Ismail advanced through a thickening pall of black smoke. He swung, claws raking the air a hairsbreadth in front of my nose as I leaned back, then bounced back in at him, fists flying. We ducked and dodged, circling, seeking advantage. He tried to keep me at a distance, but I kept it close and dirty, bobbing and weaving.

Ismail coughed and sputtered, face darkening, when I rabbit-punched him in the throat, then stumbled when I caught one wrist and pulled him forward to slam my forehead into his nose. His claws opened a bloody swath across my abdomen, though the pain was muted and distant, now.

Adrenaline surging, I grabbed a double-handful of Ismail’s ruined suit and yanked him towards me, pivoting, planting my weight on my right foot. I spun, threw him into the desk and barreled after him, shouting wordlessly.

He recovered and caught my tackle, turned my momentum and slammed me into the window pane. The glare of a spotlight from outside engulfed us as we grappled with one another, faces mere inches apart.