Blackrat swallowed hard. "That was the Oathbreakers you spoke off?" he whispered. "The Sanctum sent it. Slipped it through. Even without their seat, they're still—"
"They're still desperate," Eli interrupted. "And desperation makes monsters."
Ian said nothing. He just looked to the bloodstained sand.
And waited.
———
The Crucible still roared, unsatisfied.
Smoke curled upward from a thousand torches as the midday heat waned into crimson dusk. Vendors howled over one another beneath the outer arches, pushing charred meats and spiced wine into eager hands.
Children clung to rails, breathless with wonder.
Nobles leaned in velvet-cloaked shadows, laughing behind jeweled fans. The scent of sweat and blood soaked into the old bones of the arena, ancient and endless.
And above it all, Ian had returned and now sat in silence.
He watched with still eyes, still flanked by Eli, Caelen, and Rat. The crowd's thunder had dulled to a simmer, but the atmosphere remained electrified.
