“Finish shields. Think about after the fight. Try not to catch fire.”
Her laugh is bright and warm and completely unguarded. “Same.”
She starts to walk away, then turns back. “Flavius?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad I came here.” Her eyes are soft. Certain. “To Second Chance. To Missouri. To you.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
“I am glad too,” I say. Rough. Honest. “Very glad.”
She smiles—real and bright and just for me—then walks away toward her cabin.
I watch until she disappears around the corner of the main building.
Then I exhale and sink down onto the nearest bench, feeling like I just fought ten rounds in the arena.
That woman.
She talks to goddesses. Files complaints against powerful people. Stands in the sand and learns shield repair with her clever hands. Kisses me like it’s natural. Looks at me like I’m worth seeing.
Trouble, my old trainers would say.
They would be right.
I run a hand through my hair and grin at nothing.
Tomorrow I will show her the man the arena made. The fighter. The one who survived by being faster, smarter, and more aware than everyone else.
And after that, when the complaint has turned the wheel as far as it will go, when the fight is won or lost…
After that, I will take apart the woman who talks to goddesses and puts her shoulder to the wheel.
She promised.
I am very good at collecting on promises.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sophia
I wake before my alarm.
For a second I lie still in the dim cabin, heart ticking faster than my thoughts, not sure what pulled me out of sleep. Then it slots into place.
This is the morning I watch Flavius train.
Yesterday he was grinning at me while I learned to repair shields, kissing my palm like it was the most natural thing in the world, and teasing me about useful hands. My face heats as a picture of that flashes through my mind.
This morning I’m going to watch him fight.
Both versions are him. I want to know both.
The air feels thin, like the moment before a performance starts. My body is humming in a way that isn’t quite anxiety and isn’t quite excitement. Something braided from both.
I roll onto my side and stare at the faint glow from my laptop on the desk. The screen doesn’t have to tell me what I already know, that sitting in my inbox is the receipt from the University acknowledging they received my submission.
