“Stop giving me the play-by-play. And he’s notmyhunter.”
“Right. My mistake. The hunter you keep staring at is definitely not yours.”
“I hate you,” I said, shifting in my seat to face away from him.
“You don’t.”
By the third quarter, the score was tied. The energy in the arena had reached a fever pitch. People were on their feet constantly, screaming encouragement or curses depending on what type of play had just happened. Pip had somehow acquired a small flag in Bolts colors and was waving it with both hands while hovering above her seat.
“Where did you even get that?” I asked.
“A nice vendor gave it to me! He said anyone cheering as hard as me deserved proper support!”
“You charmed him into giving you free merchandise?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” But her grin was pure mischief.
The fourth quarter started with both teams playing desperately. This was it. The winner advanced; the loser went home. Everything was on the line.
A Bolts player went for the light veil, the magical ribbon that had to be captured, and sent it through the opposing team’s portal to score. He was fast, dodging through defenders and using the moving platforms with practiced ease.
Then mid-leap, his body began to shift from human to stag. It should have been smooth, natural, as easy as breathing for any shifter. Instead, he froze. Stuck halfway between forms, body twisted into a position that should have been impossible. His scream cut through the arena’s noise like a knife.
The crowd went silent.
Completely, utterly silent.
Thousands of people held their breath as the shifter, still caught in that horrible in-between state, collapsed on the field.
A medical team swarmed him immediately. Blue robes flashed under the lights. Emergency magic had been called upon, everyone moving with the calm efficiency of people trained for any disaster.
They carried him off the field on a stretcher, his body still twisted wrong, still stuck. Lucette’s hand found mine, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “That’s Brennan,” she whispered. “He trained with my brother. They were friends.”
“Is he... will he...” I couldn’t remember anything like this happening before.
Lucy was quiet. “If he didn’t die immediately, it’s only a matter of time.”
But I saw her jaw tighten. Saw the way she pressed her lips together to keep from saying something that couldn’t be unsaid. The game didn’t resume. The officials called it a draw, both teams waiting for a coin-toss determination later.
But none of us cared about that.
We filed out in silence, the joy of the morning completely evaporated.
Pip tucked herself into Calder’s giant pocket, too shaken to fly. He didn’t comment on it, just adjusted his jacket to make sure she was secure.
Wickett appeared at my side as we navigated the crowd. Not touching. Not speaking. Just there.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” I whispered.
“No. It shouldn’t have,” he agreed.
Lucette cleared her throat. “Failure to fully shift is something new that’s been happening to my kind more and more. But it sounds like none of you have heard about it.”
I shook my head. “I had no idea.”
She looked up at the sky, letting out a slow breath as we continued walking. “The shifters are afraid. Why do you think you never saw me shift in the Mortalis?”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Wickett said quietly. “Watching someone you know die like that?—”
