“The crowd loves drama. A champion fighting through mortal wounds? They’ll eat it up.”
Evander inhales sharply. “He may not survive to play a match in this condition! Especially not now!”
“Then you better work fast, Doctor.”
Footsteps. A presence looming over me. Hot breath ghosts across my ear, reeking of stale tobacco and rot.
“He’ll play his next match, coma or no coma. The Emperor has already promised the citizens a finale worthy of legends.” The voice drops lower, almost intimate. “We’ll prop him up if we have to. Strap him vertical. Drug him awake just long enough to bleed out in front of the cameras. Robin Shore will deliver his spectacle.”
The footsteps retreat. The door slams.
Silence.
I don’t move. Don’t open my eyes. This could be a trick. There could be someone else still in the room. Or one of them might have their ear pressed to the door.
So I just lie there. Bleeding. Broken.
Waiting.
Then Evander’s voice: “It’s okay now, Robin.” His hands press hard against my thigh. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m sorry, Robin. I’m so sorry.”
I force my eyes open, gasping. “Did I—”
“You were perfect.” His hands are already working, tearing fabric, reaching for his tools. “You didn’t move. Not even a fucking twitch. How did you not move?”
My whole body starts shaking. The pain crashes over me in waves now that I’m allowed to feel it. “I don’t— I don’t know.”
From across the room, Cas lets out a shaky laugh. “Holy shit. You just took a knife to the leg without flinching. That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Second most insane,” I manage through gritted teeth. “The first was him actually stabbing me.”
Evander grunts. “Kane Bishop. High Commander to the Emperor. Absolutely ruthless. If he thought for one second you were faking, he would’ve killed you right here.”
“Will Marco be okay?”
“The Emperor is not going to be happy.”
“Do you think he’ll kill him?”
Evander’s mouth presses into a thin line. He doesn’t answer, just pours the antiseptic over the knife wound. The burn is excruciating, but it’s nothing compared to the terror clawing at my chest.
“I need to see him!” I try to sit up, but Evander’s hand slams down on my shoulder.
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re supposed to be in a fucking coma!”
“I don’t care—”
“Robin.” His voice cuts through my panic. “I’m sure he’ll be down here as soon as possible. Marco knows exactly where you are.”
My breathing turns shallow, rapid. The walls of the medical room seem to shrink inward.
“What you need to do now is to stay alive long enough for Marco to find you.” Evander threads a needle with surgical thread. “This is going to hurt.”
The first stitch bites, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is Marco standing in that arena, blood on his hands, Jason’s body at his feet. The crowd cheering while the Emperor watched from his box, calculating Marco’s punishment.
The Emperor won’t forgive this defiance.
“Listen, I’ll sort this leg out,” Evander says. “Then I’ll go see if I can insist on my post-match examination of Marco. Find out more.”
