The trophy was heavier than it looked.
Lucian stood at the center of the arena, the silver cup in his hands, the weight of it pressing against his palms. Beside him, Cora had her hand on the base, her grin wide enough to split her face. Mason stood to his left, arms crossed, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Sera was on Cora's other side, her phone out, recording everything despite the tears she'd never admit to. Derek hovered at the edge of the group, his staff in one hand, his other hand trembling as he touched the trophy's rim.
The crowd was still roaring. Not the startled silence of the finals—this was celebration. Ashford's colors waved from every section. Strangers chanted Ashen Dawn's name like they'd known it all along.
Lucian didn't know how to feel about that.
