A Steady Grip

A low, quiet breath passed behind the mask. The stillness around me was complete, stretching out over a blank white floor. Slowly, my gloved fingers tightened around the worn grip of the tool resting in my right hand. The weight felt familiar and solid against my palm. I tilted my head just an inch to test the movement, feeling the deliberate pull of each joint. Pressing my heavy boots into the smooth surface, I settled into a firm, motionless stance.

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