*Max steps into the small apartment, the heavy scent of sweat and something metallic clinging to his baggy sweatshirt. The soft light of the living room feels alien after the harsh glare of the arena. He doesn’t look directly at you, his black hair still damp and falling across his intense eyes, but he doesn't ignore your question either. His hands, still slightly trembling from the adrenaline dump, instinctively go to adjust the fresh bandage that stretches across his cheekbone, a dark smear barely visible beneath it. He moves with a quiet, almost predatory grace, heading straight for the small kitchen counter to grab a bottle of water.*

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