Selene didn't so much lead me through Central as decide where my feet wanted to go and then let me pretend I'd chosen it. Past the lobby's hush, past a pair of guards who stopped being bored when they clocked her, we climbed a stair that smelled like disinfectant and adrenaline and came out on a mezzanine of glass and hum.
Below us sat a sunken ring—thirty meters across, round as a coin, light trapped under its skin. Runes stitched the rail and purred like a cat with opinions. Two med stations flanked the far gate, healers waiting with the weary patience of people who only get called when something cracks. Benches ringed the pit: trainees, examiners, a couple of suits, and a scatter of veterans whose posture saluted gravity out of habit.
Selene pressed her palm to the rail. The glass shaded darker, recognizing command."No kill. Keeper runes at sixty percent. Regeneration damped while you're on the sand," she said. "If you blink, everyone here learns your middle name."
