Ken didn't set up the way Atlas had.
No anchoring into the ground. No preemptive material. He just stood—shadow pooled normally at his feet under the morning light, nothing raised, nothing extended. He looked like someone waiting for a conversation rather than a fight.
Jelo knew better.
He took his time with the approach. Varied his setup angle from the previous session, kept his upper body deliberately neutral, focused on eliminating the tell. He'd run this enough times in the first half of the morning that the correction was starting to feel less mechanical—more like something that belonged in the motion rather than something bolted onto it.
He planted and fired.
Ken's shadow moved the instant the burst initiated—not to block, not to wall, but to extend flat and fast across the ground directly beneath Jelo's landing zone. When Jelo arrived, the shadow was there. Solid, textured, with enough resistance that his footing registered the surface differently from bare earth.
