Chapter 30
brON
Night settles over the Fratvoy compound like a heavy curtain pulled across a stage.
Most of the contestants have retreated to their quarters, either sleeping, drinking, or pacing themselves into quiet panic before the championship event tomorrow.
The compound lights burn low outside the dormitory windows, casting long bars of pale gold across the courtyard where security patrols drift back and forth like patient ghosts.
Somewhere in the distance a generator thrums steadily, its vibration crawling through the concrete floor and up into the bones of the building.
I lean against the railing of the balcony outside our assigned room and stare out into the dark.
The air smells faintly of dust, ozone, and alien grass warmed by the day’s sun. It’s cooler tonight than usual, the kind of crisp edge that sneaks under your shirt and wakes your skin up.
Normally I’d be talking.
Normally I’d be cracking jokes about monster-sized obstacles and ridiculous television producers and how tomorrow’s grand finale will look fantastic when I win it and spend the prize money irresponsibly.
Instead I’m staring at the courtyard and trying not to think about curtains.
Behind me the door slides open.
Tilda steps onto the balcony, barefoot, her hair loose around her shoulders in a way that still catches me off guard every time I see it. She’s wearing one of the compound-issued sleep shirts, the fabric thin enough that the breeze presses it lightly against her frame.
She watches me for a moment before speaking.
“You’ve been standing out here for twenty minutes.”
“I enjoy the scenery.”
“There’s a cargo drone and a recycling bin.”
“Stunning architecture.”
She crosses her arms and leans against the railing beside me.
“Bron.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been weird all evening.”
“That’s hurtful.”
“You’re pacing, staring at nothing, and pretending you’re fine. That is the emotional equivalent of waving a flag that says something is wrong.”
I breathe out slowly through my nose.
The truth sits heavy in my chest, like a stone I’ve been carrying around all day hoping it might dissolve if I ignore it long enough.
It hasn’t.
Tilda nudges my shoulder with her elbow.
“Talk to me.”
Her voice is softer now.
That does it.
I scrub both hands over my face and stare down at the courtyard lights.
“All right,” I mutter. “Fine.”
She waits.
“Remember that delightful gentleman who kicked in my door a few weeks ago?”
Her expression tightens instantly.
“Mysk.”
“Yep.”
“What about him?”
I hesitate.
The night air suddenly feels colder.
“He gave me a deadline.”
Her brows knit together.
“For the debt.”
“How long?”
I laugh quietly.
“Seven days.”
Tilda’s eyes widen slightly.
“The final challenge is tomorrow.”
“Sharp math.”
She turns fully toward me.
“And if you don’t pay him?”
I hesitate again.
No point softening it.
“He kills me.”
For a long moment she doesn’t say anything.
Then she exhales slowly.
“That… explains a lot.”
“You’re not surprised?”
“I’m furious,” she says evenly. “But no, I’m not surprised.”
I lean against the railing harder.
“I thought I could win the prize money and fix it.”
“That’s still possible.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But he called yesterday.”
Her head snaps up.
“What?”
“Message on my compad. Real charming. Told me the betting syndicates are watching the finale.”
The anger in her eyes begins to sharpen into something colder.
“What did he want?”
I laugh again, though there’s no humor in it.
“He wants me to throw the final.”
The wind shifts across the balcony, carrying the scent of damp earth from the arena fields beyond the compound.
Tilda stares at me like she’s measuring the weight of what I’ve just said.
“And you told him no.”
“Immediately.”
“Bron.”
“Look,” I say quickly, turning toward her. “I didn’t even consider it.”
“You could die.”
“I’m aware.”
“Your life is on the line.”
“Still aware.”
Her voice rises.
“And you didn’t even hesitate?”
“Of course I hesitated,” I snap. “For about half a second.”
She falls silent.
I rub the back of my neck.
“He wanted me to sabotage our run. Make it look like an accident so the betting markets go wild.”
“And you refused.”
“Yeah.”
Her gaze softens in a way that makes my chest tighten.
“You idiot.”
“I know.”
“You magnificent, stubborn idiot.”
That gets a real laugh out of me.
She steps closer.
“Bron.”
“Yeah?”
“You did the right thing.”
I blink.
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m terrified,” she says quietly. “But I’m not mad.”
“You could lose everything because of me.”
She lifts one brow.
“Bron Verak.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been raising a half-Vakutan toddler alone for two years while juggling a job that barely paid rent. I am intimately familiar with risk.”
That makes me smile.
“You’re incredible, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
She studies me for a long moment.
“And if we win tomorrow?”
I shrug.
“Then I pay the debt and Mysk disappears into whatever hole crime bosses crawl back into.”
“And if you lose?”
I don’t answer.
She steps forward and cups my face with both hands.
“Look at me.”
I do.
Her green eyes burn with fierce intensity.
“Whatever happens,” she says softly, “we face it together.”
My throat tightens.
“Tilda—”
“No,” she says gently. “You listen.”
Her thumbs brush across my cheekbones.
“You chose integrity over fear. You chose honesty over corruption. You chose us.”
She glances toward the dark compound where Jesse sleeps in the secured daycare wing.
“You chose your family.”
The word hits me harder than any punch I’ve taken in a Challenge arena.
Family.
I swallow.
“I spent years running from responsibility,” I say quietly. “Drinking, gambling, acting like the universe owed me applause just for showing up.”
“You also survived a war.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” she agrees. “It isn’t.”
Her fingers slide down to grip the front of my shirt.
“But you’re here now.”
“And that’s enough?”
“It’s everything.”
The wind rustles her hair across my arm.
I pull her closer.
“Gods,” I murmur. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Correct.”
“Hey.”
“But you’re getting me anyway.”
I laugh and rest my forehead against hers.
For a moment we just stand there, breathing the same cool air under the dim compound lights.
Then she whispers, “Come inside.”
The room behind us is dim and quiet, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the walls.
When the door slides shut behind us the world outside seems to vanish.
No arena.
No crime boss.
No cameras.
Just her.
Tilda studies me for a moment, then steps forward and kisses me.
The kiss starts slow, tentative, like a question.
Then it deepens.
My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her against me as heat floods through my chest and down my spine. Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging gently as the kiss grows hungrier, charged with all the tension we’ve both been carrying.
She pulls back just long enough to breathe.
“You scared me today,” she murmurs.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She kisses me again, softer this time.
The room smells faintly of clean linens and the citrus soap the compound provides, mixed with the warmer scent of her skin and the faint mineral tang of my scales.
I lift her easily, earning a quiet laugh as she wraps her legs around my waist.
“Show-off,” she murmurs.
“Perks of being Vakutan.”
I carry her to the bed.
The world narrows to the warmth of her body beneath my hands, the quiet sounds she makes when I kiss the curve of her neck, the way her fingers trace the scar across my shoulder as if memorizing it.
We move slowly, deliberately, like two people savoring the fragile certainty of the moment.
Every touch carries weight.
Every breath feels important.
At one point she presses her forehead to mine and whispers, “We’re going to win tomorrow.”
I smile against her lips.
“Damn right we are.”
The night stretches around us in warm shadows and quiet laughter, the kind of intimacy that isn’t just physical but threaded with trust and stubborn hope.
Later, when the room grows still again and the world outside the compound remains quiet, we lie tangled together beneath the blankets.
Tilda traces lazy circles across my chest.
“Promise me something,” she murmurs.
“Anything.”
“No matter what happens tomorrow…”
She pauses.
“You keep fighting.”
“For you?”
“For Jesse.”
My chest tightens.
“And for yourself,” she adds softly.
I kiss the top of her head.
“I promise.”
We lie there for a while longer, listening to the distant hum of the compound generators and the soft rhythm of each other’s breathing.
Tomorrow we face the final challenge.
A monster in the arena.
A crime boss waiting for the outcome.
A future that could go a thousand different ways.
But tonight, for the first time in a long time, I feel ready for whatever comes.