Page 132 of The Fake Divination Offense
“Oh gods,” Seb groans. “Stop making bedroom eyes at each other or I’m going to start eating without you.”
Thio leans over to whisper to Seb, “I think this is what is commonly known aspayback, dearest.”
“You bet your ass it is,” I say and dive forward.
Bel squeals, sprinting around the table, but I catch him in two strides and haul him into my arms, attacking his neck with bites and kisses.
Some are teasing. Some are claiming.
Each one is a promise.
The energy in Bwararax Stadium is off.
Every-fucking-one, from the rawball team to the managers, coaches, cheerleaders—hell, probably even the people selling concessions up on the main levels—we’re all strung taut.
When the Chimeras made the championship last season, the energy before it had been boisterous and confident. My teammates had gone in with their heads high and spirits cranked to the max; I’d been swept along yet separated, trying to soak up their certainty.
But here?
It’s like everyone’s holding their breath in that clenched-up bracing of uncertainty I’ve been living with since finding out about Bel and these damn cultists. I hate that it feels like this negative energy is emanating out of me. Am I infecting everyone?
As we ready our uniforms after warm-up, the locker room is pin-drop silent. Usually Darian’s humming or someone’s murmuring spells over their enchanted items or general talk rings around. But it’s quiet.
I sit on the bench near my locker, holding my Hellhounds uniform, doing what I’ve done before every game all season: staring at the Urzoth badge stitched on my jersey’s shoulder.
Then promptly ignoring the Urzoth badge.
If we pull off this faux ritual, I’ll be able to renounce Urzoth, for real this time. Bel and I both can go into next season free.
I layer on my pads and am tugging on my jersey when the main door flies open.
Roesia and the rest of the team management enter.
I stand along with everyone else. The toxic silence hangs as team management stops in the middle of the room.
Roesia sighs loudly.
“My gods,” she says, fists on her hips. “Did we lose already and no one told me?”
“No, ma’am,” Aaron speaks up next to me. “I apologize. This isn’t the attitude we should be going into the game with.”
Agreement ripples through the team.
I rub at my chest. The hell is wrong with us? We’ve earned our spot here. This is our stadium. What’s with this dread? It’s heavier than normal. It’s—
An alarm rips through my head.
“Bel.”
Aaron hums. “I don’t hear a bell.”
“No, I—”
I think Roesia might be talking. Trying to convince us of our worthiness, our victory. But all I hear is the echo of that alarm in my head, the brief screaming ring that Seb said would trigger in both my head and his when Bel broke one of the pearls on his necklace. When he was in trouble.
Oh my gods.
I fly at my locker, grab my phone, but Seb’s already calling me.
