“Two beds?” Carter asks, turning slightly toward me.
I shrug. “I don’t care. I’m not sleeping.”
The key cards slide across the counter. Carter grabs them, turns back to me, and presses one into my hand. Tate pushes off the column and walks over, grabbing the second key without asking.
The elevator is half full when we step inside.
Gear bags, lanyards, clipped badges. No one says it out loud, but it’s obvious why we’re all here. You can feel it in the way everyone avoids eye contact just a little too hard, like acknowledging each other might turn this into something real before we’re ready.
Carter presses the button for our floor, then shifts closer to me. The doors close and we start moving. For a few seconds, it’sfine. Then it isn’t, the elevator jerks. Not hard and not enough to panic anyone else.
My stomach drops, breath catching before I can stop it, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag like I need something solid to hold onto. No one reacts, except Tate.
“Relax,” he says, low enough that only I hear it, not even looking at me. “It’s not dropping.”
“I know,” I whisper, even though my body hasn’t caught up to that yet.
The elevator slows, then stops again between floors, the soft mechanical hum filling the silence in a way that makes it worse.
“Of course,” Carter mutters under his breath, like he’s trying to keep it light. “Out of everything today, this is what takes us out.”
I let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh.
Tate shifts slightly behind me, not touching, but close enough that I can feel him there, steady, unbothered. “You’re fine Haven.”
The elevator lurches once more, then starts moving again like nothing happened.
Conversation starts back up around us. I don’t move again until the doors open on our floor.
Carter glances at me as we step out. “Still with us?”
“Barely,” I admit, adjusting my grip on my bag.
Tate exhales through his nose behind me. “If that rattled you, wait until bracket finals.”
I glance over my shoulder at him. “You’re in a different bracket. Worry about your own collapse.”
His mouth twitches. “Not happening.”
We step into the room, letting the door swing shut behind us. Carter drops his bag on the floor with a soft thump, while I fling mine onto the bed, still laughing from the elevator scare.Tate immediately heads for the mini fridge, yanking it open and inspecting the contents.
“Energy drinks, water, soda… okay, this’ll do,” he mutters, tossing a can to each of us. I pop mine open, the hiss of carbonation loud in the quiet room. Carter grabs a bottle of water, twisting the cap back on after a sip.
I lean against the bed, letting the adrenaline slide out of my shoulders. “We should probably start heading there,” I say reluctantly, glancing at the clock. “Arena doesn’t wait for us to finish raiding hotel snacks.”
Tate shrugs, cracking open his drink. “Fine. But I’m taking leftovers for later.” He winks at me, and I roll my eyes.
We fall into step, moving quickly making it down to the lobby.
The closer we get, the louder it becomes. Footsteps echo, banners sway in the breeze from open doors, and the distant bass of soundchecks vibrates through the pavement. Carter falls into the lead, turning once to check on us.
“Ready?” he asks, almost teasing.
“Yeah,” I say, gripping my bag tighter, excitement and nerves threading together. Tate smirks behind me, silent, but I can feel the energy rolling off him.
The closer we get to the arena, the louder it becomes.
It spills out into the streets, wraps around the building, fills every open space with people who showed up early just to be part of it. Fans pressed against barricades and staff directing lines. Someone’s live streaming from the sidewalk, shouting intotheir phone about predictions and upsets like the whole world is watching.
