The balcony had grown louder since Casalus's departure. Wine spilled freer, wagers barked across the tables, the pit roaring with another bout below. Lucian kept his gaze on the mud, mind circling around gaps in his plan, when movement at the entrance broke his focus.
A figure stumbled in, cheeks flushed, hair damp with sweat. His clothes looked pressed hours ago, but the collar sagged open, his tie crooked. Urias Daclan.
He caught Lucian at the railing, almost tripping into him. "You—" His voice cracked before he lowered it to a rushed whisper. "You won. You don't understand what that means, you saved me. You really saved me."
Lucian turned his head, a smile tugging faintly, though his eyes remained on the pit. "I fought. That's all."
