Another pause. The air feels too thick. Too still.
“You could.”
I cry.
Quietly. Ugly. The kind that makes your ribs ache and your soul bleed.
“Valtron…” My voice is just breath. “You’re not the only one with scars.”
CHAPTER 15
RHEA
Itry to work.
Really, I do.
I suit up every morning, clip the NovaCast badge to my belt, and march into the soundstages like I’ve got a full night’s sleep and no personal trauma lurking in the shadows of the arena.
But I’m lying to myself.
The camera’s red light blinks at me, waiting for my cue, and I stare through it like I’m watching a solar flare from across the stars.
My voice still works. I say the right words. Ask the right questions. Smile just enough to pass for charming but not enough to invite curiosity.
But inside?
Inside I’m wreckage.
Because he’shere.
I see him everywhere. In flashes. In corners. His shadow slipping past a hallway bulkhead. His footsteps echoing down the metal stairwell after a session.
Every time I round a corner, my gut flips.
Every distant grunt from the training floors sounds like his voice. Every victory scream from the arena below tastes like blood in my mouth.
And worse—he’s not hiding.
He doesn’t avoid me.
He gives mespace, sure. But he makes sure I see him.
Working with trainers. Laughing with the other fighters—an edge to it, like he’s neverreallyat ease. Towering in interviews, mysterious and magnetic and utterly in control.
Except when I walk into the room.
Then the mask slips.
Just for a second.
Then he’s Blastaar again.
Untouchable.
Unreachable.
But still mine.
