Zane and Wren moved through the sewers beneath the Grinders, putting distance between themselves and the chaos of the Fighting Pits.
The sounds of the riot faded into a dull, distant thrum, replaced by the rhythmic dripping of condensation and their own ragged breathing.
Zane leaned against the damp brickwork of a junction tunnel to catch his breath.
His wrist had fully knitted back together, but the phantom ache of Voke’s crushing grip remained.
He felt heavy, not just from exhaustion, but from the three Prime souls dense and cold in his gut.
"We need a minute," Zane said, sliding down the wall to sit on a dry patch of concrete. "I have to process this update before we face Elara. If she senses weakness, she'll peel me like a fruit."
Wren stood guard at the tunnel entrance, clean
