I walked beside Isabelle through the tunnel toward the arena, my ribs singing a symphony of pain that Emi's healing had only partially addressed. The crowd noise grew louder with each step, twenty thousand voices creating a wall of sound that made my teeth vibrate.
"You're limping," Isabelle observed, her tone clinical.
"I'm walking with character."
"Your character needs physical therapy."
I couldn't help but laugh, which immediately reminded me why laughing was a terrible idea right now. "You're funnier than you look, you know that?"
She glanced at me sideways, her wine-red eyes catching the arena lights. "I'm not attempting humor. I'm stating facts."
"That's what makes it funny."
