Elias sat on the edge of the pod with his hands locked together and his elbows on his knees.
The room had already gone back to its normal morning glow, clean white strips along the ceiling and recycled air pushing through the vents, but his body had not followed. His fingers still remembered the arena. His shoulders stayed tight, waiting for a strike that could not reach him here.
Randalp coming apart kept replaying in pieces.
Not the gore first. The look on Vincent's face. The second shard waking before Vincent had made a real choice. The fox Ikona cutting through the last second of the fight like it had been waiting for permission from something other than him.
Colby had once explained that Ikona with his hands moving over a training mat, proud enough to sound nervous. He had described lines, angles, timing, all the little habits that made it feel personal. Elias remembered nodding along, understanding maybe half of it and still seeing how much it mattered.
