“Hi.”
I bury my face in his hair for a second.
“This is a nightmare,” I whisper.
“Or,” Fenn says, “it’s about to be very profitable.”
I look at him.
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying to help,” he says. “I’m trying to prepare you.”
“For what?”
He gestures at the screens.
“For that.”
The broadcast shifts again.
Now it’s not just the arena.
It’s commentary panels.
News anchors.
Experts.
All talking at once.
“—unprecedented display of heroism?—”
“—public response already trending across the holonet?—”
“—Brautigaum Plastics branding visible throughout the event?—”
I blink.
Wait.
“What?”
Fenn grins.
“There it is.”
The realization hits slowly.
Then all at once.
Brautigaum Plastics.
The sponsorship.
The logos plastered across every surface of that arena.
Every camera angle.
