The announcement didn't come with fanfare.
No drums. No banners unfurled from the Academy towers. No priests shouting blessings into the streets.
It came the way real decisions always did in Novara Prime—quietly, officially, and already decided.
Frankie read it on the notice board outside the auxiliary wing, surrounded by a loose ring of bodies. Gifted students lingered closer to the marble colonnades, voices low and excited. Auxiliaries stood back, pretending they weren't listening while listening to everything.
BY DECREE OF THE TEMPLE COUNCIL
AND WITH THE SANCTION OF ARES, GOD OF WAR
THE GRECKO GAMES WILL COMMENCE IN TEN DAYS
Frankie scanned the rest without changing expression.
Exhibition combat.
Non-lethal enforcement.
Tiered brackets.
Gifted versus gifted.
Auxiliary versus auxiliary.
Mixed engagements for "doctrinal study."
Rewards listed at the bottom.
Coin.
Housing stipends.
Weapon allotments.
And, buried carefully between them:
One conditional blessing, subject to divine discretion.
Around her, the crowd reacted exactly as expected.
Gasps. Excited murmurs. Someone laughed in disbelief. Someone else whispered a prayer like saying it first might make it theirs.
Frankie stepped back from the board.
She didn't need to reread it.
She'd grown up with the Games as stories. Three times in her lifetime. Rare enough to feel mythical, controlled enough to feel safe. People talked about the winners for years afterward. A gifted duelist who earned a minor blessing and rose two social tiers overnight. An auxiliary captain whose squad won coin enough to buy permanent exemption from clearance duty.
Those stories were real.
Which was why this bothered her.
Not because the arena was dangerous.
Because the timing was wrong.
"People are already placing bets," Tomas said somewhere to her left, grinning too wide. "Can you imagine? Ten auxiliaries against twenty? I mean—"
"That's not a challenge," Frankie said calmly. "That's a measurement."
Tomas blinked. "What?"
She didn't explain.
She was already watching how the instructors stood closer than usual. How the priests didn't smile. How the gifted evaluators were whispering to each other instead of basking in attention.
This wasn't celebration.
It was calibration.
Marco appeared at her side without her noticing him approach. That alone would have worried her, if she hadn't already been worried about everything else.
He read the board slowly.
Then again.
Then a third time.
"They're serious," he said.
"Yes."
"They're letting auxiliaries fight."
"Yes."
"And offering a blessing."
Frankie turned to him then.
Her gaze was steady. Unemotional. Final.
"You are not entering."
Marco stiffened. "Frankie—"
"You're not," she repeated. "Not this. Not now."
He frowned. "Why? I can handle myself. You know that."
That was exactly the problem.
She leaned closer, voice low enough that only he could hear.
"This isn't about winning," she said. "It's about being noticed. And you do not want to be noticed."
Marco opened his mouth to argue.
She cut him off gently, but without room to move.
"I don't care what the reward is. I don't care what they promise. You do not put yourself in front of gods who are already asking why angels are behaving strangely."
His jaw tightened.
"You think they're connected," he said.
"I know they're connected."
Marco exhaled slowly and looked away.
"I don't like hiding," he said.
"I know."
"I don't like feeling like I'm pretending to be weaker than I am."
"I know," she said again. "But that's how you stay alive."
He met her eyes.
"You're doing it too."
Frankie didn't deny it.
Because she was.
Across the courtyard, Luca was reading the board with a completely different expression.
Hope.
Careful, controlled hope—but hope all the same.
Frankie watched it settle into his posture. The way his shoulders squared. The way his grip tightened on the strap of his gear.
He saw opportunity.
And for once, she agreed with him.
She crossed the space between them before he could turn.
"You're entering," she said.
Luca blinked. "I—what?"
"You're entering the auxiliary bracket."
His brows drew together. "Frankie—"
"You're exactly what they want to see," she said. "Human. Skilled. Explainable."
"That's not exactly flattering."
She allowed herself the faintest smile.
"It's strategic."
He studied her. "And you?"
"I'll be present," she said. "Nothing more."
"You're better than me," Luca said quietly.
"Yes."
"Then why—"
"Because if you win," Frankie said, "it proves their doctrine still works. And that keeps attention off the things that don't."
Understanding flickered in his eyes.
"And if I lose?"
She shrugged. "Then you tried. And no one cares."
Luca stared at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded once. "Alright."
Behind them, whispers were already spreading.
About the ghost.
Frankie heard it in fragments as she moved through the halls that afternoon.
A gifted swore he'd seen angels falling out of the sky before being struck.
Another claimed something invisible had cut wings mid-flight.
Someone else said it was a blessing misfire.
Someone else said it was a curse.
Kids in the lower districts were already playing at it—ragged cloaks, sticks for knives, pretending to vanish into shadow.
The name had stuck.
The Ghost of the Outer Zone.
Frankie hated that.
Not because it scared her.
Because it meant people were looking for patterns.
She kept Marco close for the rest of the day. Too close. Close enough that Yara raised an eyebrow and Tomas grinned like he thought he'd figured something out.
Luca noticed too.
That evening, he cornered her on the stairwell.
"You and Marco," he said flatly.
Frankie tilted her head. "What about us?"
"He doesn't leave your side."
"He was nearly killed."
"And now he's not," Luca said. "And now he follows you everywhere."
Frankie stepped closer.
Close enough that he went very still.
Then she kissed him.
Not gentle.
Not hesitant.
Just enough to shut him up and make her point at the same time.
When she pulled back, his breath was uneven.
"There," she said. "Jealousy addressed."
His mouth opened. Closed.
Then he laughed quietly. "You're impossible."
"Yes."
She rested her forehead briefly against his.
"I need you alive," she said. "I need you visible. And I need you exactly as you are."
"And Marco?"
She straightened.
"Marco needs to stay invisible."
Later that night, alone in her room, Frankie sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes.
The city was calm.
Too calm.
Ares and Dolus remained within the walls. Their presence alone kept angelic pressure away like a held breath. That wouldn't last forever.
The Games would begin.
People would fight.
Gods would watch.
Frankie would not fall into the arena.
She would stand beside it.
And make sure the trap closed on someone else.
Not her.
Not Marco.
Not yet.
The war was coming.
But she wasn't ready to let the world see what she was becoming.
Not until it was too late to stop her.