Amari exhaled, his breath steady despite the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. The chains resting on his shoulders felt heavier now, his muscles taut from the fight, every movement carrying the weight of exhaustion—but he was still standing.
Still here.
Apollo, gripping Amari's chain tightly after being pulled back from the edge, let out a breathless chuckle, a mix of disbelief and relief flashing across his face.
"That was… close," he admitted.
Amari smirked, rolling his shoulders, shaking off the tension. "You're welcome."
Apollo shook his head, still processing it. "I wasn't expecting to get saved."
But Amari wasn't listening anymore.
His gaze had shifted.
Scanning the battlefield, taking in the carnage—fighters dropping, bodies stumbling toward elimination—but then—
He saw Maverick.
And his stomach sank.
Maverick was out.
