The festival had been a whirlwind of adrenaline and grit, but first place in Boundary Breach had felt like a quiet sort of victory. By the time the Miasma podium was cleared away, my muscles were throbbing and my head was still humming, and I collapsed onto my bed with my boots still on. Evening light was pouring through the window, laying long shadows across the floor. I was still replaying the moment I'd taken the last crystal—the silence, then the noise—when a soft knock pulled me out of it.
The door opened, and there was Rose, leaning against the frame.
She'd washed the arena off her face, mostly. A smudge of dirt had survived along one cheekbone, and her auburn hair was coming out of its braid in a dozen places, as if she'd tied it in a hurry and then forgotten about it. She looked tired. She also looked completely composed, which was how Rose looked in a burning building.
She was the last of the four to come. Something about that felt right.
