The lighting above us was surgical. I sat in the corner of my cage, my fingers curled around the cold iron bars, watching the upper gallery.
The figures behind the bulletproof glass began to sharpen as the house lights dimmed in the stands, focusing all intensity on the pits below. I squinted, the glare stinging my eyes, until I caught sight of a profile that made my breath hitch.
My father.
Harrison Thorne was standing at the edge of the VIP balcony. He looked every bit the titan of industry, sharp, tailored, and imposing. But the moment his gaze drifted down from the center cage and landed on me, the mask of the businessman shattered. Even from this distance, I could see the way his face drained of color, his posture stiffening in shock.
He didn't hesitate. He turned, his movements f
