His face stayed carefully neutral, but I’d learned to read the subtle shifts. The way his eyes tracked the teams warming up on the field. The slight forward lean when a player executed a particularly clever move. The almost-invisible curve at the corner of his mouth.
He loved this.
“Stop staring,” Calder muttered beside me, stealing more of Lucette’s caramel crumbles.
“I’m not staring.”
“You’re absolutely staring. Also, you get your own food. This is mine.” Lucette pulled the bucket closer, but Calder just reached further.
“You said you’re sharing with everyone. I’m just more efficient about it.”
“You’re eating all of it!”
“That’s a wild exaggeration.” He grabbed another handful.
The arena lights flared. The crowd roared. The teams took the field in their respective colors, and the energy shifted from excited to electric.
“Here we have it!” The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, amplified by runes as always. “The semi-final match between the Thunderfen Hounds and the Silverbolt Serpents! Only one team advances to the championship! Veils are active! Three golden ribbons in play!”
The crowd exploded.
“Go Bolts!” Pip screamed, her tiny voice somehow cutting through the noise.
The game started fast. Brutal. Maybe even beautiful.
I’d hardly watched Nexus. Too dangerous to be in crowds, too visible, too much risk. I knew the players and gameplay though. There was always a feature in the papers, no matter which country the games were in. But now, caught up in the energy, I was beginning to understand why people loved it. Theway players moved like water around each other. The quick decisions. The raw athleticism mixed with just enough magic to make it spectacular without making it unfair.
A Hounds player, massive, scarred, and mean-looking, slammed into a Bolts defender. The defender went down hard, just missing the veil he was closing in on. The crowd’s roar shifted to a mixture of cheers and boos depending on which team they supported.
“Foul!” Pip shrieked. “That was clearly a foul! Where’s the penalty?”
“Clean hit,” Calder said calmly, stealing the last of Lucette’s crumbles.
“That’s it. I’m done sharing with you.” Lucette stood. “I’m getting more. Syn, want anything?”
“No, thank you.”
She left, and Calder immediately leaned over to whisper, “Wickett’s looked over here four times in the last ten minutes. I’m not trying to control what you do. But you have to know how dangerous this is.”
“You’re counting?” I asked, ignoring the facts.
“I’m observing. There’s a difference.”
“You’re impossible.”
“That too.”
The first quarter ended with the Hounds up by two points. Pip looked personally affronted, but still she defended them. “It’s fine. The Bolts always have a slow start. They’re strategic. Unlike some people who just throw money at bets they’re clearly going to lose.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Lucette returned with two buckets of crumbles, one for her and one specifically not for Calder, she announced. He looked wounded. And hungry.
The second quarter was even more intense. A Bolts player, one of the shifters who kept his abilities mostly contained, made an impossible veil capture and portal move that had the entire arena on its feet. Even Wickett stood, though he controlled it quickly, sitting back down with that mask firmly in place.
But I’d seen it. The genuine joy. The moment when he forgot to perform.
“Your hunter celebrated that play,” Calder murmured.
