Zane's POV – Present
I was on my knees.
Hands dug into the rough, paint-chipped concrete, the surface biting into my palms like it wanted to leave its mark. My head hung forward, my neck trembling under its own weight. Every breath was a battle—lungs searing as though I'd inhaled molten lead. Sweat beaded along my jawline and broke free in uneven drops, splattering onto the dusty ground. Each drop left a dark spot that faded too fast, like even the earth wanted to erase me.
The arena around me was a smear of colors and motion. Sound came muffled, as if someone had wrapped the world in a heavy blanket. Shouts, footsteps, the crack of bodies hitting obstacles—they were all warped and distant, underwater echoes that refused to take shape. Shapes moved in my peripheral vision, but they were only outlines, sliding past in a haze.
A hand landed on my shoulder—firm, steady, warm."Zane—hey—look at me—" Celeste's voice was close, urgent, threaded with something dangerously close to panic.
