RIVAL’S POV
The pit reeked of sweat and blood thicker than usual that night.
I knew something was off the moment Samuel’s men pulled Thomas away from me, pushing him toward the ring. The crowd howled, eager, hungry. I pushed forward, nearly shoving through two guards, but Samuel’s voice slid through the noise like a knife.
“Relax, Rival. The boy wants the fire? Let him burn.”
My fists clenched so hard my nails bit skin. “He’s not ready.”
Samuel smirked. “No one ever is.”
Thomas climbed into the pit like a man walking into his own funeral. The rails shook, the crowd already chanting his name. My name mixed with his.
RI-VAL. THO-MAS. RI-VAL. THO-MAS.
I hated it. Every syllable felt like a curse tying him closer to this place.
He looked over once, eyes wide but locked on me. He tried
