Frankie did not leave the city.
Not once.
For seven days, Novara Prime remained wrapped in a fragile calm, like glass stretched too thin over something sharp. The gates opened and closed on schedule. Merchants shouted prices. Children ran errands. Lectures resumed as if the world beyond the walls hadn't just tried to tear itself apart.
But the silence outside the city was wrong.
Too clean.
Too empty.
Angels did not vanish without reason.
Frankie felt it every morning when she woke—the absence pressing in from beyond the walls like a held breath. The Death Zone had gone still, not because it was safe, but because something dangerous had decided to wait.
Ares lingered.
Dolus lingered too.
They didn't announce themselves. Gods rarely did when they were curious instead of wrathful. But their presence was unmistakable. The sky felt heavier. Divine wards hummed more sharply. Angelic movement dropped to nothing within miles of Novara Prime.
The city slept easier for it.
Frankie did not.
She welcomed the pause anyway.
She needed time.
The rumors faded the way rumors always did—sliding from urgency into entertainment. The Ghost became something children whispered about instead of something patrols feared.
Some said it was a dead auxiliary, risen and vengeful.
Others claimed it was a god's assassin, unleashed temporarily.
A few insisted it was just frightened soldiers seeing patterns where none existed.
Frankie let every version survive.
The truth was safest when drowned in nonsense.
Her days became ordinary again.
Classes at Grecko Academy resumed with almost insulting normalcy. Scripture lectures returned to their rehearsed certainty. Tactical drills emphasized formations Frankie knew would fail in real combat. Auxiliary instruction focused on logistics, evacuation patterns, and casualty containment.
Useful things.
Disposable things.
Frankie took notes. Asked careful questions. Made mistakes just often enough to stay unremarkable.
She learned how to fail convincingly.
At night, she went home.
Sofia slept better now. Ate without counting bites. Laughed loudly enough that neighbors complained once—and Frankie apologized without regret.
Frankie watched that closely.
Because this was why she stayed inside the walls.
Not safety.
Not comfort.
This.
Marco came with her everywhere.
At first, it was practical.
He claimed the stairs helped his balance. Said he wanted to keep moving so his leg didn't stiffen. Followed her to lectures under the excuse of "overlapping schedules."
By the third day, people noticed.
By the fifth, people whispered.
Marco didn't crowd her. Didn't cling. He simply… stayed. Always close enough to react. Always positioned slightly behind and to her left. Like a habit his body had learned before his mind caught up.
Frankie noticed everything now.
His wounds were gone. Completely. No scars. No stiffness. His strength revealed itself in small moments—lifting crates without bracing, standing motionless for hours without fatigue, catching a falling child by instinct alone.
But it wasn't just physical.
He listened differently.
When someone spoke near Frankie, his attention sharpened. When she paused, he paused. When she turned, he adjusted his position without thinking.
Not obedience.
Alignment.
She didn't like how natural it looked.
She hadn't commanded him.
She hadn't needed to.
That scared her more than resistance ever could.
So she watched.
Measured.
Waited.
And said nothing.
Luca noticed on the sixth day.
He waited until they were alone in the auxiliary training yard after a long logistics drill. Marco had stepped away to retrieve water. Sofia was with a neighbor. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the cracked stone.
"Are you and him…?" Luca asked.
Frankie turned. "And Marco?"
"Yes."
The word carried weight. Something sharp and restrained.
"No," she said honestly.
Luca exhaled—but not with relief. With frustration.
"He follows you like—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "Like he'd die if you asked."
Frankie met his gaze. "I would never ask."
"That's not what I said."
Silence stretched between them.
Frankie stepped closer.
Close enough that Luca stiffened instead of retreating.
"You're jealous," she said, calm and unaccusing.
"I don't get jealous," Luca said immediately.
"You do," Frankie replied.
He opened his mouth to argue.
She kissed him instead.
It wasn't dramatic. No divine spark. No sweeping gesture. Just her hand on his collar, a brief press of her mouth to his, warm and certain and real.
Luca froze.
Then—slowly—kissed her back.
When she pulled away, his expression was stunned.
"That," he said hoarsely, "was unfair."
Frankie smiled faintly. "Yes."
He scrubbed a hand over his face. "You could've just told me."
"I am telling you," she said. "In the way you'd hear."
He studied her carefully.
"You're dangerous," he said at last.
She didn't deny it.
"I need you to trust me," she said instead. "But I can't tell you everything."
Luca considered that longer than she expected.
"Tell me something," he said.
She chose carefully.
"I saved Marco," Frankie said. "And now he's… different. Stronger. Tied to me in ways I'm still figuring out."
Luca's eyes flicked toward where Marco stood at the yard's edge, waiting without intruding.
"And can you control him?"
Frankie held his gaze evenly.
"No," she said.
Not the whole truth.
But enough.
Luca nodded. "Then I'll take it."
That mattered more than belief.
The city noticed Marco too.
The thieving crew joked that he was Frankie's shadow. Neighbors exchanged knowing looks. Someone asked Luca once, casually, if he was "the third wheel."
Luca didn't answer.
Frankie pretended not to notice.
She didn't want to think about what Marco was becoming yet. Not fully. Not when the system stayed quiet, patient, watching.
Then the announcement came.
It arrived with banners and drums and shouted proclamations echoing through the Academy courtyards.
By decree of Ares, God of War and Trial, Grecko Academy would host Gladiatorial Demonstrations.
Not executions.
Not bloodsport.
Demonstrations.
Gifted versus gifted.
Gifted versus auxiliary teams.
Simulated angelic engagements.
Controlled environments.
Divine oversight.
No deaths expected.
The wording did not promise safety.
The city buzzed.
Gifted students preened. Auxiliaries groaned. Instructors argued logistics. Priests framed it as "morale strengthening."
Frankie stood at the edge of the crowd as cheers rose around her.
Marco shifted beside her, steady and silent.
Luca watched the banners with narrowed eyes.
And high above the Academy, unseen by most, two gods observed.
Ares smiled like a man handed a new toy.
Dolus watched the people who tried hardest not to be noticed.
Frankie felt it then.
Not fear.
Pressure.
The end of waiting.
She had wanted the rumors to die.
They had.
Now the world wanted entertainment.
And war gods never hosted games without learning something in the process.
Frankie turned away from the banners.
This time, she didn't feel hunted.
She felt evaluated.
And that was worse.