The final bell didn't ring. There wasn't one.
Just the slow drop of tension in the air, like heat bleeding off asphalt after the sun disappears.
Lucen stayed on his back, staring at the gym ceiling. Fluorescent panels. Dust trails in the light beams. He could feel every muscle in his body pulsing, not with adrenaline anymore, but leftover survival instinct.
Varik crouched beside him, handed him a water bottle without a word.
Lucen blinked at it like it was a foreign object. Then took it. Drank. Swallowed half wrong and coughed once.
"Still alive?" Varik asked.
"Nope," Lucen rasped. "This is hell. I'm a ghost."
"Good. Ghosts don't cramp."
Lucen rolled to his side with a low groan. "Do ghosts get cartilage damage?"
Varik stood. "Only if they're bad at footwork."
Lucen sat up slowly. "So all of them, then."
They didn't laugh. Not exactly. But there was a silence that felt looser now. More relaxed.
