The corridor ahead of Ty smelled like city rain.
Everyone stopped.
Arena stone carried blood, old oil, burned sand, weapon ash, and the sour bite of crowds who had yelled too long. Rain belonged to roof gutters, bus stops, wet jackets, and the old life Ty had not been allowed to bury properly.
The severed finger in his fist tapped once.
Forward.
Ty moved.
JJ stayed close enough for her shoulder to brush his arm every few steps. She had stopped apologizing for needing the distance. Ty had stopped pretending the contact meant nothing.
Yun-Jin walked on his other side with her blade low, checking ceiling, floor, and corners. Trust had become expensive. She spent none of it on the corridor.
Omina followed with one palm open. Her cuffs smoked faintly around her wrists, and the six-hour hold sat above her hand as a pale timer only some of them could see.
