Beatrix woke alone.

  No Rain's breathing from the corner where he'd set up his equipment nest. No Kivi's soft snoring. No Bodhi's quiet vigil by the door. Just her and the recycled air and the sound of her own damaged heartbeat.

  She lay still, taking inventory. Started at her feet, worked up. Her left ankle was swollen. Right knee locked up overnight, would need five minutes of movement before it bent properly. Hips bruised deep, the kind that turned bone-color before they healed. Every breath a negotiation. Her right hand cramped into a claw again.

  She forced the fingers open one at a time. The small pops as joints released sounded too loud in the empty room.

  The mirror across from her bed reflected someone she almost didn't recognize. Bruises bloomed overnight like black flowers across her shoulders, up her neck. One eye bloodshot, the white gone red. Her hair, usually kept short and practical, looked brittle. Damaged at the cellular level, probably. Everything was damaged at the cellular level.

  Beatrix sat up. The world tilted, vision doubling for three seconds before Virgil compensated.

  Good morning, Operator. Vital signs are suboptimal. Recommend extended rest period before today's public appearance.

  "What time's the press conference?"

  1200 hours. You have four hours to prepare.

  Four hours to look human again.

  She stood, made it to the mirror. Studied the damage in full light. The bruising was worse than last night. Darker. Spreading. She touched her neck, watched the skin go white under her fingers, then flood purple-black when she released.

  This was what Rain had seen when he looked at her through his systems. This was what Kivi had tried to hide with careful lighting and angle optimization. This was what Bodhi saw and didn't comment on, because he'd seen worse and knew words didn't fix it.

  This was truth.

  And in three hours, she'd have to stand in front of cameras and pretend she was fine.

  For Dante, she thought. He won't see me like this.

  "Virgil. Can you restore the Cinderella app?"

  Silence. Longer than usual.

  The application was compromised during the Kuzima fight. However, base functionality remains intact. I can reinitialize core beautification protocols.

  "Do it."

  Operator. This application was created by Technician Kivi. Restoring it without her calibration may result in suboptimal performance. Visual artifacts are likely. The uncanny valley effect—

  "I know who made it." Beatrix's throat tight. She touched the mirror, fingers leaving smudges on the glass. Somewhere in the code, Kivi's work. Kivi's care.

  Acknowledged. Initializing Cinderella Protocol.

  The change was immediate.

  Beatrix watched her reflection transform. Bruises faded like watercolor in rain. Skin smoothed, texture optimizing. The bloodshot eye cleared, white returning to white instead of red. Her hair gained adaptive sheen, color shifting through brown tones until it settled on something healthy, vital, alive.

  But it wasn't quite right.

  The colors were slightly off. Kivi would have tweaked the palette, added warmth to compensate for Limbo's harsh lighting. The animation was too smooth, skin moving without the micro-imperfections that made faces real. And the smile, when Beatrix tried it, had that uncanny quality. Pretty but not quite human.

  This was what Rain had seen. Not her. The performance. The filter. The distance she'd put between herself and everyone who tried to help.

  She toggled the app off.

  Truth stared back. Dying woman. Bruised. Breaking down in real-time.

  Toggled it on.

  Professional fighter. Polished. Perfect. Ready for cameras and questions and the grinding machinery of the show.

  Off: Truth.

  On: Lie.

  Which one was real?

  Both. Neither.

  For Dante, she thought again. He doesn't need to know.

  She left it running.

  ***

  The press conference was held in one of Limbo's observation lounges. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the arena floor below, where maintenance crews prepped for tomorrow's final. Installing new barriers. Testing sand composition. Making sure blood would soak in properly.

  Beatrix arrived exactly on time. Not early, that would look eager. Not late, that would give Blake ammunition. Exactly on time, professional, controlled.

  The room was already full. Reporters, cameras, the ambient hum of recording drones. She felt them lock onto her the moment she entered. Tracking. Analyzing. Feeding data to audiences across every platform.

  Charon was already seated at the main table. Perfect posture, calm expression, the kind of centered presence that came from decades of this. He glanced at her as she approached. A slight nod. Professional acknowledgment. No emotion.

  Beatrix took her seat. The chair was too tall, made her feel like a kid at the adult table. She adjusted, found her center of gravity, locked her core to hide the tremor in her legs.

  Heart rate elevated, Virgil noted. Stress response activating. Recommend—

  She told him to shut up, subvocalized so her lips didn't move.

  The moderator, some corporate type with expensive hair, smiled at them both. "Thank you for joining us. Let's begin with the obvious question. Tomorrow's final. Charon, you've fought in seventeen Circle finals. Beatrix, this is your first. How are you feeling about the matchup?"

  Charon answered first. Smooth, practiced, saying nothing while appearing cooperative. "Beatrix has earned her place here. She fights with determination. I respect that."

  The moderator turned to Beatrix. Cameras swiveled. Every eye in the room locked on.

  "I'm ready," Beatrix said. Kept it simple. Didn't elaborate.

  "Ready to win? Or ready to survive?"

  The room went quiet. Someone laughed nervously. This wasn't supposed to be hostile.

  Beatrix met the moderator's eyes. Smiled. Let the Cinderella app smooth it into something camera-friendly. "Same thing, isn't it?"

  A ripple through the crowd. Interest. This might get good.

  "Let's talk about your transformation," another reporter called out. "The Hulk Mode, as it's been called. Social media has been, shall we say, obsessed. Can you explain what that was?"

  Beatrix's jaw tightened. She felt her heart rate spike. The Cinderella app flickered for just a frame, the beautification filter glitching as her vitals surged. She saw it on the monitor screen. Saw her face distort for a microsecond before smoothing again.

  Cameras caught it. She knew they caught it. It would be trending soon: Did Beatrix's face glitch?

  "It's called the Dreadnought Protocol," she said, voice level despite the screaming in her chest. "Emergency combat mode. Temporary enhancement."

  "Emergency," the reporter repeated, like tasting the word. "You needed an emergency enhancement to defeat Kuzima?"

  "I needed to win. That's what I used to win."

  "And the cost? Medical experts have suggested the transformation causes significant cellular damage. Rumors of…"

  "I'm fine." The words came out too sharp. Beatrix dialed it back, found the performance again. "I'm here. I'm fighting tomorrow. Everything else is speculation."

  "Speaking of tomorrow," another voice. Female, sharp. "There's been discussion about the mercy ruling. If you lose, Arbiter Blake must choose between claiming you for Acheron Clan or decreeing death. Charon, there are reports you might claim her yourself. Is that true?"

  Charon's expression didn't change. "If she is worthy."

  The room exploded. Questions shouted over each other, cameras surging forward. Beatrix sat very still, processing the simple brutality of those four words.

  If she is worthy.

  Not when she loses. If. He thought she might actually win. Or at least, he wasn't ruling it out. And if she lost but fought well enough, proved herself valuable enough, he'd claim her.

  Make her property of a man who fought with honor instead of whatever Blake was.

  "Beatrix," someone shouted. "What do you think of Charon's claim?"

  She looked at Charon. He looked back. Something passed between them. Not warmth. Not friendship. Just mutual recognition. Two fighters who understood the game.

  Beatrix said, turning back to the cameras, "I'm interested in being free."

  Charon's mouth twitched.

  "But Acheron Clan offers protection," the reporter pressed. "Resources. Training. Charon is known as a fair master. Why refuse that?"

  Because I didn't survive this long to kneel.

  The words were on her tongue. She could feel them, sharp and true and dangerous. An insult to every claimed fighter in the Grind. Every clan champion. Everyone who'd chosen security over freedom.

  She thought of Dante. Of what he'd say if he heard her burning bridges she couldn't afford to burn.

  She swallowed the words.

  "Tomorrow," she said instead, "I'll do what I always do. Fight."

  The moderator jumped in, trying to regain control. "Final question, from the gallery."

  A reporter near the back stood. Beatrix didn't recognize him. Didn't like his smile.

  "Beatrix, your brother Dante has been following your career closely. What would your mother think of what you've become?"

  The room went quiet.

  Beatrix's heart stopped.

  For a moment she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Just felt the weight of that question crushing down. Mom. Who'd made her promise never to fight again. Who'd seen the cages and what they did to people. Who'd known Beatrix couldn't stop once she started.

  The Cinderella app flickered. Longer this time. Her face distorting on the monitors, beauty filter struggling to compensate for the spike in stress hormones.

  Every camera caught it.

  Beatrix forced herself to breathe. Forced herself to find words.

  For Dante, she thought. He's watching. He needs to see you strong.

  "She'd hate what I'm doing," Beatrix said quietly. The room leaned in to hear her. "But she'd understand why."

  She stood. The moderator started to protest but Beatrix was already moving, walking toward the exit, cameras tracking her every step.

  Behind her, she heard Charon's voice: "The interview is concluded. Thank you for your time."

  Covering her exit. Giving her the dignity of a clean departure instead of a flight.

  Tomorrow she'd try to kill him. Today he gave her a gift.

  The door sealed behind her with a soft hiss.

  Beatrix made it twelve steps before the media mob caught her.

  Cameras, lights, voices shouting questions over each other. The hallway suddenly too bright, too loud, too full. Her vision doubled, Virgil compensating but not fast enough. She stumbled, caught herself on the wall.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Warning. Stress levels critical. Recommend immediate withdrawal to—

  Someone grabbed her arm. She spun, ready to strike.

  Bodhi's scarred face looked back at her. "Easy, kid. Just me."

  He positioned himself between her and the cameras. His bulk created space, a pocket of quiet in the chaos. The prosthetic hand came up, not threatening, just establishing boundary.

  "Back up," he said to the reporters. Voice level but carrying that quality that made people listen. Old fighter voice. The kind that knew violence intimately and didn't need to perform it. "Give her space."

  They backed up. Not much, but enough.

  Bodhi walked beside her, not touching but close enough to catch her if she fell. She hated that she might need it. Hated more that he knew and didn't comment.

  They made it to the training facility. Bodhi palmed the door open, ushered her through, sealed it behind them.

  "You okay, kid?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You're not." He studied her face. Seeing through the Cinderella app, probably. Bodhi had fought long enough to recognize digital masks. "But you're standing. That counts."

  Beatrix walked to the center of the room. The training equipment was exactly as she'd left it yesterday. Heavy bag. Resistance bands. The modified sparring dummy Kivi had calibrated to match Charon's height and reach.

  Kivi's work. Everywhere. In every piece of equipment, every calibration, every careful adjustment made to keep Beatrix fighting at optimal capacity.

  And Kivi was gone.

  Because of me.

  "Need anything?" Bodhi asked from the doorway.

  "Time alone."

  "You got it. I'll be around if you need me." He paused. "Final's at 1400 tomorrow. Get some rest tonight."

  Then he was gone, door sealing with that same soft hiss.

  Beatrix stood in the empty training room. Stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall.

  The Cinderella app showed her polished. Professional. Ready.

  She toggled it off.

  Truth stared back. A dying woman. Bruised. Alone.

  Thirty-four percent, Virgil supplied quietly. Estimated combat effectiveness decreased by 34% compared to pre-Kuzima metrics.

  More than a third of her fighting ability. Gone. Burned away by the choice she'd made when Kuzima called her small.

  She did the math in her head. If she was at 60% before Kuzima, already damaged, already worn down, that meant she was at 40% now. Less than half the fighter who'd entered the Grind.

  Dante doesn't know. Can never know.

  She hit the heavy bag. Once. The impact sent pain screaming up her arm.

  She hit it again. Harder.

  The bag swung. Her shoulder screamed. She didn't stop.

  Combinations now. Jab-cross-hook. Movements she'd done ten thousand times. Muscle memory deeper than thought.

  The jab was slow. She could feel it, time distorted by Virgil's enhanced perception. Could see her fist moving through air like honey, trajectory perfect but speed wrong. The cross landed but without power, her core unable to generate rotation. The hook missed entirely, her shoulder giving out mid-strike.

  She snarled. Hit the bag again. Again. Again.

  A recording drone buzzed overhead. Blake's eyes. Watching her fail. Feeding data to his analysts, showing them exactly how broken she was, how weak, how utterly fucked for tomorrow.

  Beatrix grabbed a wrench from the tool bench. Threw it.

  The drone spiraled down, hit the mat with a satisfying crunch.

  Another drone appeared thirty seconds later. Replacement already queued. Seamless surveillance.

  She threw another wrench. Missed. Didn't bother with a third.

  Let them watch. Let them see. She was done performing for cameras she couldn't kill.

  Dante, she thought. I'm doing this for you. Remember that.

  The thought didn't help.

  She needed to move. Needed to think somewhere Blake's eyes couldn't follow.

  The underground service corridors. Maintenance access. Where drones didn't go because there was nothing to see except pipes and rust and the bones of Limbo's infrastructure.

  The descent was longer than she remembered. Each step cost more than the last. Her right knee kept trying to lock up. Left ankle rolling on uneven flooring. She stopped twice, leaned against the wall, waited for pain to recede from shrieking to manageable.

  No one was down here. Just her and the hum of air processors and the distant sound of water moving through pipes. The temperature dropped as she went deeper. Sweat dried cold on her skin. Her breath made clouds in the recycled air.

  She stopped at the third level down. Leaned against the wall. Allowed herself thirty seconds of weakness where no cameras could judge.

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Measured. Deliberate. Someone who knew these halls.

  Beatrix straightened. Made a choice in the two seconds before they rounded the corner: run and hide, or stand and confront.

  She'd spent her whole life running. Hiding. Being small.

  She stepped into the center of the corridor. Stood straight despite her screaming knee. Let them come to her.

  Arbiter Blake appeared around the corner. Black robes perfect despite the dust and decay of the underground. Two bodyguards flanking him, armed and alert. He saw her and stopped.

  For three seconds they just looked at each other. Fighter and judge. Scavenger and authority. The person who'd nearly killed her twice and the person who'd survived anyway.

  Blake gestured to his bodyguards. They stepped back, giving him space. He walked forward alone.

  "The little scav," he said. Voice echoing off concrete. "Shouldn't you be resting? Tomorrow is, after all, consequential."

  Beatrix didn't move. "Worried about the show? Or worried I might win?"

  "Win?" Blake smiled. Cold. Clinical. "I can see the damage from here. The way you're favoring your left side. The tremor in your hands. Charon will dismantle you in under three minutes."

  "Then why do you look nervous?"

  The smile faltered. Just for a moment. But she saw it.

  "I'm not nervous," Blake said. "I'm curious. What does a dead woman walk for in an empty corridor?"

  "Same thing you walk for. To remind myself I'm not afraid."

  Blake studied her. She could see him processing, calculating. This was his gift, reading people. Understanding their leverage points. Finding the precise pressure to make them break.

  "Your brother refused your money," he said.

  Rage spiked through her. Hot and immediate and dangerous. Beatrix took a step forward. "Stay away from my brother."

  "I don't need to touch him." Blake's voice was almost gentle. "You're doing my work for me. Destroying yourself. Pushing away everyone who tried to help. Tomorrow, Charon will end what you started."

  "We’ll see about that."

  Blake stepped closer. Close enough she could smell his cologne, expensive and wrong in this place of rust and decay. Close enough to whisper.

  "And if he doesn’t, I will.”Blake's voice dropped lower, intimate. “You're just a corpse that hasn't stopped moving yet."

  He stepped back. Adjusted his robes. Preparing to leave. To have the last word. To walk away with his dignity and her defeat.

  Beatrix stepped forward. Into his space. Close enough the bodyguards tensed.

  Blake froze.

  She looked up at him. Let him see her face, the Cinderella app still running, making her beautiful and perfect and utterly false.

  Then she toggled it off.

  Let him see the truth. The bruises. The bloodshot eye. The damage. The cost. The rage that hadn't died despite everything he'd done to kill it.

  "I'm still standing," she said quietly. "That makes me more alive than you'll ever be."

  Blake's composure cracked. Just for a second. She saw uncertainty flash across his face. Doubt.

  Then he turned and walked away. Bodyguards falling in behind him. Footsteps echoing until the corridor swallowed the sound.

  The replacement drone buzzed around the corner. Sixth one today. Camera focused, recording.

  Beatrix looked directly into the lens and smiled. A predator's smile. Nothing beautiful about it. Just teeth and promise.

  I see you watching, Blake. Watch this.

  Then she turned and started walking back. The journey up was worse than the journey down. Each step cost more than the last. She stopped five times. Leaned against walls. Waited for vision to clear.

  She passed a group of Dis crew in the main corridor. Kuzima’s team. They stared. Whispered. One of them, a woman called out.

  "You look like shit, scav."

  Beatrix tried to respond. What came out was a low snarl. Almost animal. Virgil's threat assessment activating.

  The woman stepped back. "Whoa. Easy."

  Beatrix caught herself. Forced her jaw to unlock. Forced words instead of violence.

  "Yeah. Imagine how Charon looks after tomorrow."

  The woman laughed, half nervously. "Fuck yeah. Wreck him."

  Then she was gone, leaving Beatrix alone in the corridor again. Someone still believed she could win. Someone who'd lost to her but didn't hate her for it.

  Maybe, she thought, I'm not as dead as he thinks.

  She started the walk back. Made it to the main level. Passed the corridor that led to her quarters.

  Kept walking.

  Didn't think about where she was going. Didn't plan it. Her feet just kept moving, carrying her past the training rooms, past the medical bay, past the fighters' lounge.

  She stopped at the end of a corridor behind a closed door. Her humanware showing her a familiar ping nearby.

  Kivi was there.

  She was sitting there alone on a bench, waiting for something. With her bags and tools.

  Beatrix raised her hand to knock on the crystal of the door.

  Stopped.

  What was she doing here? Kivi didn't want to see her. Kivi had left, walked away because Beatrix had been cruel, had pushed her away, had made it clear she didn't need anyone.

  I don't need anyone.

  The lie sat heavy in her chest.

  She lowered her hand. Turned to leave.

  Then stopped, and knocked.

  Kivi looked up, tired. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair pulled back in a messy knot. She'd been crying recently, Beatrix could see the slight puffiness around her eyes. She stood, and walked to the end of the corridor to open the door.

  Their eyes locked. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

  Beatrix should leave. Should let Kivi go back to her family, her work, her life. Should stop dragging people into the wreckage of her choices.

  Instead, she said: "The Cinderella app is glitching."

  Kivi blinked. "What?"

  "The colors are off. Too cool. And the animation's too smooth. Uncanny valley." Beatrix's voice sounded strange to her own ears. Formal. Like she was reporting a technical issue. "You calibrated it better than this."

  Kivi stared at her. Then, slowly, something shifted in her expression. Not quite a smile. But close.

  "You knocked to complain about my work?"

  "No. I came…" Beatrix stopped. Didn't know how to finish the sentence.

  Kivi waited.

  "I’m here because I didn't want to be alone," Beatrix said. The words came out rough. Unpolished. No Cinderella filter for this. "And you're the only person I could think of who might not make it worse."

  Kivi's eyes went bright. She blinked rapidly, looked away, looked back.

  "Get in here," she said. "And take off that stupid filter. You look like a corpse wearing makeup."

  Beatrix stepped inside.

  She toggled the Cinderella app off. Let Kivi see her. All of her. The bruises, the damage, the dying.

  Kivi looked at her for a long moment. Then she crossed the corridor, pulled Beatrix into a hug.

  Beatrix froze. Just... arms around her. Warmth. Presence.

  She didn't know what to do with her own arms. They hung at her sides, useless.

  Then, slowly, she raised them. Returned the hug.

  Kivi held on. Didn't let go.

  "I'm sorry," Beatrix whispered into Kivi's shoulder. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I was cruel. I'm sorry…"

  "Stop." Kivi's voice was thick. "Just... stop. You're here. That's enough."

  They stood like that for a long time. Beatrix couldn't measure it. Didn't want to. Just felt the solid reality of another person holding her up, holding her together, holding her.

  When they finally pulled apart, Kivi's face was wet. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, laughed a little.

  "Look at us," she said. "Mess."

  "Yeah."

  "Sit down. I'll fix your app."

  "You don't have to…"

  "I know I don't have to." Kivi pushed her toward a chair. "I want to. Sit."

  Beatrix sat.

  Kivi worked. Pulled up code, made adjustments, muttered under her breath about compression artifacts and color temperature. Beatrix watched her hands move, competent, precise, careful. The same hands that had calibrated her combat systems, repaired her equipment, kept her alive through a dozen fights.

  The same hands that had held her just now.

  "I missed you," Beatrix said.

  Kivi's hands stilled. Just for a moment. Then she kept working.

  "I missed you too. Even when you were being an ass."

  "I was being an ass."

  "Monumentally."

  "I'm sorry."

  "You said that."

  "I mean it."

  Kivi looked at her. Really looked. "I know."

  She turned back to the code. Made a final adjustment. "There. Try it now."

  Beatrix initialized the app. Watched her reflection in a polished metal panel. The bruises faded, but differently this time. Warmer. More natural. The animation smoothed without losing the micro-imperfections that made her face real. Her hair gained sheen, but kept its texture.

  It was her. Just... better. The best version of her, not a mask.

  "It's perfect," Beatrix said.

  "I know." Kivi sat on the edge of her workbench, close enough that their knees almost touched. "How bad is it? Really?"

  Beatrix considered lying. Considered protecting Kivi from the truth. Considered all the reasons she'd spent her whole life keeping people at arm's length.

  Then she remembered the hug. The warmth. The way Kivi hadn't let go.

  "Thirty-four percent," she said. "That's how much fighting ability I've lost since Kuzima. And it's getting worse. The damage is cumulative. Even if I don't use Hulk Mode tomorrow, I'm... I'm dying, Kivi. Just slower."

  Kivi absorbed this. Nodded slowly.

  "And if you use it?"

  "Faster. But maybe I win."

  "Maybe."

  They sat with that.

  "I watched you fight Kuzima," Kivi said. "From Rain's booth. I saw what the protocol did to you. The cellular stress. The neural load." She paused. "I've been trying to stabilize it. Find a way to reduce the damage. I'm not there yet. But I'm close."

  Beatrix stared at her. "You've been working on it? Even after I…"

  "Even after." Kivi met her eyes. "You're an ass, Beatrix. But you're my ass. My fighter. My friend. I don't get to stop caring just because you're stupid about letting people in."

  Something cracked open in Beatrix's chest. Not painfully. Just... opened.

  "I don't know how to do this," she said. "The... people thing. The needing people thing. I've spent my whole life surviving alone. It's the only way I know."

  "I know."

  "If I'm bad at it tomorrow… if I push you away again… it's not because I don't…"

  "I know, Beatrix."

  Beatrix nodded. Swallowed. Looked down at her hands, the right one still slightly cramped, the left one trembling.

  "I wanted you to know," she said quietly. "Before tomorrow. That it mattered. You mattered."

  Kivi's eyes went bright again. She reached out, took Beatrix's left hand in both of hers. Held it steady.

  "You're saying goodbye."

  "I'm saying thank you. There's a difference."

  "Is there?"

  Beatrix didn't answer. Because she didn't know.

  Kivi squeezed her hand. "Then thank you for saying it. But don't say goodbye yet. Not until you have to."

  "Okay."

  They sat in silence. Hands together.

  After a long time, Beatrix stood. She didn't want to leave.

  But tomorrow was coming. And she had things to do. Preparations. A brother to think about. A fight to lose or win.

  At the door, she turned back.

  Kivi was watching her.

  "Thank you," Beatrix said. "For opening the door."

  Kivi smiled. "Thank you for knocking."

  Beatrix stepped into the corridor. The door sealed behind her.

  She walked toward her quarters. Her body still hurt. Her knee still screamed. Her hand still trembled. The damage was still there, still spreading, still killing her cell by cell.

  But something was different.

  She'd knocked. Someone had opened. She'd been held. Seen. Chosen.

  Maybe, she thought, I've been wrong about being alone.

  The thought was fragile. New. Untested. It might not survive tomorrow.

  But tonight, walking through empty corridors toward an empty room, it kept her warm.