Seeing him like that did something ugly to me.
Not at Kalispell. Never at him.
At this whole damn situation.
At the dungeon. At the barrier. At the fact that we were forced to watch someone relive the worst chapter of their life like it was entertainment.
"Kalispell!" My voice echoed against the invisible wall. "I won't ask you to stand up and fight. I won't."
Oreo was still in the arena, massive and radiant, blue flames pouring from his jaws as he kept the mad doctor occupied.
Claws slammed.
Fire roared.
The doctor cackled and slashed uselessly at scales he couldn't pierce. The system was cruelly clear about one thing.
This was Kalispell's fight.
I pressed both palms against the barrier and leaned in.
"But hear me out."
My reflection stared back at me, warped by the shimmer of magic. Angry. Frustrated. Helpless.
"I hate this dungeon," I spat. "I hate how it forces us to bleed out our traumas like trophies. But you know what? I hate you more right now."
