Contestants wrapped in emergency blankets. Staff clutching comm units. Security personnel moving in steady, controlled lines now that the immediate threat has passed.
And every single one of them is watching the same screen.
Watching him.
“You know him?” a woman beside me asks, her voice hushed like we’re in a cathedral instead of a triage center.
I hesitate for half a second.
Then—
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I do.”
She studies me.
Then looks back at the screen.
“He saved my partner,” she says.
The words land softly, but they carry weight.
I nod.
“He’d like that,” I murmur.
Another screen flickers to life across the room.
Then another.
The footage spreads.
Different angles.
Different commentary feeds.
Different networks picking up the same story.
Because of course they are.
This isn’t just an event anymore.
This is a moment.
And the galaxy loves a moment.
Fenn shifts beside me, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screens.
“Well,” he mutters. “That’s going to be a problem.”
I glance at him.
“What kind of problem?”
“The kind where your idiot becomes famous again,” he says dryly.
I huff a quiet laugh.
“He already was.”
