DAYS TURNED INTO NIGHTS and nights into days, the relentless repetition of time pulsating like a metronome. I was caught in the rhythm where corroded metal walls bore silent witness to my preparation. The stench was a pungent cocktail of rotting food, damp cardboard, and rusted iron—a smell that clung to my clothes, my hair, and my skin. But in that disgusting place, I was forging something beautiful: my resolve, my strength, and my skill.
Mamori stood on the sidelines, her petite figure dwarfed by the towering mounds of refuse. She watched with an anxious gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line. But she remained silent, her eyes tracking my movements with a mixture of fear and awe. Mamori knew better than to try and dissuade me. Her words, like water, would simply flow over the unyielding rock of my determination. As the afternoon sun began its descent, it painted the sky with strokes of orange and pink, the beauty of the spectacle in sharp contrast with the griminess of our surroundings. The rusty dumpsters bore the sunlight's reflection, casting a surreal, warm glow that danced over the piles of discarded things.
The makeshift training area was a patchwork of shadow and light, a chiaroscuro canvas for my dance of combat. My fists cut through the air, swift and sharp as a hawk's talons. My feet danced over the cracked concrete, a ballet choreographed by necessity and survival. Each jab, each dodge, and each kick was a verse in the epic poem of my resolve.
My breath came in ragged gasps, and the air was heavy with the odor of decay. Sweat trickled down my temples, catching the last rays of the setting sun, turning each droplet into a fiery spectacle before it fell onto the grubby ground. The rusty chains of the dumpster gate creaked as the wind picked up, a discordant symphony that rose and fell with my movements. My heart pounded in synchrony with the rhythm of the town beyond the dumpster walls—the distant roar of traffic, the sporadic honks, the far-off siren. Perthlochry was alive, pulsating to its own frantic heartbeat, indifferent to the desperate dance of survival unfolding in its shadows.
Mamori's silent vigil was a comforting constant in the corner of my eye. The dark pools of her eyes reflected the intensity of my training, her fear adding fuel to my determination. I was not fighting only for myself; I was fighting for Elliot, for him, for his recovery.
As the last light of the day succumbed to the encroaching night, I finally paused. The silence of the dumpster was broken only by my rasping breaths and the distant murmur of the city. I turned to Mamori, an unspoken promise in my eyes. Her silent nod was all the affirmation I needed.
"You need to rest," she said worriedly.
It's been days since I started practicing. Tomorrow, I will step into the illegal arena. The dumpster was a crucible, and I was the metal being shaped within it. Perthlochry's underbelly would soon bear witness to the strength that I carried. The night descended, but in the darkness, I was not afraid. I was ready.
***
The cold dawn of the day of reckoning had finally arrived. I stood at the threshold of the clandestine arena, an underground fortress of brute force and blood sport.
"You really don't have to do this," Mamori's voice trembled beside me. My Japanese friend's worry was palpable in her almond-shaped eyes. She was a stark contrast to my rugged demeanor, dressed in her neatly ironed dress while I wore my battle attire—a hooded cloak and ripped fabric that I wrapped around my fists.
"I know," I responded, my voice steady. I didn't look at Mamori; my eyes were fixed on the looming entryway. The smell of sweat and iron filled my nostrils, a strangely comforting reminder of the raw, unfiltered life that thrived within these walls. As we walked through the dimly lit tunnel, I could feel Mamori's eyes on me, tracing the jagged scars that crisscrossed my bare arms, remnants of my practice in the dumpster. I pulled the hood further over my head, my heart pounding with an intoxicating mix of anticipation and adrenaline.
The tunnel opened into the vast arena, a large circular pit surrounded by towering walls. The place was teeming with spectators, their raucous cheers echoing off the cold stone, a symphony of raw excitement. Among them, Mamori found a seat, her petite figure swallowed by the crowd.
The host, a burly man with a booming voice and a laugh that could shake the heavens, took center stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!" he bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the walls. The crowd roared in response. He went on to introduce the fighters, his words dripping with the kind of showmanship only a ringmaster could possess.
Finally, my name echoed through the arena. I stepped into the ring, the hood concealing my face. The host, upon seeing my slender figure, chuckled. Then a murmur passed through the crowd, followed by laughter. The host egged them on, making light of my gender. I stood tall, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I could feel the burn of their mockery, but it only fueled the fire within me.
"Let them laugh," I thought, pulling down my hood and revealing my face. My hair, the color of wood, cascaded around my shoulders, my brown eyes flashing defiantly.
The world fell away as I waited for the bell. My heart pounded in my chest, a wild drum that drowned out the crowd, the host, and the mockery. All that mattered was the ring, the opponent, and the fight. I was ready. The host then welcomed my opponent into the illegal arena. His name was Brock, and he was a scruffy-looking man whose muscular build and grizzled features gave him the air of a seasoned brawler. He was a stark contrast to the polished, sterile world I had grown up in.
The host's voice droned on, a dull hum in the back of my mind as I focused on Brock, studying his movements. A chill ran down my spine as Brock turned his gaze towards me, his lips curving into a predatory smile. He started mocking me, taunting me for being a girl. It was evident in his voice—the dismissive laughter, the derisive tone. The crowd around us seemed to join him, their laughter and jeers filling the arena.
"Look at this little girl," he sneered, his words directed at the crowd. "This is what we've come to, lads. Fighting little girls."
I bit my lip, feeling my heart pound against my ribcage. I could feel the host's eyes on me as he waited for my response, his grin widening. But I said nothing, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I focused on the task at hand and the impending fight.
Then, as the host gave the signal to begin, this loud bell rang. I then tensed my muscles. "Aren't you going to attack, little girl?" Brock mused.
I didn't respond. Rather, I glared at him with daggers. Brock lunged at me with a roar afterwards, his fists swinging. I danced away deftly, evading his attacks with a grace and agility that seemed to surprise him. He was strong, yes, but his movements were predictable and heavy.
"Too scared to fight back, little girl?" he bellowed, his words echoing in the hushed silence of the arena.
His taunts were meant to agitate me and throw me off my game. But they only served to fuel my determination. My grip tightened on the grip of my hands, my only weapon in this brutal game. I kept evading, waiting for the right moment and the right opening.
And then, it came. Brock lunged at me again, his fist swinging in a wide arc. I dove, letting his fist sail past me. I surged forward, ramming my shoulder into his chest, and he stumbled back, caught off guard. Before he could recover, I brought my punch up, pressing the tip against his throat. The arena fell silent. The crowd stared, their jeers dying in their throats. I could feel their astonishment and their disbelief that a girl had just taken down the infamous Brock. I turned to the host, meeting his shocked gaze with a calm one of my own. But it wasn't his reaction that held my attention.
There, at the edge of the crowd, stood Mamori. She looked as stunned as the rest of them, her eyes widening as they met mine. But there was something else in her gaze—something that looked a lot like admiration. I had won. Against all odds, I had emerged as the victor during my first round—just like that. As the crowd erupted into cheers and boos, I walked out of the arena with my head held high. And somehow I proved something in the first round.
The grimy, sweat-slicked floor of the underground arena reeked of fear masked by bravado, and the crowd was a cacophony of hollering voices that echoed off the concrete walls. Men jeered and sneered, reveling in their toxic masculinity, as I watched the next set of players in the arena. Mamori constantly showed her worry, but I ignored her. The moment the bell rang after the fifth round, I stepped once more into the ring. Their derision was a constant hum in the background, a low and grating drone that had become as familiar to me as the feel of the battered leather gloves on my hands.
"Brock was a fluke, Dawson!" one of them yelled, his laughter grating against my resolve like sandpaper. "You're a girl! You don't belong here!"
I bit back a retort, letting silence be my answer. Their words were meaningless, hollow sounds uttered by hollow men. I was more than they could comprehend. My strength did not come from my gender but from my spirit, which was fierce and unbroken. I was a warrior, a tempest in the guise of a teenage girl.
The next opponent lumbered into the ring, a hulking brute of a man named Wirt. He was a mountain of muscle, a monolith of raw power, but his eyes held a glimmer of uncertainty. He knew about Brock, about the defeat that still had many in the crowd whispering in hushed tones. Afterwards, Wirt came at me like a landslide, his heavy fists swinging with the momentum of boulders tumbling down a hill. I danced around him, my movements fluid and graceful, in stark contrast to his brute force. I was the river, weaving around the rocks, unyielding in my path.
A fist connected with my side, sending a sharp jolt of pain radiating through my ribs. Another blow grazed my cheek, splitting the skin and painting a trail of crimson over my jaw. But I did not falter. With every strike and every bruise that bloomed on my skin, I grew stronger. My body was a canvas, and my injuries were a painting to my resilience. Then, I spun, my gloved fist connecting with Wirt's jaw in a resounding crack that echoed through the arena. He staggered back, surprise written across his face. I pressed forward, my every move a symphony of strikes and evasions that left Wirt floundering in my wake.
The crowd's jeers turned into gasps, then shouts of disbelief. They saw my determination, my strength, and my unwavering resolve. They saw me, not as a small girl in a man's world, but something more.
As I landed the final blow, Wirt crumpled to the floor, the echo of the punch still ringing in the silence that had gripped the crowd. I stood, bloodied but unbowed, above the defeated man. As the referee raised my hand, declaring me the victor, I turned my gaze to the silent crowd.
"Being a girl is not a weakness," I said, my voice in my head ringing clear and strong. "It is not a limitation nor a hindrance. It is not a definition of what I can or cannot do. It is simply a part of who I am, and I am capable of doing anything."
And in the hushed silence that followed, I felt something shift. A ripple of understanding and respect passed through the crowd.
The roar of the audience grew more thunderous, a cacophony of screams and cheers that bounced off the damp concrete walls of the underground arena. The air was thick with fear and anticipation—a palpable tension that clung to me like a second skin. I could taste the metallic tang of my own blood, a bitter reminder of both rounds I had fought to get here.
Mamori stood outside the ring, her face etched in concern. Her almond-shaped eyes, usually sparkling with playful mischief, were now dulled with anxiety. She was biting her lower lip, a telltale sign of her worry. The faint, artificial neon lights flickered across her worried features, casting her in a surreal, almost ghostly glow. I limped over to her, every step a painful reminder of the fight I had just endured. My body screamed in protest, but my will was unbroken. I offered her a small smile, meant to reassure her, and her eyes filled with tears. After all, I'm hardheaded, as she implied back when we were kids. I mean, where's the lie?
"Prim, you should stop now," she implored, her voice barely audible over the thunderous applause. "You've won enough for Elliot's medication. You don't have to do this."
I wiped the blood off my lips with the back of my hand, leaving a crimson smear on my knuckles. I knew she was right, but I also knew that I had to see this through. I had to win. Not for the money, not for myself, but for Elliot.
"I'll be okay," I assured her, my voice a lot more confident than I felt. "I just need to win this final round, then I'll stop."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "But Prim..."
Before she could finish her sentence, I cut her off.
"Just let me, okay?" I said. She was seemingly. She was unsure. But there's nothing she can do at this point. I was about to head over to her when suddenly the host's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, interrupting us both.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we've reached the round we've all been waiting for!"
I looked back. The crowd silenced in a blanket of awe, seemingly excited over something I was unsure of. The host then jumped over near the ring, his face a canvas of amusement and excitement.
"Gather round and brace yourselves for a momentous occasion! Now, we stand on the precipice of history as we welcome the undefeated champion, a force to be reckoned with, a legend in the making! His name sends shivers down the spines of his opponents, and his prowess knows no bounds. Prepare to witness the embodiment of raw power and skill!" the host yelled. The crowd burst into a cacophony of cheers.
"But amidst this spectacle," the host added, "I dare to ask a question that lingers in the air like a whisper in the wind. Could it be possible? Could a mere child," he points at me, "with innocence in her eyes and determination in her heart, dare to challenge the seemingly invincible? Could she possess the courage to stare down this Goliath and emerge victorious? I mean, folks, we may just find out if even the mightiest of champions can be humbled by the unexpected."
As he finished that line, a towering figure emerged from the shadows, his bald head gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. He was a mountain of a man, his muscles rippling under his skin like a violent sea. The crowd erupted into a deafening cheer, a mixture of awe and fear. I turned back to the ring, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I could feel Mamori's worried gaze burning into my back, but I pushed her concern aside. I heard her call my name, but it was like a blur as my sight was glued to the man in front. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. My heart pounded in my chest like a frantic drum, echoing the rhythm of the crowd's cheers. I could feel their anticipation and their thrill. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
With one last glance at Mamori, I stepped into the ring, my eyes never leaving the towering figure of the champion. A silent vow passed between us, a promise of the battle to come. The cheers of the crowd faded into a dull roar, the world narrowing down to just the two of us.
I stared at him and saw a sleeve of patterned tattoos clinging onto his shoulders and down his arms. The air was thick with anticipation as the undefeated champion swaggered into the ring. His name, a tsunami of sound, reverberated off the walls as the host bellowed, "let us welcome, Raunn the Indomitable!"
As he sputtered those words, the crowd went wild, a forest of fists pumping in the air, their cheers echoing in my ears with an intensity that was nearly tangible. I could almost taste the admiration they had for him—salty and bitter on my tongue. Raunn was a mountain of a man, the sinews of his muscled arms rippling under the harsh spotlight, his eyes glinting with the fire of his personality. His laughter boomed across the stadium as he caught sight of me, his opponent. He threw his head back, the sound rich and mirthful, like the tolling of a bell.
"Is this some sort of joke?" he bellowed, the challenge clear in his voice. His eyes, sparkling with glee, took in my scrawny frame, and my hands balled into tight fists at my sides. He laughed again, a hearty guffaw that swept through the crowd, carrying them along in its wake. "Is this scrawny thing my opponent?"
I stood my ground, my gaze steely, refusing to dignify his mockery with a response. I knew I didn't look like much. I was a teenage girl, not much more than bones and spirit, but I was more than met the eye. I know. I just know.
"There's no shame in forfeiting, girlie," Raunn continued, his voice dripping with condescension. He cocked his head to the side, his smile widening, showing off rows of silver teeth. "You don't stand a chance against a man like me."
His words washed over me, but I let them slide off like water on a duck's back. I'd heard it all before. I was too small, too weak, and too inexperienced. But I knew better. I knew the fire that burned within me and the determination that drove me. I didn't need to respond to his taunts. My fists, white-knuckled and ready, were responsive enough.
The world seemed to narrow down to the two of us in that ring, the jeering crowd fading into the background. I could feel the electric charge in the air; the tension was building like a storm about to break. Raunn's manic smile, as wide as a chasm, was the last thing I saw before the bell clanged, shattering the silence. As I locked my gaze on Raunn, the world spun. The hushed silence of the crowd rested heavy in the air, a palpable tension broken only by the occasional whimper from Mamori. Her eyes widened with concern, a silent plea for me to retreat. But retreat was not an option. Heck, I can't afford to withdraw now that I'm here.
I tightened my fists, the coarse fabric of my gloves brushing against the determined callouses of my hands. I lunged at Raunn, my body a comet tearing through the space between us. My punch connected with his jaw, a silent thud echoing in my ears. Everyone went silent, the only sound being the buzz from the flourescent bulbs above. Three, four, five seconds, and nothing. I wanted to see him wince, to break his façade of invincibility. But my attack was as insignificant as a pebble against a mountain. His stone-cold expression remained unaltered, his stance unchanged. He... he smirked.
Despite the disappointment, I didn't let my resolve waver. I focused my strength, my every muscle straining. I launched myself at him again, my fist a hammer against his physique. But it was fruitless. It was like punching a wall, the impact reverberating through my arm but leaving him undeterred. He stood there, towering over me, a smug smile playing on the corners of his lips. Then it was his turn. His massive hand swung through the air, a brutal pendulum marking the passage of our dance. The blow caught me off guard—a thunderclap that sent me sprawling onto the sandy floor of the arena. The crowd erupted in laughter, a cruel chorus that echoed in my ears. But the humiliation was momentary, replaced by a burning determination.
I pushed myself up, my palms sinking into the cool sand. My every nerve screamed in protest, but I couldn't afford to yield. I stood once more, my legs wobbly like a newborn fawn, but my spirit unbroken. I gazed at Raunn, my fiery eyes meeting his icy stare. A challenge, a promise, a refusal to back down.
"Prim!" Mamori yelled behind me.
Before I could even look at her, Raunn was quick to crush my time. His fist swung again like a comet hurtling towards me. It connected with my body, the force of the impact causing my world to spin. My body crumpled like a marionette with severed strings. But even as I fell, my gaze never left his. I was down, but not defeated. The crowd's laughter rang in my ears—a cacophony that drowned out the world. But within me, the fire of defiance still roared—a flame that wouldn't be extinguished.
As I lay sprawled on the cold and unforgiving tiles of the arena, the world around me swirled into circles. The cheers and jeers of the spectators echoed in my ears, a cacophony of sounds that matched the discord in my heart. Each breath I drew was a battle against the pain that lanced through my battered body.
"See!" Raunn roared, his voice a thunderous rumble that echoed across the arena walls. His muscles rippled, glistening with sweat under the cruel arena lights, and his grin was as fierce and bloodthirsty as a predator, ready for the kill. "None can defeat me!" He pounded his chest, a triumphant, narcissistic salute that had the crowd on their feet, baying for blood—my blood.
Each clap was a nail hammered into my coffin, each cheer a reminder of my impending defeat. I closed my eyes, the darkness a welcome respite from the harsh reality. I closed my eyes and felt the void wrapping around me. Just as my consciousness began to wane, to surrender to the sweet allure of oblivion, he appeared.
"Primrose," he said.
Him?
"You're more than what meets the eye," the man that always appeared in my dreams said. But why did he emerge right now?
His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, held a depth that made my breath hitch. His voice, a soothing balm in the face of despair, echoed in my mind: "You are more than what you think. You are capable of so much more."
His words stirred something within me—a tiny flicker of resistance in the face of overwhelming odds. "I can't," I whispered, my voice hoarse and my spirit wavering. "H-He's too strong."
"Believe in yourself, Primrose," he implored, his voice steady and resolute. His image began to fade, but his words echoed, a mantra that sparked a flame in my heart. Once again, Elliot's face appeared in my vision, and like that, my jaws clenched.
As I opened my eyes, the world snapped back into sharp focus. The clamor of the crowd was a distant hum; the arena was a stage set for my comeback. For some reason, my necklace began to glow. I never knew it could glow. The gem pulsed with a light that was warm and tranquil, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that had gripped me. I rose, my body moving as if guided by some unseen force. The pain was still there, but it was a dull throb now, a mere nuisance in the face of my newfound resolve. I stood tall, my spirit unbowed, my gaze locked on Raunn.
Raunn's laugh faltered. He turned, his eyes wide as they took in the sight of me standing, unbroken. The crowd fell silent, their cheers dying in their throats, their gazes darting between me and Raunn, the tension palpable. The glow of my necklace bathed the arena in a soft, ethereal light. It was as if time had stopped, the world holding its breath as I squared my shoulders, my heart beating in time with the rhythm of my defiance.
"Dumbhead," I called, wiping the blood off my lips. "I'm not yet done! "
Raunn's bafflement was palpable, a fog of confusion that enveloped his face as I slowly rose from the dust-ridden floor of the grimy underground arena. His arrogant laughter echoed off the stone walls, a jarring sound that bounced around the hollow space like a cruel joke. Despite the throbbing pain that pulsed through my veins, I swallowed the bitter taste of fear and stood tall.
Raunn lunged at me, his arm in a blur of motion, intent on striking me down again. I swerved, my body moving with agility I didn't know I possessed. His attack whistled past, striking only air, and the crowd erupted around us, their cheers echoing in the cavernous space. Each shout was a jolt of adrenaline, fueling my determination. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mamori, her face a mask of concern. She was just outside the ring, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, her eyes wide with worry. The sight of her fear spurred me on; I couldn't let her down.
Raunn attacked again, his movements faster and more desperate. But I evaded once more, my body a swirling dance of motion. His frustration was a palpable entity in the ring, and the crowd roared, their enthusiasm a wall of sound that threatened to engulf us. Then Raunn lunged at me, his fist a deadly missile aimed at my face. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching out, as if reluctant to meet the next. And then something strange happened. My necklace began to pulse with a warm light that spread from the small pendant, bathing me in its radiance.
I blocked his attack. My arm shot up, meeting his with a force that rattled my bones. Raunn's eyes widened, his surprise mirrored in the stunned silence that fell over the crowd. And then, it happened. My fists moved on their own, striking Raunn with a force that seemed to come from somewhere deep within me. Each punch landed with precision, and each kick was a testament to a strength I didn't know I possessed. Raunn still rose and lunged at me, but before he could even land his fist, my necklace once again pulsed, and for some reason this invisible force emanated out of it. It was like a shockwave, a hard tug that sent Raunn out of the ring. Everyone who saw what happened became silent, and I slowly started losing strength.
Raunn staggered back, his face a mask of shock. I saw the moment he realized he was hurt, his eyes going wide and his body going slack. And then he fell. His body hit the ground with a resounding thud, a sound that echoed in the sudden silence of the arena.
The crowd remained silent, their cheers replaced with a stunned silence. The host, a burly man with a voice that could shake the walls, was silent. And Raunn, the unbeatable Raunn, was unconscious, sprawled on the dusty floor of the arena. As the realization of what had just happened began to sink in, I felt a surge of exhilaration. The bell started to ring, and I saw hands clapping in front of me.
The deafening applause of a thousand hands clapping in unison began to dull as the faces of the audience started to blur into a sea of strangers. My heart was still pounding from the adrenaline of my victory, and the echoes of my name, "Dawson," still resounded in my ears. Confetti streamed down from the ceiling, glinting in the arena's harsh lights, creating a shimmering rain that danced around my feet and clung to my sweat-soaked hair.
I scanned the crowd, my eyes desperately seeking the one face that meant more than any amount of cash prize, more than any hollow victory. Mamori. She was out there somewhere, lost in a swirling vortex of people, all swept up in the excitement of the night. But where?
***
A sense of urgency propelled me towards the back of the arena, where the crowd began to thin. I already rested, and a few people came to congratulate me. However, I dismissed them. I moved with purpose, my boots thumping rhythmically against the concrete floor. The backstage was a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors. I navigated through them, my heart pounding like a wild drum in my chest. I was just looking for Mamori. I had the cash that I needed, and I am done with the combat. Because of my search for Mamori, I stumbled upon this door—it was standing slightly ajar, a soft, yellow light spilling from its crack. A hunch whispered that I might find Mamori there. Is she in here?
As I approached, a familiar voice laced with remorse stopped me in my tracks. It was Raunn, placed by his goons in a chair while the other one tended to his wounds. I might be wrong. Mamori could not be here. I slipped behind the shadow of a pillar, my back pressed against its cold, rough surface. My breath hitched in my throat as I peered from my hiding spot.
Raunn was there, yes, but not with Mamori. Instead, his massive figure was dwarfed by the presence of a man I'd never seen before. The stranger was clad in an ominous black coat, a fedora hat concealing most of his face. The only features visible were a pair of icy blue eyes and a smooth, pallid forehead, bereft of eyebrows. His stern gaze was as cold as the Arctic sea, sending shivers down my spine even from a distance.
"What the hell was that?" The man asked.
"I didn't know! I was certain I..." Raunn began, his voice shaky, but the man with the cap dismissed his apology with an impatient wave of his hand. His voice was a chilling monotone that echoed in the hollow room. "Who was that girl?"
"I don't know," Raunn replied, a tremor in his voice.
The mysterious man's eyes narrowed. "Something about her seems peculiar, and you just let her defeat you. How stupid!" he yelled.
Raunn yelled in pain as one of his goons placed disinfectant in his wounds.
"I'm sorry," Raunn said.
The man looked at him mercilessly as he slapped Raunn's face. "Fool! The master would kill us if he found out what happened," the man said. "Besides, he might be the girl the master is looking for."
A cold dread washed over me. The master? Kill them? My heart pounded against my rib cage like a wild animal desperate to break free. I sensed that something awful was about to happen. I needed to find Mamori. Now.
I darted from my hiding place, my boots echoing loudly against the floor, my breath ragged.
As I turned the corner, I saw her. Mamori. Standing alone in the corridor, her dark hair cascading just above her shoulders, her eyes reflecting the dim overhead lights. Relief flooded over me like a cleansing wave, washing away the fear and suspicion. But as I moved towards her, the words of the cap-man echoed in my ears, a chilling promise of danger lurking in the shadows. We were far from safe. We were far from free.
But at the very least, who was that man?
"We need to leave now," I told Mamori, and then I dragged her away from the hidden arena before anything else happened.