---
Rhea pinned it with a triangle of heat and John ended it with that same inch of hush at a hinge that does not enjoy reconsidering its life choices.
"Nine," Fizz said, a little breathless now. "We are a marching song."
They paused at a stream to rinse blood and boast modestly. Rhea retied her ribbon with a tug that meant business. Ray stared at his own forearms, surprised to find them useful when he asked them to be. John watched a water strider carve an invisible map and thought about strategies that didn't need applause.
"Last one for five points," Rhea said. "Keep it clean."
They kept it clean. A Sandcrest monitor tried to be interesting by pretending to be a log. They politely informed it that its performance bored them. It died with less theater than it wanted. Ten cores, five points, day two not trying to be a poem about tragedy.
