Urias was going through the first stage of grief — Denial.
He told himself the first was a fluke. Lucian had slipped, that was all. He would rise now and show why the odds had tempted him.
The bell rang for the second round.
Lucian stepped forward with that grin still fixed to his face.
The crowd surged again when they clashed. Bronn drove him back into the mud, each strike landing with weight that rattled the boards beneath Urias's boots. Lucian's grin stayed, as if he enjoyed the punishment.
Urias's chest tightened. "Wipe it off and fight," he thought, his teeth grinding. "Take this seriously. Win it for me."
Denial gave way to anger. Idiot. Stop playing around. His fist struck the rail once, but nothing changed in the ring.
Bronn drove Lucian into the mud again. Urias's lips moved without sound. He bargained with himself. Last time. If he survives this, I'll leave the pits for good. I'll study. I'll repay what I owe. This will be the last.
