Damon stood in his living room, silent, his gaze fixed on the polished wooden shelf that stretched across the far wall.
Six championship belts gleamed under the soft lighting, four from the UFA, two from the World MMA Tournament.
Each one marked a war, a climb, a name taken.
He didn't look at them with arrogance. It was reflection. Memory. Each belt represented more than a victory, it was proof of survival in a sport that didn't forgive hesitation.
In his arms, Ava squirmed gently, her tiny hands batting at his face with aimless curiosity.
Damon adjusted her with care, his forearm under her back, supporting her easily.
She babbled nonsense, her voice a soft stream of sounds as she wiggled and kicked lightly against his chest.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he said softly, bouncing her once on his arm.
She kept looking at him, eyes wide with mischief and innocence.
