Lucas realized their turn was coming about thirty seconds before the instructor called it.
He could feel it in the room.
Not the kind of tension that came from fear. This was quieter. People shifted in their seats, watching the arena floor with a sharper kind of attention. When a rotation ended and the next team stepped away from the grid, the instructor scanned the lower rows.
His gaze paused.
"Next formation."
He read four names from the tablet in his hand.
Lucas heard his own second.
He blew out a short breath and pushed himself off the railing.
"Well," he muttered, "here we go."
Raisel stepped down from the row behind him without saying anything. Dreyden moved the same way he always did—calm, unhurried, like walking onto the arena floor was no different from walking across the dorm courtyard.
Lucas envied that.
He wasn't nervous exactly. His body just felt… alert. The way it did right before a ranked duel.
