The air was heavy with dust and adrenaline. The echo of footsteps against the cracked concrete rang sharp through the obstacle course. Orion darted through the wreckage, lungs burning, heart hammering, every instinct screaming at him to keep moving.
One of the Red Team members lunged out from behind a tilted metal drum, but Orion was faster. He pivoted, ducking low, and with a burst of speed brushed the man's shoulder.
"Blue Team—one Red Team member eliminated!" the announcer boomed.
The Red Team player cursed under his breath and trudged toward the elimination zone, but Orion didn't look back. He kept moving.
That was when he saw him.
Damian Holt.
The tall boy stood in the middle of the broken arena with a face like carved stone, eyes cold but mouth carrying the faintest curl of satisfaction.
He hadn't moved an inch. Arms loose at his sides, back straight, eyes calm—too calm. His lips curved faintly, like the whole game was unfolding exactly as he wanted.
