The arena fell into silence for a breath after the announcer's final, booming declaration. Then—the sound of celebration from one side, the weight of defeat on the other.
Zane was on his knees.
His hands dug into the rough, paint-chipped concrete, the surface biting into his palms as if it wanted to leave a permanent mark. His head hung forward, neck trembling under its own weight as he fought for breath. The world around him was a smear of colors and motion, the sounds muffled and distant, like underwater echoes.
Across the field, Alistair Reed caught Lena's eye. He offered a slow, deliberate wink, a final, silent taunt. A flicker of heat sparked in her gaze and her jaw tightened, but she forced it down, her fingers curling into fists at her sides before she made them relax. Now was not the time. She turned away from him, her focus shifting to her team. She saw Zane, broken and defeated, and her own frustration melted away, replaced by a wave of protective warmth.
