Kaelen’s POV

The brandy burned going down. Cheap. Harsh. Nothing like what waited in the crystal decanters back at the palace.

I set the glass on the narrow ledge beside me and returned my attention to the report in my hands. Valerius’s tutor had sent a detailed summary of the science exhibition—my son had apparently built a working model of a lunar tide engine. Clever boy. Too clever for his age, sometimes.

"Kaelen."

I didn’t look up. "I’m reading."

"You’ve been reading for quite a while." Cassian leaned forward in the creaking wooden seat beside me, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with the reflected glow of the pit lanterns below. "We didn’t come here so you could review fiscal reports."

"You came here," I corrected. "I was dragged."

The warehouse shook with noise. Hundreds of bodies packed into makeshift bleachers, stamping, howling, throwing coins at the sand pit below. The stench was overwhelming—sweat, cheap alcohol, blood both fresh and old, and beneath it all, the sharp animal musk of wolves pretending to be human for the evening. A few scattered among the crowd. Most were genuine mortals. Desperate ones, from the look of them.

I turned to the fiscal summary. Border garrison expenditures had exceeded projections again. The quartermaster was either incompetent or skimming.

"The main event’s starting," Cassian said. He gripped my forearm. "Just watch. Please. This is the one I told you about."

"I don’t care."

"Kaelen—"

"You told me there were potential recruits here. Warriors worth observing." I gestured at the pit below without looking. "What I see are broken people beating each other to death for coin. This is not a recruiting ground. This is a graveyard with an audience."

Cassian released my arm. "Some of them have real skill. Raw. Unpolished. But—"

"Raw and unpolished gets people killed in actual combat." I flipped a page. "We need disciplined soldiers, not desperate brawlers."

The crowd surged to its feet. The announcer’s voice cut through the din—something about weight classes, records, kill counts. I didn’t listen. The fiscal report demanded attention. If the quartermaster was skimming, I’d need to send an auditor soon.

Something is wrong.

Alex’s voice. My wolf. Not words exactly—more like a pressure behind my ribs. A tightening in my chest that had nothing to do with the smoke-thick air.

What? I pushed back.

No answer. Just that pressure. Growing.

I ignored it. Alex had been restless for months. Ever since—

No. I wasn’t going there. Not tonight.

I turned another page. The numbers blurred. I blinked hard and refocused.

Below, the fight had begun. I could hear it without looking—the dull thud of impacts, the crowd’s rhythmic chanting, boots shuffling on sand. Standard fare. Brutal and pointless.

"Gods," Cassian breathed. "He’s enormous. She’s—"

"She?" I looked up despite myself.

"The fighter in the blue corner. A woman." Cassian’s jaw was tight. "Small. Fast. But he’s got reach on her by—"

A crack echoed through the warehouse. Bone meeting bone.

Leave. Alex again. Urgent now. Almost frantic. Leave this place. Now.

I frowned. Set the reports down. Reached for the brandy instead.

Why?

Something is wrong. I can feel it. We need to go.

Another impact. Then another. The crowd noise shifted—hungry, anticipatory. They smelled blood.

I took a long swallow of brandy and watched the amber liquid catch the lantern light. My wolf was pacing inside my chest like a caged animal. His agitation bled into my muscles, making my shoulders tight, my jaw clench.

Then came a sound that silenced everything.

A single, sickening, massive impact. Wet. Final. The kind of sound a body makes when it hits the ground and doesn’t intend to get up.

The warehouse went quiet.

"One!" the referee’s voice rang out.

"Two!"

"Three!"

"Four!"

"Five!"

"Six!"

"Seven!"

"Eight!"

"Nine!"

At "Nine!", I glanced down. The fallen female gladiator was barely moving on the bloody sand.

"T—"

Right as the final syllable began, she pushed herself back up to her feet.

The entire warehouse erupted into deafening, frantic cheers.

Absolute panic flooded my senses, sharp and overwhelming. Alex screamed inside my skull. Not a word. Not a thought. Pure animal terror flooding through every nerve I had. My hand crushed the glass. Brandy spilled over my fingers.

I stood, my chair scraping harshly against the wooden platform. "This is a foolish idea, Cassian," I snapped, my voice fueled by an angry terror I couldn’t explain. "Recruiting from mortal fighting pits. These gladiators are just desperate and broken people."

Cassian stood up, grabbing my arm. "Kaelen, please. Just a few more minutes. Look at her—"

"I will not watch a mortal woman get beaten to death for your entertainment," I snarled, yanking my arm free. The words came out savage, venomous. More than the situation warranted, and I knew it. But Alex’s panic was drowning rational thought. My hands were shaking. My skin felt too tight.

I turned toward the exit. Took one step.

Then, a sound cut through the deafening cheers.

A low, wild roar, thick with pain and absolute fury. It vibrated through the wooden beams, through the floor, through the soles of my boots and up into my bones.

Every muscle in my body went rigid. I froze mid-step, holding my breath.

Alex went completely, deathly silent.

Beside me, Cassian’s voice was barely a whisper.

"Did you hear that?"