Julian stared at the rankings board mounted on the far wall of the Argent Sentinels' common room, its enchanted display flickering with cold, merciless numbers. His jaw was clenched so tight that the muscles along his neck burned, and a dull ache spread through his molars where he'd ground them together.
1. Onyx Hounds - 947 points
2. Argent Sentinels - 601 points
3. Scarlet Phantoms - 589 points
4. Cobalt Vipers - 523 points
5. Verdant Strikers - 412 points
They'd dropped.
From first place to second in the span of a single month, their seven-year dynasty crumbling like sand castles before the inexorable tide.
All because of him.
That street rat. That walking disaster. That fucking nobody with his ridiculous baseball bat and his insufferable, shit-eating grin plastered across every corridor.
"Julian."
The voice came from the doorway, cutting through his spiralling thoughts like a knife through silk.
