Zane's POV
I was on my knees.
Hands dug into the rough, paint-chipped concrete, the surface biting into my palms like it wanted to leave its mark. My head hung forward, my neck trembling under its own weight. Every breath was a battle—lungs searing as though I'd inhaled molten lead. Sweat ran along my jawline, breaking free in uneven drops, splattering onto the dusty ground. Each drop left a dark spot that faded too fast, like even the earth wanted to erase me.
The arena around me was a smear of colors and motion. Sound came muffled, as if someone had wrapped the world in a heavy blanket. Shouts, footsteps, the thud of bodies against obstacles—they were all warped, underwater echoes refusing to take shape.
A hand landed on my shoulder—firm, steady, warm."Zane—hey—look at me—" Celeste's voice, urgent, close, almost trembling.
The words brushed my ears, but they didn't stick. They slid right through me.
