He nods, like that explains everything.
I glance back at Tilda.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
The words come out rough.
“I know this wasn’t?—”
“Stop,” she says.
I blink.
“What?”
“Stop apologizing.”
“But—”
“This wasn’t you.”
“It started with me.”
“No,” she says firmly. “It didn’t.”
I hesitate.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Her voice is steady.
Certain.
“You made mistakes,” she continues. “That’s not the same as this.”
I look at her.
Really look.
“You might have lost everything because of me,” I say quietly.
Her grip on Jesse tightens slightly.
“Or,” she says, “we might have gained something we didn’t expect.”
I frown.
“What does that mean?”
She glances toward one of the large external screens.
I follow her gaze.
The replay is already running.
Footage of the arena.
