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Cassian lays down his final card. "I win."

Four people groan. "I hate playing against diplomats." One siren mutters.

Cassian smiles innocently. "I didn't lie."

"No. You simply made us believe we were winning." "I prefer encouraging optimism."

I snort into my cider. "You are impossible."

Music swells near the center of the room. Someone begins dancing. Not elegantly. Energetically. Two wolves immediately join. Then a siren. Then what appears to be an extremely reluctant Medusa. Within moments, nearly twenty students have formed an increasingly chaotic circle.

Nyra watches with open fascination. "Do they know what they're doing?"

"No." Cassian answers. "They're committed, though." "They're very committed."

One wolf attempts something that is almost certainly not physically possible. He falls. Everyone applauds anyway. The warmth of the tavern settles somewhere deep inside my chest. I hadn't realized how much I needed this. Not silence. Not studying. Not proving myself. Just...Breathing. Existing. Laughing because something is genuinely funny instead of strategically appropriate.

A loud whistle cuts through the music. Every conversation nearby falters. Heads begin turning toward the fighting pit.

"Oh." Rowan says, immediately abandoning her cards. "It's starting."

Nyra looks up. "What is?"

"The challenge board."

Tessa is already standing. "Someone accepted."

The crowd begins moving toward the circular stone pit. Students leave unfinished drinks where they are. Conversations pause mid-sentence. The atmosphere shifts. Not tense. Excited. Anticipation spreads through the room like fire finding dry grass. I exchange a glance with Cassian.

"This wasn't planned?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Then why's everyone running?"

"Because..." A grin slowly appears on his face. "Someone interesting must've accepted."

We follow the crowd. By the time we reach the outer ring, nearly the entire tavern has gathered around the pit. Students climb onto benches. Others sit on the surrounding stone walls. Coins begin changing hands again. Names echo through the cavern. Some I recognize. Most I don't.

A broad-shouldered fourth-year climbs into the pit first. He stretches his neck. Rolls his shoulders. Grins at the crowd. "Come on!" he shouts. "I know one of you thinks you're better!" Silence. He turns dramatically in a slow circle. "What? No heroes tonight?"

Someone laughs. Then from somewhere behind me— "Oh, for fuck's sake..." The voice is unmistakable. Deep. Dry. Already irritated. The crowd reacts before I even turn. A cheer erupts so loudly the musicians stop playing. Students begin chanting one name. Not loudly at first. Then louder.

"Cor-vell! Cor-vell! Cor-vell!" I turn.

Rhyven stands near the entrance to the pit with both hands shoved into his pockets. He doesn't look excited. He looks inconvenienced. Dax is beside him, looking far too pleased with himself.

"I said no." Rhyven says flatly.

"You did."

"So why is everyone shouting my name?" Rhyven asks.

"I might've ignored your opinion."

Rhyven exhales through his nose. "I hate you."

Dax shakes his head. "No." He claps him once on the shoulder. "You hate losing bets."