On the other side of the student section, a few rows back from the immediate chaos of the baseline, Claire sat with her knees pulled tightly to her chest. She had her chin resting on her denim jacket, her small frame looking even smaller amidst the sea of screaming fans.
Her eyes weren't on the ball, nor were they on Lira's pyramid. They were fixed entirely on Ryan's broad back as he hopped up and down in unison with the giant plush nut.
A deep, pink flush of absolute mortification crept up Claire's neck, coloring her cheeks. She buried her face in her arms for a second, letting out a groan that was entirely lost to the crowd.
"I cannot look at him," she muttered into her sleeves, her voice thick with a mixture of fondness and profound secondary embarrassment. "He is twenty-one years old. He has survived three black-market purges and a tactical training exercise in Quebec. And he is currently playing patty-cake with a man in a seven-foot foam costume."
She lifted her head just enough to see Ryan now doing a mock-serenade toward the student section, his arms wide, his mouth moving in a exaggerated shout of *'Let's go, Bucks!'* Claire closed her eyes, shaking her head. It was one thing to maintain a cover, but Ryan took a terrifying amount of joy in being the loudest, most obnoxious freshman the university had ever seen. He was so good at it that it was almost insulting to the dark, blood-stained history they all shared.
> *"Oh, the handles on the freshman! A double behind-the-back dribble that completely loses the perimeter defender! He pulls up from deep behind the arc—three-pointer is up, it's true! Nothing but nylon! The gym is absolutely shaking right now!"*
The roar that followed was a physical force, a tidal wave of sound that made the water bottles on the floor rattle.
But amidst the booming celebration, the girl sitting three rows behind the baseline didn't jump. Fiona remained perfectly still, her green eyes locked on Ryan as he spun around to celebrate the three-pointer with the crowd.
Every time the home section stomped, the sound was wet, organic, and loud. But beneath Ryan's feet, Fiona's ears caught something else. A sharp, distinct clack-clang. It was the sound of a heavy pendulum swinging inside a hollow iron pillar. It was the sound of an internal frame that didn't give, didn't absorb the shock like human bone and muscle should.
She leaned forward, her fingers tightening around the silver locket at her throat until the metal bit into her skin. To her left, Caleb and his buddy were still grumbling as they walked toward the exit, their petty high-school rivalry withered by the sheer explosive energy of the game. But Fiona was in a completely different world now.
> *"Final minute of the third quarter, folks! The visitors are slowing it down, running a heavy pick-and-roll at the top of the key. A beautiful bounce pass through the eye of a needle—layup is good! The execution on both sides tonight is nothing short of elite!"*
High on the bleachers, Rein noticed the shift before Damon did. Her dark lenses turned slightly toward the third row, her gaze landing on the back of Fiona's head. She didn't use her powers—she didn't need to—but she knew the posture of someone who had stopped watching the stage and had started watching the wires.
"Damon," Rein said softly, her voice losing just a fraction of its relaxed, college-girl warmth. "Don't look now. But your little friend from the library isn't looking at the score."
Damon didn't turn his head. He merely shifted his eyes beneath the shadow of his brow. He saw Fiona, her back rigid, her attention pinned to the back of Ryan's head like a target.
"She smells of iron," Damon whispered, his fingers uncurling from his knee. "And she is definitely something close to the earth. She seem to have be charmed by your brother I suppose ."
Down on the floor, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the quarter. The players trotted toward their respective benches, the coach for the home team slamming a clipboard down in frustration as he barked out new defensive assignments. The student commentator took a deep breath, his voice dropping into a temporary, promotional tone as the cheerleaders took the center circle once more.
> *"What a battle we have on our hands, ladies and gentlemen! Thirty minutes of pure, unadulterated collegiate basketball, and neither side is willing to give an inch! Stay tuned, because the final quarter is going to be a war!"*
The music started up again, a heavy, bass-boosted track that rattled the glass windows of the enclosed gym. Lira hit the front of the formation with a brilliant, blinding smile, her pom-poms catching the white flash of the stadium lights.
But underneath the floorboards, beneath the cheers and the smell of sweet kettle corn, the foundation of their three-year peace was beginning to groan.