The bridge sways faintly in the conditioned arena air like it’s already amused.
Photonic gestures grandly to the course. “Today, each pair must cross the Razorfin Span! Balance, timing, trust, and courage will determine who survives to the next round. Fall, stall, or fail to complete the route together, and you may find yourselves saying goodbye to Fratvoy One far earlier than you’d hoped!”
Beside me, Tilda mutters, “He saysgoodbyelike he’s pitching vacation packages.”
“He’d sell our funerals with upgraded seating,” I murmur back.
The rules are straightforward in the way all terrible things are straightforward. Each pair must cross together. Some sections allow only one stable foothold at a time, so timing matters. Certain planks are pressure-sensitive. Some rails release only if triggered in sequence. Swinging obstacles accelerate if the wrong route is taken. The fish, we are informed with disgusting cheerfulness, are “strongly motivated” by motion and impact.
“So,” Dax says from the next lane over, staring into the tank, “the water is murder.”
“Looks that way,” I say.
His partner—a glamorous woman with a diamond-studded braid and the dead eyes of somebody regretting multiple life eras—says, “If you fall, I am not diving in after you.”
Dax puts a hand to his chest. “That hurts, considering our history.”
She doesn’t blink. “Our history is why I said it.”
Sonya is two lanes down with her ex, both of them glaring at the span like it owes them money.
A horn sounds.
All idle chatter dies.
Lane assignments flash overhead. Bron Varek and Tilda Robertson, lane four.
Tilda rolls her shoulders once, then looks at me fully for the first time this morning.
“Listen carefully,” she says.
I nod.
“There are trap sections in the first third.”
“Pressure plates?”
“Yes, but not just plates. Some planks are dead weight and some are keyed. The rail spacing on the left side is wrong for the obstacle swing pattern. We take the right approach, then cut center at the split platform.”
I glance from her to the course. “You got all that from the preview?”
“I got that from having eyes.”
“Cruel, but fair.”
She ignores me. “Do not rush. If you see an opening, assume it’s lying unless I confirm it.”
That startles a grin out of me. “You say the sweetest things.”
Her expression doesn’t move. “Bron.”
“Right. No rushing.”
“I’m serious.”
I look at the bridge again. The water flashes below. A Razorfin rolls, pale underbelly catching light like a knife.
“I know you are,” I say.
