The great hall grew quieter as the other teams stepped up to claim their slips. Most played it safe, taking one or two flames. A handful dared for three. Only a few—reckless or brilliant—grasped slips of four. Still, they were rare enough to draw stares and murmurs from the gathered crowd.
At the back of the hall, Ino's temper finally broke. He shoved Juan hard against the wall, fist slamming beside his head with a dull thud. His voice came out sharp, teeth bared.
"What in hell were you thinking?!" Ino snarled. "Do you want to get us all killed? Or worse — eliminated?!"
Juan just laughed, a grin stretching across his face even as Ino's arm pressed him into the stone. "Do you really want to know why?" he asked, tone mocking. "Do you?"
Ino raised his fist again.
"Enough," Lucien cut in, stepping forward. His voice was steady, colder than usual. "We've already drawn the slip. The mission is ours. Wasting time fighting each other won't change that."
For a moment, Ino's fury burned unchecked—then his eyes flickered, the truth of Lucien's words sinking in. His fist dropped, though his glare stayed locked on Juan.
"That," said a new voice, firm and resonant, "is the first reasonable thing spoken here in the last ten minutes."
All four of them turned.
The Warden of Barcelona stood just beyond the torchlight. She was tall and severe, with a hunter's poise sharpened by decades of battle. Her dark cloak fell open at the front, revealing the etched silver crest of her branch. Her eyes, hard as flint, fixed on Juan.
"You," she said. "You're his son, aren't you?"
The hall seemed to shrink around them.
Juan chuckled, not backing down. "So you do remember him."
A shadow crossed Isabella's face. "Then it's true. You really are his blood. That… is unfortunate."
Silence pressed like a weight. None of them dared to ask what she meant.
Finally, Isabella straightened, her voice cutting through the hush. "Three days. You have three days to prepare. On the third morning, you will face me—in the Colosseum."
Her cloak swirled as she turned and strode away, leaving them in a silence thicker than any dungeon air.