Chapter 17 · Iron Arena - Chapter 17: A Dead Man's Sync

The league rep's words hung in the air like smoke I couldn't wave away. "Her neural signature matches yours. From three years ago."

I didn't move. Couldn't. My hand stayed flat on the rust-eaten railing outside the qualifier arena, feeling every pitted groove under my palm. The night air tasted like metal and oil, same as it always did in the industrial quarter, but suddenly I couldn't get enough oxygen.

"That's impossible," I said.

The rep—a thin guy in a gray suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent—tilted his head. "Is it? Because our scan archives don't lie, Mr. Varen. And the coincidence bothers me."

Lila was still inside. Twenty feet away, talking to some circuit tech about her mech's response time, her face bright with the kind of win-high I remembered. Twenty-one years old and she'd just punched her ticket to the real leagues with an 86% sync rate and a reversal combo I'd never taught her.

I made myself look at the rep. "What do you want?"

"Explanation," he said. "Or disqualification. Your choice."

I chose the third option. I walked.

Not away from him—toward the service alley behind the arena where the mech haulers parked.