CHAPTER 27: ROTATING MAP (2)

Seraphine came for me. Correctly—no flourish, just intent. She angled at my wrist. I gave her half an inch so she’d step where I wanted, then took it back when she tried to double. "Better," she murmured. "You learned one trick."

"I learned not to chase you," I said. She blinked, small and quick.

The plate clicked. One rotation done. One to score.

They swarmed. I killed the habit of being a hero and let my team be their jobs.

"Victor—pull," I said. He sprinted at exactly the wrong time for them, dragging Talia’s attention and air off Seraphine’s blade. "Gareth—brace, Soren’s shoulder." Hip into world; Soren’s shoulder forgot its plan for a breath. "Pelham—eyes only." He swallowed pride and stayed useful.

Lyra brushed my sleeve with two knuckles—professional, minimal. "Center seam," she said, low and quick. "Two steps left on the click." I matched her count. On the plate’s mechanical breath we moved together, aligning her stabilizer thread under the top plate with the ward’s hum. The fog pocket around center tried to eat our voices and failed. We could talk. They heard only pieces.

"Now," I said, and everyone I cared about heard me.

We held. The horn blared the score for one full rotation. Opposite, Seraphine’s pair stripped a flag; the horn took one back. The map spun again.

"Rescues," I said. "Win it on rescues."

The mannequins moaned where the proctors had placed them—one dumb enough to flirt with Talia’s lane, one in Soren’s orbit, one stupidly close to the plate mouth. Seraphine saw the math and cut for center. Aldric—smarting—went for "his" helpless.

"Victor, peel! Lyra—your line," I snapped.

Victor slid past Aldric and body-hauled the nearest mannequin out of the puddle as Aldric’s spite-spark cracked stone where its knees had been. The ward flashed red at him—injure a civilian, fail—and the crowd jeered. Rules matter more when everyone can see them.

Lyra knelt at the plate edge and drew with oil while the floor tried to leave. The stabilizer thread she’d stitched earlier hummed; she tied it to the ward’s rhythm and the plate hiccuped. Long enough for Pelham to drag the center "civilian" our way and flop him behind Gareth’s ring wall. Pelham wheezed and grinned like he’d stolen a crown.

Seraphine aimed for the last mannequin. "Shade," I said. Hollow vanished under the wall. "Out," I breathed as her hand closed. The bird popped into being an inch from her wrist—noise where she needed focus. Her fingers flinched a fraction—lived reflex, not fear—and Gareth raised a ground lip under the mannequin’s heels. It slid toward us instead of her. The gallery made the sound that means a room has changed its mind.

Horn. Two rescues and a center hold on our side, one flag and no rescues on theirs. Composite tally lit the ward. We had won by a margin that made bookmakers curse tidy.

Pelham folded over the wall laughing like a man who’d been allowed to be useful. Victor whooped. Gareth thumped stone. Lyra didn’t cheer. She looked at the chalk on her fingers—stained with oil and work—smiled small and proud, then tucked her hands out of sight when nobles on the near bench glanced down at her. Her eyes found me by reflex, and she ducked them quickly, wariness snapping back on, color touching her cheeks because she’d been seen doing something that mattered and she was young enough to feel all the ways that could be turned against her. Attraction braided through it, new and untrained; she was perceptive enough to notice it in herself and set it aside like a tool she wasn’t ready to use. Good. Safe.

I didn’t walk to her. I let the space be space.

Seraphine sheathed slowly, face a masterwork. Her eyes cut across me with a vow braided into the look. Next time, she would not let me move pieces she thought she owned.

Aldric, wet again, kicked the V-wall. It did not move. Laughter rolled over him like weather. He stared at Lyra with something ugly he thought was subtle. Gareth drifted half a step to stand where ugly would have to speak louder. Pelham, to his credit, did the same. Lyra flicked her notebook open and began to count the next teams’ placements aloud for the swarm that still needed her. Her voice steadied from work, not comfort.

Marcus crossed the floor and offered his forearm. "I hate losing," he said. "I prefer learning."

"Same," I said, and bumped. He glanced at Lyra—measured, respectful. I nodded once. He nodded. Rivalry stayed clean.

Ariadne stood in the aisle like a judge deciding whether the law had been served. "You didn’t show off," she said, as if that were a sin she could forgive.

"I showed up," I said.

Her mouth softened by a finger’s width. "Good."

Interim scores posted while the arena was still noisy. Cael clean at the top. Second line: Valcrey, Armand. Third: Elara. Fourth: Marcus. Fifth: Ariadne. Seraphine at eight. Aldric at twelve. The hush that followed hit harder than shouts.

I didn’t pump a fist. I found the back rail with my eyes. Lyra had been lifted a handspan by her people without anyone noticing they’d done it. She managed the crush with that shy, practical authority that had nothing to do with volume. When she noticed me looking, she met it because she was brave in this one bright way, then looked away deliberately, reminding both of us that she had work and eyes were everywhere. Under the wariness, a small spark kept warm. Not for now. Maybe later. If later earned its right to exist.

Gareth elbowed me lightly. "Crisis Response tomorrow," he said. "You going to make more puddles?"

"Probably," I said.

The Compass hummed like a cat that believed itself wise. "Reminder: you cannot fix cruelty with cleverness alone. Tomorrow has fewer rules and more teeth."

"Tomorrow," I said, to myself, to it, to the ward that had swallowed so much noise it had started to taste like silence.

The arena emptied slow, like a room that knew it had seen something worth carrying. We walked out under a sky going gold at the edges. Somewhere behind me, laughter kept tripping over Aldric’s name and Seraphine’s composure. Somewhere ahead, Lyra’s ink dried, and the next problem found her. I intended to be useful when it did.