his head.
“I should have listened to you.”
“You should have,” Lena said. “But you can't change that night.”
“No. I can only stop lying about it.”
Master Ward turned another page in Catherine’s notebook.
A short entry had been written two days after the incident.
Martin says the agreement exists. Elias says Catherine never approved it. Victor insists the paperwork will protect everyone. I no longer trust any of them to tell the truth.
Elias gripped the desk.
“She came to me about the agreement,” he whispered. “I told her I would speak to the organizers.”
“Did you?” Lena asked gently.
“Yes. I called Sloane’s office. They told me the document was a standard liability form and that there was nothing to worry about.”
“Did you see it?”
“No.”
He stared at the notebook.
“I trusted them.”
The admission seemed to age him more than the years themselves.
Julian turned another page. There, in Catherine’s handwriting, was a reference to a storage locker and a number.
“Could this be a locker key code?” he asked.
Master Ward studied it.
“Catherine rented a small storage unit for academy records when we were preparing to renovate. I closed it after she died.”
“Did you check everything inside?”
“I checked the boxes. I may not have opened every envelope.”
“Where is the unit?”
“About forty minutes from here.”
They drove there that afternoon.
The storage facility stood behind a row of warehouses, its corrugated metal doors faded by years of sun and rain. Master Ward unlocked the unit and switched on a flickering ceiling light.
Inside were old uniforms, training equipment, and boxes of tournament documents.