"I retired," he says, his eyes still on the barbell, following it down and then up again. "Spent a couple years figuring out what to do next, then someone took out a hit on my fighting coach, and then a hit out on my best friend."

He shifts on the spot, ostensibly settling into reaching to brace the barbell if it gets to be too much, but he always feels his blood running a little cold on this subject. His gaze stays low.

"They called it revenge, I called it war."

He doesn't linger on it for more than a half second before flicking his eyes up to hers and asking, sincerely:

"You good with that weight?"

Most newbies can manage four or five, if they blow their energy on it. His hands hover under the barbell to take it if he needs to.