Shiver Through Burn

Chapter 13

I was lost in the haze of his eyes—not because of admiration, but because of irritation. It was as if the world suddenly stopped and I was trapped in his gaze. Time fractured. The crowd was screaming, roaring with triumph and thrill, yet everything around me turned hollow, silent, weightless. The only thing that existed was him. That stare. Those eyes. The intensity behind them.

It didn’t feel like falling—it felt like burning. Slowly, painfully, with every ounce of rage I had buried deep clawing its way out.

"Pyra." Patina’s voice cut through the trance, her hand lightly grounding me with a pat on the shoulder.

"H-huh?" I blinked, as if waking up from a nightmare. I was out of it. My thoughts shattered like glass against concrete. I turned my gaze back—searching for him.

But he was gone.

He vanished—like smoke. No trace. No lingering shadow. Just emptiness where he stood.

I tried to convince myself it was a hallucination—an illusion born from exhaustion, the heat, the adrenaline still rushing through my veins. Maybe I was just tired, I told myself. Maybe it was nothing but a trick of the mind.

But a traitorous part of me knew... it was him.

Lucerio.

Seeing him here, of all places, was the last thing I expected. I wasn't ready. Not now. Not here. And definitely not as Pyra.

I had rehearsed a thousand scenarios in my head—me beating him in a debate, outshining him in grades, outperforming him in politics, reputation, pride. But this? Here, in a place where I fought with no mask, no name, nothing but blood and fists—I was exposed.

I was never prepared for this kind of confrontation.

"Let's celebrate your victory. My treat," Patina said gently, almost cautiously.

I nodded and gave her a tight, brittle smile.

My body moved, but my mind stayed behind.

It felt like I was drowning as I walked out of the arena. My feet dragged me through the dim corridors like a ghost—drained, distant, disturbed. My fists still ached, the knuckles split and raw, but the pain felt far away. Numb. I reached the locker room, and the echo of the door closing behind me rang louder than it should have.

I stepped into the hot shower. The sting of the water pierced my skin and anchored me to the present.

The ache ran deep—past the surface, past the bones, down to the hollow space in my chest. But this pain—this one—meant something. It was proof. A badge of defiance. Every blow I took tonight, every dodge, every breathless strike—it was mine. I earned it.

This wasn’t the kind of pain Sebastian Guilermo gave me—cold, humiliating, dehumanizing.

I tried to erase that fleeting moment—when my eyes met Lucerio’s. I tried to push the memory away—the way my world cracked the instant it happened. Just a hallucination, I whispered to myself again as I got dressed, brushing my damp hair back and pulling on my jacket like armor.

When I stepped out, I found Patina counting a thick wad of cash, sitting like a queen on one of the benches.

"I'll send your cut to the usual account," she said casually, not even glancing up.

I didn’t respond. I just sank into the seat beside her, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Blank. Floating.

"You look disturbed. Something wrong?" she asked, handing me a pain reliever and a cup of water.

"I'm just exhausted," I said quietly, swallowing the pill and standing to zip up my jacket.

"I know the perfect medicine for that." She grinned, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the room.

As we stepped into the hallway, familiar faces greeted us—some with forced smiles, others with narrowed eyes. People were greeting us left and right, but the tension was palpable. Some nodded in respect, others in suspicion. That was the reality of this world. In this life, you make more enemies than friends. Trust is currency, and most of the time, it’s counterfeit. People come here for the same reasons—rage, rebellion, and ruin.

We slipped into a bar tucked behind the warehouse, hidden beneath the shadows of the ring. Everything here was underground. The warehouse above was just a front—for outsiders. The moment we pushed open the door, heavy bass and wild cheers hit us like a wave. Inside, chaos was alive. Lights flashing. Laughter spilling. Drinks overflowing.

Everyone was drowning their demons.

Patina led me to a booth in the back, far from the blinding lights and drunken fights. The scent of alcohol, sweat, and smoke clung to the air. She raised her hand, and in seconds, a waiter slid two glasses of whiskey onto our table.

"To your victory," she said, lifting hers.

I took mine with a slight nod. The amber liquid swirled—warm, threatening. I took a sip. Then another.

The burn in my throat matched the burn in my chest.

For a moment, I closed my eyes.

And there he was again.

Lucerio.

That damn stare. I hated the way he looked at me. I wanted to crush those eyes. If the universe gave me the chance, I wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose.

Even in the dark, even through the blur of celebration, I couldn’t shake him off. He was like poison. A reminder of everything I’ve tried to bury under layers of grit and survival.

I knew those eyes.

And I knew what they could do—destroy.

"You still look like you're somewhere else," Patina murmured, eyeing me over the rim of her drink.

I didn’t answer.

I just traced the rim of my glass with my thumb, watching the way the whiskey caught the light. In the reflection, my eyes looked dull—lifeless. That was the truest version of me.

Patina clicked her tongue. Her usual teasing tone was gone.

"Before the fight earlier... I noticed. You already had bruises."

I kept my eyes on the glass.

"Did your father hit you again?" she asked, her voice quieter now. Careful.

The words hung in the air, heavy. I let them sit, untouched.

"I'm fine," I said eventually—too fast. Too rehearsed.

She raised a brow, then gave a small, unreadable smile. The kind that sees more than it says.

"Funny. Your mouth and your eyes are telling two different stories..."

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

I looked away.

"I'm still fine," I whispered—this time, less like a declaration, and more like a plea to myself.

Patina clinked her glass gently against mine. "You must be God’s favorite soldier."

I couldn’t help but raise a brow at her. She only gave me a small smile and refilled my drink.

We both stayed quiet, lost in our own thoughts.

And for a moment, we let the noise around us drown out the things we weren’t ready to say.

The echoes of our past clung to us like smoke—familiar, suffocating.

And for now, that silence was enough.