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Damaris clears his throat, but I notice the unease in the way his shoulders tense. The guy is so obviously flirting with him it's almost painful to watch. "We were actually just looking around."

Lucan smirks and tilts his head toward the back of the club, where the music dips lower beneath the bass. "Only upstairs? That would be a waste. The real entertainment is downstairs. Come on."

Damaris shoots me a look, tightening his grip on his drink.

But Lucan just smiles like he already knows we'll follow anyway. "Ciaran's downstairs already," he says over his shoulder. "Waiting for you, Rowan."

The music fades with every step down, replaced by something rougher. Louder voices. The sharp crack of shouting somewhere below us. And with every step I take, my nerves pull tighter inside my chest.

Lucan glances back at us with a grin. "Now this is the real Black Chapel."

The stairwell opens into a massive underground room lit in dark gold and red, the ceiling low enough that the noise seems trapped inside it. A fighting ring sits in the center, surrounded by iron barriers and people pressed shoulder to shoulder around them. Money changes hands openly. Nobody even bothers hiding it.

Looking around, I'm honestly surprised the clipping only counted three hospitalized students. Nothing about this feels legal, and the strangest part is that nobody here even seems concerned by it.

The first sound hits before the view fully forms in my head. A sharp crack followed by a roar from the crowd that shakes through the pit.

Then I finally see the fighters properly.

Two shirtless, bloody men stand in the center of the ring. One wipes at his mouth just before the other slams a fist into his jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways. Sweat flashes under the lights while people around us cheer like this is sport instead of violence.

"Good Light," Damaris mutters beside me.

When my multi-slate vibrates, I jerk.

you look good tonight, little mouse

There are so many things I want to say to that, but my breath catches as I search the ring for him and find him near the far side of the pit, surrounded by students from Caervast. One of them wraps tape around his knuckles. His black hair gleams beneath the lights, ink showing below his pushed-up sleeves.

Beside him, their cousin Rafe looks like a wilder version of his younger brother, already grinning like he's been waiting all week for this, while Marius lounges against the rail with those impossible blue eyes and pretty-boy looks, appearing bored enough to check his multi-slate.

"This is what they do for fun?" Damaris mutters beside me.

"I'm starting to think we should've stayed upstairs."

The words come out weak, my stomach dropping as I take in the ring, the betting tables, the easy way all of them seem to belong here, and the uncomfortable realization that this isn't some reckless hobby but simply part of who they are.

Maybe Damaris was right. Maybe this was never a date. I try not to be too disappointed as I watch Ciaran tighten the strap at his wrist. He says something to the guy beside him without ever once looking up at me.

"No panic, party boys." Lucan slides an arm around Damaris's shoulders, ignoring how my friend stiffens.

Where we're from, we don't just touch each other. A touch can get you killed. And right now, I need to keep control of my emotions, of this damn sinking feeling in my gut, of the rise of my chest as I try to think of a way to get out of this.

But before I can think of an excuse, Lucan hands me another drink. "You boys came on a very good night. They added an extra fight for my favorite newcomers."

Damaris winces and pulls slightly against Lucan's arm. "Your what?"

Lucan only grins wider. "Try not to look so nervous. It ruins the atmosphere."

Somebody near the betting tables starts shouting over the noise, voice rough from drink and smoke. "Move your asses back if you want to keep your teeth."

The crowd answers with laughter and whistles while people shove closer to the rails instead of away from them. Drinks slam against the metal barriers hard enough to rattle them while voices shout over each other from the betting tables.

"Clear the damn ring," somebody yells through the noise. "You're about to watch Caervast's favorite prince break somebody's face."

The whole place erupts as people start chanting Ciaran's name loud enough to echo off the concrete walls.

"Special match tonight. Adrian Voss versus Ciaran fucking Virel."