Scar was running out of time. He'd gone to Arthur and gone to Mingle, begged them both to pull whatever strings they had to get him facing Joel in the Epic Competition. That was done.
Now the day itself had shown up, loud and early, the kind of morning that didn't wait. All eight districts were awake before the sun was, streets thick with bodies and noise and anticipation. He hadn't slept. The city hadn't let him.
Everyone was pushing toward the arena, chasing memories from a competition that hadn't even started yet.
The Epic Competition had its own arena, the third and the grandest. Nothing like the one students had spent the last two months dueling in. This one had white and golden stands, marble that caught the light, and an overall presence that spoke of supremacy and old money.
