“They’re still running the course,” Tilda says, disbelief threading through her voice.
“They think it’s part of the show.”
“It’s not?”
“No,” I say grimly. “It’s not.”
Because I know exactly what this is.
Mysk.
That message.
The timing.
The betting syndicates.
He didn’t just want me to throw the final.
He wanted chaos.
“Bron,” Tilda says sharply, “talk to me.”
“I think someone sabotaged the containment.”
Her eyes widen.
“Who?”
I hesitate for half a second.
Then—
“Mysk.”
The name lands between us like a detonator.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
The beast charges again, its massive body tearing across the arena with terrifying speed. It slams into a cluster of obstacles, sending debris flying in all directions.
A support tower collapses.
The ground shakes violently.
“Tilda,” I say, gripping her shoulders. “This isn’t about winning anymore.”
Her breath comes fast, eyes flicking between the chaos unfolding around us.
“I know.”
“We need to get people out.”
Her gaze locks onto mine.
For a moment the noise of the arena fades.
