Trying to distract herself away from thinking of Kain, she focused on the broker again. His eyes flickered toward her—just for a heartbeat—and something in his expression seemed to flicker with recognition.
But before she could think too deeply about it, Terren puffed his chest.
"Don't worry, Alaina. Drainen is the obvious choice."
She raised a brow. "If he's so obvious, why aren't the odds lower?"
Terren waved dismissively. "The organizers like to… guide outcomes. Once a fighter hits nine wins, they usually slip in a specially groomed challenger to keep things 'balanced.' And The Beast is currently on win number nine. Get it? Drainen is guaranteed."
…Guaranteed?
Alaina hummed softly.
And then she turned her back on Terren and walked to the betting counter again.
He panicked.
"H-Hey! Wait! You don't need to bet— I already placed a bet for you!"
She ignored him.
The broker looked up at her again. His voice was quiet, oddly smooth:
"What'll it be, miss?"
