Zunoder tasted blood and gratitude together.
The mixture offended him. Blood was honest. Gratitude was warm, eager, and too willing to excuse whatever hand reached for it. Ty's body reacted to both as if they belonged to it, and Zunoder had to brace one palm against the stairwell wall until the stolen ribs stopped leaning toward the open route below.
Somewhere beneath the arena, people were still screaming. Somewhere above, civilians watched him with the brittle attention of a crowd waiting for someone else to decide what they were seeing, while the door on Earth had opened just wide enough for belief.
Zunoder shaped Ty's mouth into a smile. It fit worse than before. The Name Office had stamped him as face user, and the body had become petty about small tasks. The left hand tightened whenever he tried to wave. His tongue cut itself when he spoke Jade's name. His eyes watered whenever an old memory dragged her laugh near the surface.
He would train those pieces.
