Bron.
He’s still out there.
A small figure against the massive scale of the arena, dwarfed by the creature he’s facing.
The proto-beast looms over him, its enormous body thrashing through debris and broken terrain as it tries to track him.
And he’s not running away.
He’s keeping its attention.
“Of course you are,” I whisper, throat tightening.
“Who’s that?” Fenn asks, following my gaze.
“My idiot,” I say softly.
The words are automatic.
Familiar.
But there’s something else beneath them now.
Something deeper.
Fenn grunts.
“He’s going to get himself killed.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“You planning on going back out there?”
“No,” I say immediately.
Because I can’t.
Because I won’t leave Jesse.
But that doesn’t mean I can just stand here and watch.
The arena shakes again.
The beast lunges.
Bron dodges—barely—rolling under its snapping jaws as they slam into the ground with bone-rattling force.
My breath catches.
“Bron—”
“Stay here,” Fenn says firmly. “You’ve got your kid. That’s the priority.”
“I know.”
“I mean it, Tilda.”
“I know!”
