I didn’t block. I didn’t retreat. I stepped into it.

I slipped my head off the centerline by a fraction of an inch, feeling the wind of his knuckles graze my cheek. In the same microsecond my left palm shot up and struck the nerve cluster on the inside of his extending bicep.

The arm went dead instantly.

Before his brain could register it, I pivoted, trapped the arm under my armpit, and snaked my right forearm around his neck — the blade of it settling against his carotid.

Not the windpipe. That takes too long.

I dropped my center of gravity and twisted my hips.