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"You watching me, Commander?"
I don't say it out loud. I mouth it at the observation glass, right where Halrik stood last loop. Right where he's standing now.
The crowd's still screaming from my last kill. Blood's still warm on my knuckles. The body's still twitching behind me.
But I'm staring at that glass.
And this time, I see him flinch.
"Dane!" the handler shouts from the gate. "Move it!"
I don't move. I keep my eyes on the glass. On the shadow behind it.
Seven loops. Seven deaths. Seven times waking up in that cell with the taste of blood in my mouth and the feel of a blade in my ribs.
Seven times he's been up there.
Watching.
"Dane, I said move!"
I turn. Walk slow. Let the crowd see me. Let him see me not caring.
The handler grabs my arm when I reach the gate. "What the hell was that?"
"Entertainment," I say.
He shoves me through. The iron door slams shut behind me. The corridor's darker than the pit, colder. My ears ring from the noise.
But I can still feel his eyes.
I make it three steps before Vex appears out of a side passage.
"You're getting sloppy," he says.
"I won."
"You played with him. That's not winning. That's showing off." He falls in beside me, hands in his pockets. "People notice when you showboat."
"Good."
"Bad." He stops walking. I stop too. "You want to tell me what you're doing? Because from where I'm standing, you just made yourself memorable. And memorable gets you killed in places like this."
"I've been killed," I say. "Six times. Doesn't stick."
Vex stares at me. Then he laughs. It's not a nice sound.
"Right. The loop thing. I keep forgetting you're insane."
"Not insane. Stuck."
"Same thing down here." He tilts his head, studying me. "So what's the play? You trying to get his attention?"
"I already have it."
"Whose?"
I don't answer. I start walking again.
Vex catches up. "Kira. Whose attention?"
"The man who put me here," I say. "Commander Halrik Valen. He's watching from the observation deck. Has been every loop. And this time, he saw me looking back."
Vex goes quiet. That's rare for him.
We reach the holding area. Other fighters are scattered around, some patching wounds, some counting coin. Most ignore me. I'm new blood. Not worth their time yet.
I grab a rag off a bench and wipe my hands. The blood doesn't come off easy. Never does.
"If Halrik's here," Vex says quietly, "then this place is his."
"I know."
"And you just told him you know."
"Yeah."
"That's suicide."
I look at him. "For most people."
Vex shakes his head. "You're going to get me killed."
"Then stop following me around."
"Can't. You're the most interesting thing in this shithole." He leans against the wall, arms crossed. "So what now? You think he'll come down here? Talk to you?"
"No. He'll send someone."
"To do what?"
"Test me."
Vex opens his mouth. Closes it. Then: "You know this for sure?"
"No. But I know him. He doesn't leave loose ends. And right now, I'm a loose end that shouldn't exist."
Footsteps echo down the corridor. Heavy boots. Two sets.
Vex straightens. "That was fast."
I don't turn around. I watch the far wall, where shadows stretch long under the torchlight.
Two men step into the holding area. Pit guards. Not the usual ones. These are cleaner. Better fed. Private muscle.
"Dane," one of them says. "You're wanted upstairs."
The room goes still. Fighters don't get called upstairs. Not unless they're being sold or disposed of.
I drop the rag. "By who?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah. It does."
The guard's hand moves to his belt. Not a sword. A truncheon. "Move. Or we move you."
Vex shifts beside me. I feel him tense.
"Go," I tell him.
"Kira—"
"Go."
He hesitates. Then he slips back into the shadows. Smart.
I face the guards. "Lead the way."
They flank me. One in front, one behind. We leave the holding area and head up a stairwell I've never seen before. The stone's cleaner here. No blood, no scorch marks. This part of the Pits isn't for fighters.
It's for owners.
We climb two flights. My legs ache. The last fight took more out of me than I thought. But I keep my breathing steady. Keep my face blank.
The stairs end at a door. Dark wood. Iron handle.
The front guard knocks twice.
"Enter," a voice says.
Not Halrik's.
The guard opens the door and shoves me through.
I stumble into a room that doesn't belong in the Pits. Carpet. Furniture. A desk with papers spread across it. Shelves lined with books and bottles.
And standing by the window, backlit by the pale glow of Ashgate's streetlights, is a man I don't recognize.
Tall. Thin. Expensive coat. He doesn't turn around.
"Kira Dane," he says. "Seven fights. Seven wins. Quite the record for someone who arrived three days ago."
I don't answer.
"Most prisoners take weeks to survive their first match. You killed your opponent in under a minute." He turns now. His face is sharp, clean-shaven. Eyes like glass. "Impressive. Or suspicious."
"What do you want?"
"To understand." He moves to the desk, pours something amber into a glass. Doesn't offer me one. "You were royal guard. Elite unit. Then you refused an order and ended up here. Bad luck."
"Bad choices," I say.
He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Commander Valen sends his regards."
There it is.
"Does he."
"He also sends a message." The man sets down his glass and picks up a knife from the desk. Small. Sharp. The kind you use for letters, not throats. "He wants to know how you're still alive."
"I'm good at not dying."
"No one's that good." He steps closer. The knife turns in his hand, casual. "So let's try honesty. How many times have you fought before this week?"
"Once. Yesterday."
"Liar." He moves fast. The knife flicks out. I twist, but not fast enough.
The blade cuts across my forearm. Shallow. Stinging.
Blood wells up.
"Let's try again," he says. "How long have you been training?"
I look at the cut. At the blood.
Then I look at him.
"Long enough," I say.
He frowns. Raises the knife again.
And I let him.
The blade comes down. I don't block. Don't dodge.
It sinks into my shoulder. Pain explodes white-hot down my arm.
I don't scream.
The man stares at me. "What—"
"Tell Halrik," I say, "that I know he's watching. Tell him I know what he did. And tell him I'm coming."
The knife twists. I bite down hard, taste copper.
"Tell him," I hiss, "that killing me won't work. Not anymore."
The man pulls the blade out. Steps back. His face is pale now.
"You're insane," he whispers.
"No." I press my hand to the wound. Blood leaks through my fingers. "I'm patient."
The door behind me opens. The guards grab my arms and drag me out.
I don't fight them.
I let them haul me back down the stairs, back through the corridors, back to the holding area.
They drop me on the floor and leave.
Vex appears a moment later.
"Kira—shit." He kneels beside me. "What the hell happened?"
"Test," I say. My voice sounds far away. "Passed."
"You're bleeding everywhere."
"It's fine. Resets at midnight."
Vex stares at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.
He pulls off his coat and presses it to my shoulder. "You need a doctor."
"No. Just need to not die before midnight."
"Why?"
I close my eyes. The pain's getting worse. Sharper. But I can feel something else too.
Something in my hand.
I open my palm.
A piece of paper. Small. Folded. Blood-smeared.
I unfold it with shaking fingers.
Five words. Scrawled in black ink.
*Don't die before midnight.*
Vex leans over my shoulder. Reads it.
"Who gave you that?" he asks.
I don't know.
But someone in that room wanted me to see it.
Someone who knows.
"Kira," Vex says. "Who else is in the loop?"