Julian Valerius sat in the Sentinels' private preparation room, staring at his phone like it might explode. His father's name glowed on the screen for the third time in five minutes.
He let it ring.
The room was silent except for Aaron's breathing from the medical cot in the corner. Sanders had taken a nasty hit from that purple-haired bitch's telekinetic shockwave during their tag match. Nothing permanent. Just bruised ribs and wounded pride.
The kind of injuries that heal.
Unlike Julian's reputation.
The phone buzzed again.
Julian's jaw tightened as he finally answered. "Father."
"Julian." Marcus Valerius's voice came through crystal clear, carrying that particular quality of disappointment that Julian had learned to recognize at age seven when his Aspect first manifested. "I just watched your performance against the Vipers."
Not congratulations for advancing to the semifinals.
Not praise for making it this far.
Just that tone.
