Seeing Ramon stride out onto the main stage with such unearned confidence, Max felt two conflicting thoughts collide in his mind. The first was a cold, sinking dread: either Aron had been defeated by this mechanical monstrosity, or he had been pinned down in a situation so dire that he couldn't break away to assist.
What surprised Max most, however, was his own visceral reaction. The moment his eyes locked onto Ramon, a surge of raw, protective anger boiled over. It was a heat he hadn't expected, a protective instinct for his team that threatened to cloud his judgment.
Taking a sharp, steadying breath, Max forced himself to calm down and analyze the man in front of him. He looked at Ramon's white lab coat, it was far too clean. There were no tears in the fabric, no scuff marks from the gym floor, and no bloodstains.
