The press conference wrapped up. Reporters filed out with cameras and laptops, staff shuffled along the edges of the room, and the air slowly lost its urgency.
Damon stepped out with his team, belt over his shoulder, the weight of the night finally starting to settle into his body.
He turned down a side hallway toward the fighters' exit, and saw Ivan Novak leaning against the wall.
Ivan had already changed. He wore a fitted jacket, duffel bag strapped across his back, and a water bottle tucked into his elbow. He looked relaxed, eyes scanning the hallway casually, until he noticed Damon.
They made eye contact and met halfway.
"Ivan," Damon greeted, a slight smile pulling at his mouth.
"Damon." Ivan nodded, then extended a hand.
"Congrats," Damon said. "That was a clean win. Looked sharp."
Ivan gave a half shrug, but he was smiling.
"Thanks. Yours was rougher."
Damon laughed under his breath. "Yeah… but it worked."
