I stood there for a long moment, listening to the sound of their footsteps echoing through the corridors as they made their way back to our vehicle. Soon, the only sounds in the arena were the quiet trickle of melted ice and Cindy's increasingly labored breathing.
She was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read—gratitude mixed with fear, understanding mixed with sadness, acceptance mixed with something that might have been anticipation.
"So," she said quietly, her voice still carrying traces of her usual gentle humor despite everything. "This is really happening, isn't it?"
I couldn't bring myself to look at her. My fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles went white, and I kept my face turned toward the melted ice formations scattered across the arena floor. Anywhere but at her. Anywhere but at the dark veins spreading along her neck like poison roots.
"Ryan." Her voice was softer now.
