The next arena looks like a sadist designed a cathedral and then gave it moving parts.
We file into a massive chamber open to the sky, all steel ribs and suspended platforms and translucent lanes hanging over a drop that disappears into blue-lit mist. The air tastes faintly metallic. Wind moves through the structure in cool currents, carrying oil, ozone, hot cables, and the mineral smell of water somewhere far below. Above us, thousands of spectators fill tiered seating under a shimmering shield canopy. Their voices roll through the arena in waves—cheers, whistles, the rising animal roar of people thrilled to watch strangers court disaster.
I stop at the edge of the starting platform and look out.
“Oh, absolutely not,” I say.
Bron comes up beside me and tips his head back to take in the course. “Huh.”
“That is not a reassuring noise.”
“No, no, I’m just appreciating the architecture of our suffering.”
Captain Photonic’s voice explodes through the arena. “Contestants! Today you will test the twin pillars of any viable reunion—trust and problem-solving!”
“Sure,” Bron says under his breath. “That’s what my last breakup was missing. Suspended death geometry.”
A holo-model of the course blooms overhead. Multiple lanes of moving platforms slide, rotate, rise, and separate over the void. At intervals, tall puzzle towers block progress. Couples must solve each station to unlock the path to the next section. Hazard emitters sweep the lanes with arcs of light that look decorative right up until one zaps a test drone out of the air and sends it spinning into the mist.
I squint up at the rotating diagram. Symbols. Pattern sequences. Weight-balancing nodes. Directional logic gates.
Oh.
Oh, this I can work with.
Bron sees my face and groans. “You like it.”
“I do not like it,” I say automatically.
“You have your puzzle face.”
“I do not have a puzzle face.”
“You absolutely do. It’s unsettling. You look like you’re about to bully mathematics into apologizing.”
I ignore that because it is, annoyingly, almost accurate.
Captain Photonic continues, “One partner may engage the puzzle interface while the other defends the active zone fromenvironmental hazards. Couples must reach the end marker within the time limit or face automatic elimination review!”
A new wave of noise crashes down from the crowd.
Bron rolls his shoulders. “All right. You do the brain witchcraft. I’ll stop us from being vaporized.”
I glance at him. “You’re taking instructions from me?”
He gives me a look like the answer should be obvious. “Tilda, if there are symbols involved, I am decorative backup.”
Despite everything, a laugh slips out of me.
His expression changes the second he hears it—small, quick, soft. Not triumphant. Just… affected.
I hate that I notice that too.
We move to our assigned start position. The platform beneath our boots vibrates with hidden machinery. Across the lane, Vanna and Pajack are already arguing in clipped, professional-athlete syllables. To our right, Zack and Dartha clasp forearms like they’re boarding a warship.
A countdown appears overhead.
Ten.
