Own It

Atticus slowly lowered his hand before releasing Amara from the vice grip on her neck.

Amara had a look on her face that Atticus hadn't expected to see. Ever since he had met her, she had been vibrant and overly confident. However, now, she looked lost.

"Are you okay?" Atticus asked.

Amara snapped out of her deep thoughts, forcing a smile and nodding weakly.

"That's a lie. You seem down. Are you sad because you lost?" Atticus's straightforwardness was surprising on many levels.

Those who knew him well would know that he normally wouldn't care about something like this. She had initiated the spar, and he fought and won—why should he care if she was feeling bad?

It wasn't that Atticus had taken a particular liking to her; he just treated people based on how they treated him. She had been nothing but kind, so he saw no reason not to help out, considering the fact that she had been helpful to him.