Youri came back to himself slowly, as though he were surfacing from deep water. Sound came first — muffled voices, boots scraping on concrete, the distant hum of generators. Then smell, disinfectant mixed with sweat and iron. When he finally managed to open his eyes, the world swam back into focus in broken pieces. The locker room ceiling loomed above him with its harsh lights stabbing at his eyes. His body felt wrong — heavy and distant, as though it belonged to someone else.
Leo was the first face he really recognized, hovering over him with relief and worry mixed together. Two other men stood nearby, one in medical gear and the other a staff member from the tunnels whose name Youri could never remember.
"You're awake," Leo said quickly, laying a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Easy. Don't move."
Too late. Instinct got there before reason could stop it. Youri tried to sit up in one sharp motion, and the pain hit him like a freight train. His ribs screamed and his head spun, a wave of nausea rolled through him. He groaned and clutched his side and slumped back down.
"Whoa. Slow down, buddy," Leo said, firm but gentle. "You're battered. Really battered."
Youri sucked in a shallow breath that felt like glass in his chest and pressed a trembling hand against his ribs. The pain was intense — but it wasn't what hit him hardest. The memory came flooding back. The fight. Zeus's fists. The crowd. The last punch. And then Barnaby's voice, calm and precise, cutting through the chaos of his thoughts. It still stands.
His jaw tightened, and he tried again to sit up, slower this time, with his teeth clenched against the pain, while his mind raced far ahead of his body. Volar. Liam. Emma. The rebellion. The deadline nobody had spoken out loud.
Before he could gather himself, the locker room doors swung open hard, and Toney came in with his cap pulled low and Mia right behind him. The moment Toney saw that Youri's eyes were open, his worry turned into agitation. "Damn, kid," he barked, coming closer. "You really lost your head out there."
Youri leaned back against the bench, too drained to argue.
"You know what kind of night this turned into?" Toney went on, pacing. "Malkom and Carter lost big money on you. Big money." He adjusted his cap and lowered his voice. "And guys like that? They don't just shrug it off. They might want their money back."
That landed harder than Zeus's last punch had. All at once the room felt smaller, the walls pressing in, and Youri closed his eyes for a moment. This wasn't just a loss. It was a problem — a dangerous one. He tried to stand, forcing his legs under him, but the strength wasn't there. His knees buckled, and he dropped back onto the bench with a sharp hiss.
Mia moved at once. She came to him with a practiced calm and checked him over with clinical precision — tilting his chin, checking his pupils, running her fingers along his jaw, his ribs, his arms. Her frown deepened with every second. Then she straightened and turned to Leo. "Pick him up. Now. He needs to go to the hospital immediately."
Youri shook his head weakly. "I have other things to deal with," he muttered. "The hospital isn't one of them."
Mia stepped closer, much closer, and leaned in until her face was inches from his. Her voice came low, sharp and absolutely unyielding. "There is no way," she said, locking eyes with him, "that you are going any further than that door." She pointed at the exit. "Whatever plans you think you have, they aren't happening unless you stop being stubborn and get your ass into a hospital bed. You don't heal, you don't walk. You don't walk, you don't go anywhere. Simple."
Youri opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. He didn't have the strength, physically or otherwise, to argue.
Leo let out a breath, relieved to have a clear direction, and carefully helped him up. Between Leo and the medic they got him out to the car.
The drive was quiet. Youri stared out of the window while the city lights blurred past and his thoughts spiraled. Volar felt impossibly far away. Every mile of concrete between him and that planet felt like another failure. His family was there, trapped in something far bigger than he was. And he was stuck here, broken and in debt, watched by people who expected him to be invincible.
The hospital came into view sooner than he expected, and Mia wasted no time. She checked him in, pulled a few strings, and found him a private room just as she had before. The doctors examined him and took their scans — bruised ribs, possibly cracked; a concussion, but stable — and ordered him to rest. Then, at last, the room emptied, and the silence settled in.
Youri lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, while Barnaby's words echoed again, louder now and impossible to ignore. Remember my offer. The Order is looking for new recruits. I can put in a good word for you.
He let out a slow breath and pushed himself upright. The pain flared everywhere, but he welcomed it, because it reminded him that he could still move and still choose. He dressed slowly, every movement deliberate, and when he reached the door, he paused with his hand on its cool surface. He knew this was reckless. He knew Mia would kill him if she found out. And he knew he was leaving without a word to any of them — Leo, who had carried him up five flights of stairs more times than he could count; Mia; Gloria; Toney. He opened the door anyway.
The corridor was long and quiet, its lights dimmed for the night shift, and he limped along it with one hand trailing the wall for support. Every step was an argument between will and pain, and will barely won. Getting outside felt like crossing a border. The night air hit his face, cool and sharp, and the parking lot stretched out under yellow lights. And there he was.
Barnaby was leaning against a sleek black car with his legs crossed at the ankle and a cigarette glowing between his fingers, perfectly at ease, as though he had been waiting exactly this long. When he saw Youri, he flicked the cigarette away and straightened. A familiar smile crossed his face. "You know, son, you and I just can't seem to get rid of each other."
Youri stopped a few feet away with his chest rising and falling hard, and met his eyes with anger, exhaustion and resolve all tangled together. "Seems that way," he said hoarsely.
Barnaby studied him. "You look like hell."
"Feel worse."
Barnaby nodded, unsurprised. "Still standing, though. That's something."
Youri clenched his fists. "You planned this. Showing up. Betting. Making sure I saw you."
Barnaby didn't deny it. "I needed you to listen."
"Then I'm listening," Youri said. "So talk."
The smile faded, and something more serious took its place. "Volar is running out of time," Barnaby said quietly. "And so are you."
The city hummed on around them, uncaring. Youri swallowed, with pain and purpose mixing in him into something dangerous. "Then stop talking," he said, "and tell me what I have to do."
Barnaby opened the car door. "This," he said, "is where your real fight begins."