Ava pointed her tiny finger toward a poster on the hallway wall.
It was a blown-up shot of Damon squaring off with Tereira during weigh-ins.
Her face twisted with confusion at the big version of her father.
"That's a picture, baby," Damon said softly, adjusting her on his arm. "A big one."
"But why you look angy?"
He chuckled. "I wasn't angry. Just serious."
Ava frowned, clearly not buying it. Damon smiled and kissed her cheek.
They moved through the hallway toward the locker rooms.
The buzz of the arena was starting to rise media, crew, and security filtering through the backstage maze. Everyone around him knew what the night meant.
But for now, Damon was just a dad, answering every question his nearly two-year-old could come up with.
"What that?" she asked again, pointing at a bucket of ice near one of the medical stations.
"That's for fighters. To cool down."
Ava leaned her head on his chest, her hair brushing his jaw. "You gonna fight?"
"Yeah," he said. "But after I fight, I'll come back to you."
She looked up. "And mommy?"
"Mommy's getting our seats. You'll see her soon."
Ava went quiet for a moment, then mumbled, "I give you big hug after."
Damon swallowed back a laugh. "Deal."
He turned the corner into the final stretch of the hallway. Just a few doors down was his locker room, the last quiet place before the storm. His team was already inside prepping.
She looked around once more. "Dada…"
Then smiled, steady and calm. "Always."
Damon entered the locker room, the air cool and calm for now.
Victor was already by the whiteboard, erasing the last scribble of their strategy map. He had clearly just finished going over the final adjustments.
The rest of the team was scattered, some sitting, others standing, chatting lightly to ease the tension.
Victor turned when he heard the door open, and the moment he spotted Ava in Damon's arms, his tough expression softened instantly.
"Well, look who's here," he said, walking over.
Ava perked up, reaching out with her little arms. "Pappa" she babbled, her words coming out rushed and excited.
Victor chuckled and took her from Damon's arms without hesitation. "You're getting heavier," he said, bouncing her gently. "And you're talking a lot more now, huh?"
Ava giggled, then babbled something incomprehensible, throwing in the word "cake" for good measure.
Damon smirked and dropped his bag on the bench. "She's been stuck on sweets ever since the tasting. Svet's trying to keep it under control."
Victor nodded, still smiling. "She's got your stubborn streak."
"I'm sure that's where she got it," Damon said dryly.
Someone handed Damon a water bottle, and he took a sip while scanning the room. Everything was in place. His gear was set. His wraps were ready. It was quiet now, but not for long.
Svetlana had texted him a few minutes earlier she and both their moms were in their seats. Front row.
Damon knew Ava would join them soon. He wanted her out of this space before the mood shifted. Before the switch flipped.
Victor handed Ava back. "Go get ready. I'll walk her out."
Damon looked at his daughter, who clung to him briefly before planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Bye-bye, Dada," she said, patting his chest like she was the one giving reassurance.
"Love you, princess," he said.
He handed her over gently and exhaled.
His fight wasn't expected to be close, but that didn't mean he could afford to treat it lightly.
Damon needed to lock in fully. No half-focus or distractions. These final hours before walking out were sacred.
Every breath, every movement, had to serve the mission ahead.
And as much as he loved having Ava around, she demanded attention.
The good kind, the kind he never minded giving, but not now.
She needed warmth and affection. Damon was about to enter a different state of mind, one where he couldn't offer either.
So handing her off to Svetlana, who was already settled at ringside with both their moms, was the right call.
He took a long breath, then let it out slowly.
It's time to switch off everything else.
Only the fight mattered now.
Damon sat down, leaning forward slightly as the lights dimmed and the event officially kicked off.
The opening fights were already rolling, and the energy in the arena was building fast.
One by one, some of his teammates filed in and took seats around him Ash, Ty, a couple of newer fighters from Victor's gym.
None of them said much. Just quiet nods, shoulder taps, and the occasional murmur when a good exchange played on the screen. Damon appreciated the silence.
He didn't need a reminder of what tonight was.
Damon leaned back slightly, arms crossed. His eyes stayed on the fights, but he wasn't truly watching.
The openers lacked energy, safe gameplans, hesitant exchanges, and no real hunger.
He didn't blame them. Not everyone had something to prove.
Still, between the lulls in action, the group made quiet conversation. Ash made a comment about one fighter's footwork being all over the place.
Ty cracked a quiet joke about the other guy looking like he trained off YouTube shorts. Damon chuckled but didn't say much.
He was saving everything for later.
Because when his time came, he wasn't just showing up.
He was going to put the shit down. Tereira or not. Beast or not.
Damon was going to outburst him, break through him, and walk out with gold wrapped around his waist again.
Damon stood up and rolled his shoulders. The room was spacious, clean, and quiet except for the faint hum of crowd noise bleeding in from the arena.
One of the assistant coaches stepped forward, holding up the pads. Damon nodded.
He threw a few light jabs, feeling the rhythm, then added a sharp low kick followed by a quick body shot.
The sound popped off the pads clean, drilling the basics to stay warm.
The coach called for a combination. Damon responded fast, jab, cross, hook, level change, then a fake shot into a left elbow.