As Daemion and Elijah stepped down into the dust of the arena pit, Zeke's focus drifted away from his colleagues' chatter. Over the course of the inter-field assessment, the faculty members had shed their usual academic detachment, becoming genuinely, raucously invested in the students' matches. Now, with a heavyweight clash between Daemion and Elijah on the horizon, they were practically laying odds, loudly debating who would leave the pit victorious and who would be eating dirt.
Zeke had been right there with them, throwing in his own two cents. But somewhere in the middle of the noise, a cold, nagging pressure settled right into the center of his chest.
He didn't brush it off. He tuned the voices out, letting the world blur.
