5 minutes. Just you and me. Sarah pushed herself up off the wall, her voice raspy and panicked. Cole, don’t. He’s a fourth-degree black belt.

He’s a former national champion. Cole didn’t look back at her. He didn’t take off his shirt. He didn’t stretch. He simply raised his hands, keeping his palms open and relaxed, his eyes locking onto Greg with the cold, mechanical detachment of a predator locking onto its prey.

Put 5 minutes on the clock, Cole said. The buzzer echoed through the silent gym, a sharp electronic shriek that signaled the start of the round.

Greg didn’t waste a second. He was aggressive, fueled by pride and a desperate need to reassert his dominance. He shot forward with an explosive double leg takedown, driving his shoulder squarely into Cole’s midsection.

He expected Cole to sprawl, to fight the hands, to engage in the familiar rhythmic dance of grappling. Instead, Cole simply absorbed the impact. He let Greg drive him backward, willingly falling to the mat, pulling Greg directly into his closed guard. For a brief second, Greg felt a surge of triumph. He was on top.

He was in control. He immediately began framing his forearms against Cole’s ribs, trying to posture up and pass the guard. But the moment Greg shifted his weight, the reality of the situation rapidly, fundamentally altered. Cole wasn’t playing jiu-jitsu. He wasn’t looking for a sweep or a flashy submission.

He reached up, bypassing Greg’s arms entirely, and wrapped both of his hands around the back of Greg’s neck. He locked his fingers together into a vise grip and pulled Greg’s head down, burying the man’s face directly into his chest. Simultaneously, Cole locked his legs tightly around Greg’s waist, crossing his ankles and extending his hips upward. It was an overhook tie-up, a basic stalling position in sport grappling, but Cole applied it with terrifying, suffocating intent. Greg’s neck was forced into a severe, unnatural angle.

His nose was smashed into Cole’s sternum. He couldn’t breathe through his mouth, and the thick fabric of Cole’s rash guard blocked his nasal passages. Panic flared in Greg’s chest. He planted his hands on the mat and pushed with all his might, trying to force his head up. Cole didn’t muscle him down.