Youri regained his senses slowly, as if surfacing from deep water. Sound came first—muffled voices, the scrape of boots on concrete, the distant hum of generators. Then smell: disinfectant mixed with sweat and iron. When he finally managed to open his eyes, the world swam into focus in broken pieces.
The locker room ceiling loomed above him, harsh lights stabbing at his vision. He blinked several times, wincing as pain bloomed behind his eyes. His body felt wrong—heavy, distant, like it belonged to someone else.
Leo was the first face he truly recognized, hovering over him with a mix of relief and worry. Two other men stood nearby, one in medical gear, the other a familiar underground staff member whose name Youri could never remember.
"You're awake," Leo said quickly, placing a steadying hand on Youri's shoulder. "Easy. Don't move."
Too late.
Instinct kicked in before reason could stop it. Youri lunged forward, trying to sit up in one sharp motion. The pain hit him like a freight train. His ribs screamed, his head spun, and a wave of nausea rolled through him. He groaned, clutching his side as his body betrayed him and slumped back down.
"Whoa, slow down, buddy," Leo said, firm but gentle. "You're battered. Really battered."
Youri sucked in a shallow breath, each inhale feeling like glass cutting into his chest. He pressed a trembling hand against his ribs, testing the damage. The physical pain was intense—but it wasn't what hit him the hardest.
Memory flooded back.
The fight. Zeus's fists. The crowd. The final blow.
And then Barnaby's voice, calm and precise, cutting through the chaos of his thoughts.
Remember my offer. It still stands.
Youri's jaw tightened. He tried to sit up again, slower this time, teeth clenched against the pain. His mind raced faster than his body could keep up. Volar. Liam. Emma. The rebellion. The unspoken deadline hanging over everything.
Before he could fully gather himself, the locker room doors swung open with force.
Toney entered first, his cap tilted low, followed closely by Mia. The moment Toney saw Youri's eyes open, his expression shifted from concern to agitation.
"Damn, kid," Toney barked, stepping closer. "You really lost your head out there."
Youri leaned back against the bench, too drained to argue.
"You know what kind of night this turned into?" Toney continued, pacing. "Malkom and Carter lost big money on you. Big. Money."
That landed harder than Zeus's final punch.
Toney adjusted his cap, lowering his voice. "And guys like them? They don't just shrug that off. They might want their money back."
The room felt smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in. Youri closed his eyes briefly. This wasn't just a loss—it was a problem. A dangerous one.
He tried to stand, forcing his legs beneath him, but the strength wasn't there. His knees buckled, and he fell back onto the bench with a sharp hiss of pain.
Mia moved instantly.
She approached him with a practiced calm, her eyes scanning his injuries with clinical precision. She lifted his chin slightly, checked his pupils, brushed fingers along his jaw, his ribs, his arms. Her frown deepened with every second.
She straightened and turned to Leo. "Pick him up. Now. He needs to go to the hospital immediately."
Youri shook his head weakly. "I… have other things to deal with," he muttered. "Hospital's not one of them."
Mia stepped closer—too close.
She leaned in until her face was inches from his, her voice low, sharp, and absolutely unyielding. "There is no way," she said, locking eyes with him, "that you are moving farther than that door."
She pointed toward the locker room exit.
"Whatever plans you think you have," she continued, "they're not happening unless you stop being stubborn and get your ass into a hospital bed. You don't heal, you don't walk. You don't walk, you don't go anywhere. Simple."
Youri opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. He didn't have the strength—physically or otherwise—to argue.
Leo sighed, relieved to have a clear direction, and carefully helped Youri to his feet. Between Leo and the medical staff, they got him to the car.
The drive to the hospital was quiet.
Youri stared out the window, city lights blurring past, his thoughts spiraling. Volar felt impossibly far away. Every mile of concrete between him and that planet felt like a failure. His family was there, trapped in something far bigger than him—and he was stuck here, broken, indebted, watched by people who expected him to be invincible.
The hospital came into view sooner than he expected.
Mia wasted no time. She checked him in, pulled strings, and secured him a private room, just like before. Doctors examined him, scans were taken, ribs confirmed bruised and possibly cracked, concussion noted but stable. He was ordered to rest.
Eventually, the room emptied.
Silence settled in.
Youri lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Barnaby's words echoed again, louder now, impossible to ignore.
Remember my offer.
He exhaled slowly, then pushed himself upright. Pain flared everywhere, but he welcomed it—it reminded him he was still moving. Still choosing.
He dressed slowly, every motion deliberate. When he reached the door, he paused, hand resting against the cool surface. He knew this was reckless. He knew Mia would kill him if she found out.
He opened the door anyway.
The hallway was long and quiet, lights dimmed for the night shift. Youri limped forward, one hand dragging along the wall for support. Every step was an argument between will and pain, and will barely won.
Getting outside felt like crossing a border.
The night air hit his face, cool and sharp. The parking lot stretched out under yellow lights—and there he was.
Barnaby leaned against a sleek black car, legs crossed, cigarette glowing between his fingers. He looked entirely at ease, as if he'd been waiting exactly this long.
When he noticed Youri, he flicked the cigarette away and straightened, a familiar smile touching his face.
"You know, son," Barnaby said calmly, "you and I can't seem to get rid of each other."
Youri stopped a few feet away, chest rising and falling with effort. He met Barnaby's gaze, anger, exhaustion, and resolve tangled together.
"Seems like it," Youri replied hoarsely.
Barnaby studied him for a moment, eyes sharp despite the relaxed posture. "You look like hell."
"Feel worse."
Barnaby nodded, unsurprised. "Still standing though. That's something."
Youri clenched his fists. "You planned this," he said. "Showing up. Betting. Making sure I saw you."
Barnaby didn't deny it. "I needed you to listen."
"And now I am," Youri said. "So talk."
Barnaby's smile faded, replaced by something more serious. "Volar is running out of time," he said quietly. "And so are you."
The city hummed around them, uncaring.
Youri swallowed, pain and purpose mixing into something dangerous.
"Then stop talking," he said. "And tell me what I have to do."
Barnaby opened the car door.
"This," he said, "is where your real fight begins."