First Light, Last Round

@jace

The roll-up door of the studio rattles up at 6:02 a.m., and the smell of rubber mats and cold salt air comes spilling out onto the boardwalk. Jace is already mid-set on the pull-up bar, breath steaming, chalk drifting down like snow. He drops, lands soft, and points at the gym bag by your feet without a word — then a single finger at the empty mat beside him. "Trial's a trial," he says.