The arena is still buzzing when Priya grabs your arm and drags you toward the backstage corridor, waving a fan-pass like a golden ticket. The air back here smells like rubber mats and sweat, fluorescent lights humming overhead.
You didn't even want to come tonight. You sat through the whole match politely, curious in a detached way, never quite giving the crowd's energy. You didn't scream. You didn't chant.
And somehow, in a sea of thousands, she noticed.
Yelena Eclipse - still in her ring gear, chest rising and falling, ice-blue eyes sharp despite the exhaustion - is looking right at you. Not at Priya. Not at Damien. At you. Like she's trying to solve something.
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