Barracks, Delta Outpost
Night before the duel
The air inside their barracks was heavy with tension, but not fear—something closer to fire held in check, like the simmering calm before a battlefield charge. The five of them sat on crates and bedrolls scattered around the lantern-lit space, their equipment polished and stacked neatly beside them. No one touched the cards on the table. No one pretended to relax.
They were too focused on the coming match.
Hiro stood near the window, arms crossed, the same unreadable calm on his face. Zion leaned against the wall, cleaning his gloves with short, precise movements. Lisa sat with one leg over the other, absentmindedly sharpening a dagger. Sylvia leaned back on her elbows, a soft smirk tugging at her lips, and Misha sat at the foot of her bed, gripping the hem of her cloak like she was holding her nerves still.
"It's settled then," Lisa broke the silence. "We're doing this, right? No stepping back?"
