Chapter 7 · Take the Fall

Sloane's blade is half an inch from my throat when she mouths two words. Trust me.

I don't have time to think. Nox is coiled around my arm like a vise, black light bleeding through my skin, and every screen in the arena is locked on us. The crowd's screaming. The ref's hand is up. One more second and they'll call it—Sloane wins, I'm out, and Nox gets dragged into whatever lab pays the most.

Sloane's eyes flick left. Just once. Toward the main camera rig hanging over the center cage.

Then she drives the blade forward.

It punches into my chest. Not deep. Just enough that blood wells up hot and fast, soaking through my shirt. Pain hits a beat later, sharp and cold, and I gasp. My knees buckle. Nox screams—not out loud, but inside my head, so loud I taste metal.

"Stay down," Sloane hisses. Her hand's still on the blade hilt. She's leaning in like she's going for the kill, but her grip shifts. The blade twists, just a fraction, and I feel it—she's angling it away from anything that matters. Skin and muscle, nothing deeper.

I hit the mat. Hard. My vision swims.