Moments later,

Aria

The dust from the twenty-ninth shattered dummy was still settling on my boots when Beta Lucas finally found his nerve.

He came with that suffocating, aristocratic arrogance that made my snowflake mark pulse with a irritation.

He stepped into the center of the pit, his silver armor clinking with every self-important stride. He looked like a man trying to convince himself he still held the leash.

"You've made quite the mess, Aria," Lucas said, his voice regaining that oily, patronizing smooth.

He tucked his thumbs into his sword belt, leaning back as if he were observing a child’s finger painting.

"I suppose I should be flattered. It’s...