Nikolai Volkov received the news the way he received most disappointments — quietly, over dinner, in a voice so controlled it took Lex a full ten seconds to understand his father was actually furious.
"Coach Orlova filed the roster this morning," Nikolai said, not looking up from his plate. "Sokolova is Kingsley's saber entrant."
"I know. I was there for the bout." Lex kept his own voice level, the careful training of seventeen years of Sunday dinners holding steady even as his pulse climbed. "She won fair. Five-four, clean bout, no complaints from either of us."
"No complaints." Nikolai set down his fork with the precise, deliberate motion Lex had learned, a long time ago, to read as a warning sign. "You had two years of undefeated home records, Alexei. Two years of being the standard
