The night should have been winding down, but the arena still churned with heat and restless voices. The fights were done, but the crowd wasn’t ready to let go.

  Jacobi and Joy strode past me, moving into the chaos without hesitation. I fell into step behind them, the weight in my chest pressing heavier with every moment. Jacobi didn’t look back. He never had to. He knew I would follow, just as I always did.

  The roar of the crowd crashed over us as we stepped back into the arena’s main floor, a wave so loud it almost rattled my ribs. The fire beneath my skin hadn’t cooled since I stormed out of the room earlier, but this wasn’t about me. It never was.

  Jacobi thrived on the crowd’s restless energy. He lifted his chin, soaking in the attention, letting the anticipation stretch.

  Beside him, Joy moved.

  A slow, deliberate pacing, the leash limiting her steps but never stopping her. A contained restlessness, giving the crowd their caged predator.

  Jacobi, by contrast, didn’t move at all.

  He stood perfectly still, his grip on the leash steady, loose, but absolute. His presence alone controlled the movement, commanded the space.

  And the crowd loved it.

  Then, he yanked the leash. Not hard, just enough to make a point.

  Joy growled.

  Soft, low, controlled.

  The sound was calculated, shaped just for them, the crowd who believed she was resisting, the audience who saw only a man with absolute control over his untamed prize.

  They ate it up.

  I forced myself to stay still. This was only a performance, I knew that. But my fingers curled in, nails pressing hard into my palms. I needed the sting, something sharp to keep my focus where it belonged. Anywhere but the anger pressing at the edges of my restraint.

  Jacobi let the moment settle before addressing the crowd.

  “A fine afternoon’s entertainment, wouldn’t you all agree?”

  Voices rose and fell, layered with laughter, murmurs, the rustle of shifting bodies. They were waiting, watching, hungry for whatever came next.

  I felt the shift before I understood it.

  Not movement, but stillness.

  One man standing in the crowd. Too still.

  I knew that kind of tension.

  The way my falcons go rigid before the strike, the world narrowing to nothing but their prey.

  His hand moved, dipping toward his belt.

  A flicker of torchlight caught the edge of a blade.

  A knife. Small, but deadly in the right hands.

  His fingers flexed over the hilt.

  The others saw a performance. This man saw an opportunity.

  No one saw me.

  Before he could move, I stepped into his space. My foot pressed against a precise point in his ankle, locking him in place before he even realised I was there.

  He barely had time to react before my hand closed around his wrist, twisting at just the right angle to make his fingers spasm.

  The knife slipped free and I caught it before it could hit the ground.

  The man tensed, his other hand jerking up in reflex, but I was faster. My grip shifted, pressing into a nerve beneath his captured wrist, not enough to drop him, but enough to make him understand I could.

  I moved into his line of sight, blocking his view of Joy as I palmed the knife, tucking it into my coat.

  Leaning in just enough for my voice to cut through the noise, I murmured, “Walk away and keep your life.”

  Quiet. Cold. Not a warning. A promise.

  His muscles twitched, but he understood. His eyes widened in the flickering torchlight and I pressed him back into the crowd before releasing him.

  No one noticed.

  No one ever noticed.

  It was an odd kind of relief, having something to do that mattered, even if no one would ever know. Most of my work went unseen. That was the point.

  I turned my attention back to Jacobi and Joy.

  Over their shoulders, a large demon was watching me.

  Wynford Darkwood.

  His expression was calm, his gaze steady.

  How long had he been watching for?

  I knew who he was. Everyone did. Wynford didn’t just own this arena, he controlled the entire fighting league.

  He was darkness and gold. Jet-black skin and hair blending into the shadows, his eyes the only break in it. Gold. Rich, molten, unblinking. The same gold that flashed along his coat, threading through the fabric in subtle designs, catching the light in his rings, in the sharp cut of his cufflinks.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Wynford Darkwood never had to raise his voice to be heard. Never had to fight for attention, it was given to him the moment he stepped into a room.

  And right now, his attention was still on me.

  I met his gaze and held it. Waiting.

  Then, he tilted his head slightly, not quite a nod, but something close.

  Like recognition.

  Why was he here? He owned this place, but he didn’t usually linger. He left the spectacle to men like Jacobi, to those who fed on the attention.

  So why now?

  Jacobi’s voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the moment.

  “And what a prize our Joy is,” he was saying, playing the crowd like only he could. “Fitting then, that a man of fine taste and very deep pockets has claimed her company for the night.”

  The murmur of the crowd shifted, anticipation curling at the edges of the moment. Waiting.

  Wynford took a step forward, letting the crowd drink in the moment.

  “A special occasion, wouldn’t you say, Chairman Velez?” he rumbled, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “I have spent years watching these fights, and it only seems fair that I should finally reward myself.”

  The crowd laughed, a mixture of surprise and amusement rippling through them. Wynford was enjoying this, playing along, leaning into the spectacle in a way that matched Jacobi.

  He extended his large hand towards Joy, palm up, as though inviting her to take it.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  Her fingers slid into his without pause, her movements smooth, natural, far too easy for what the crowd expected.

  The laughter and murmurs deepened, rolling through the stands like a tide. Less about whether she would go. More about what would happen next.

  Wynford’s grip settled over hers. A slow deliberate press of his lips to her knuckles, warm and lingering, just enough to let the moment stretch.

  “A prelude to tonight.”

  “And here I thought you simply enjoyed the show,” Jacobi replied. “But no man, demon or otherwise, is immune to temptation.”

  The laughter rippled through the crowd again, the anticipation thickening.

  Jacobi tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking something over, then, he gave the leash in his grip a slow wrap around his palm.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Effortless. Controlled.

  My stomach twisted.

  He’d been practicing.

  I saw it now, the way his fingers flexed, casual, unhurried. The same way they had earlier.

  Not to provoke me. To refine his control. For this.

  Jacobi let his smirk linger for just a moment longer before finally speaking again, tone still teasing.

  “Enjoy her while you can, Mister Darkwood.”

  The words were smooth, playful. His grip on the leash tightened.

  Wynford only chuckled. “Oh, I intend to.”

  The crowd stirred again, eager for more banter.

  That’s when Joy looked for me.

  It wasn’t obvious, just a flick of her gaze, a moment where she sought me out before shifting her weight.

  I’d trained her too long, watched her movements too closely not to see what it meant.

  She was tired. Jacobi didn’t see it.

  I stepped closer, setting my hand lightly on his shoulder. Deliberate. Unmistakable.

  I felt the moment he tensed, caught off guard. I never interrupted in public. He knew that. He tilted his head just slightly and I withdrew my hand.

  Jacobi didn’t acknowledge me outright.

  He didn’t need to.

  He unwound his hand from the leash, the tension easing—not releasing, just adjusting. Smooth as ever, his hand slid up the length of it, where he hooked one finger beneath Joy’s collar.

  A gentle pull. Just enough to claim. Just enough to remind.

  Joy moved with it.

  His smirk returned, perfectly timed. “But not too much, Mister Darkwood. I still need her in one piece.”

  The crowd’s laughter lingered, rippling through the stands.

  Jacobi didn’t rush. His grip remained firm where his finger curled beneath Joy’s collar, guiding her gently.

  Letting the crowd see. Letting them believe.

  He turned, leading her toward the waiting carriage. A slow walk. A display.

  Joy swayed slightly as she stepped up, slower than she would have been at the start of the night. I moved without thinking, steadying her with a hand beneath her arm, guiding her into the carriage.

  She didn’t need the help. She let me anyway.

  Jacobi climbed in, settling into his usual place beside her, already shifting back into comfort.

  As I reached the door, something pulled at me.

  I glanced back. At him.

  Wynford was watching me again.

  And for a moment, just a small moment, I let myself watch back.

  It wasn’t just recognition, or acknowledgement.

  It was interest.

  Slow. Deliberate. Unshaken.

  Wynford tilted his head again, gold eyes catching the firelight, the weight of his gaze settling over me like he already knew something I hadn’t admitted to myself.

  My fingers curled at my sides.

  Then I turned, stepping into the carriage without another word.

  The driver fastened the door closed behind me with a satisfying click. The air in here was different. Quieter.

  Jacobi stretched out, one arm draped loosely over the back of the seat. He had already begun the shift from performer to businessman, his posture relaxing.

  Joy had pulled herself into the corner of the carriage, gazing down at her hands as she rubbed a slow thumb over her bruised knuckles.

  I reached beneath the seat as I dropped down onto it, and pulled out a blanket, offering it to her.

  She didn’t just accept it, she shifted, stretching her legs out toward me, resting them against my lap as she adjusted the blanket over them.

  I didn’t hesitate. My fingers kneaded into the muscle of her calves, working through the deep-set tension left behind by the day.

  She shifted at the first touch, her foot flexing instinctively, “Thank you.”

  I said nothing, just moved lower, feeling the familiar shape of the ankle collar beneath my hands. It was loose, decorative, nothing more than a mark for the crowd, but beneath it, scars still lingered.

  I quickly undid the latch, slipping the metal free.

  Her leg jerked. Not a flinch. Not quite. Just a moment where I felt her brace. Then, her breath left her in a slow, controlled exhale, her foot flexing against the new absence of weight.

  Jacobi had been careful. I knew that. He wouldn’t put something on Joy that risked causing long term damage.

  But that didn’t mean others had been so careful in her past.

  Jacobi’s voice cut through the quiet. “That little stunt of yours. Was it worth it?”

  Joy barely moved, just let her eyes flick up to him, unimpressed. “The crowd loved it.”

  Jacobi exhaled slowly. “The crowd loves believing what we tell them to believe. But if you keep that up, they’ll start believing you’re weak.”

  “Maybe I want them wondering what I’ll do next.”

  “You want to keep them guessing? Fine. But if they start doubting, we’ll lose more than just a fight.”

  She let out a sharp breath, gaze steady on him. “So what, I’m supposed to just stand there and take it?”

  “You’re supposed to do what I say you do.”

  Jacobi watched her for a beat longer, then his posture shifted, the hard edge giving way to something quieter, more measured.

  “About tonight, pet.”

  The change in tone made her blink, any playful edge gone as she refocused on him. “Wynford taking an interest was a real surprise.”

  Jacobi paused for a moment before speaking, slow and measured. “Wynford’s claim was for show.” He hesitated, fingers tapping once against his knee before stilling. “Marcelo isn’t playing. He wants you and he’s not going to wait any longer.”

  “No.” Joy’s hands curled into fists against her thighs.

  Jacobi’s expression hardened. “It’s not a request. You know how this works.”

  “I don’t want to go to him.”

  “It’s not up to you,” Jacobi countered. “I’ve stalled him long enough. If I refuse him again, it will be the whole business paying the price.”

  Joy’s claws pressed into the banket, and I was grateful she was choosing to shred that instead of my brother. Mostly.

  She turned her head away, and I could feel the frustration radiating from her. She didn’t move for a long moment, then with slow deliberation, she pushed her legs further into my lap.

  I understood. She wasn’t seeking comfort, just control. This was something she could ask for, without asking at all.

  I obliged.

  The carriage rocked over uneven ground, but I barely noticed. My focus was on the way Joy’s muscles loosened, on any quiet relief I could give her.

  Jacobi was watching. I could feel the expectation in his gaze.

  Like he wanted me to argue.

  I kept my focus on Joy, on the steady movement of my hands. Anything but him.

  It wouldn’t change anything.

  We all had to live with his choices.