Please, Please...

The twisting corridors of the Garden of Echoes warped around them like shifting illusions, hedges rearranging ever so subtly with every step. Zann stalked ahead with a clenched jaw, flames flickering faintly at his fingertips as if his frustration had ignited them on instinct.

Behind him, Sireina groaned dramatically. "Ugh! My boots weren't made for running in magical shrubbery!"

"Then maybe you should've stayed out of the games," Zann snapped, not slowing down.

She gasped. "You're seriously blaming me for having taste in footwear?"

Zann didn't answer. His mind was still back at the starting platform. Back to Aranea's voice saying Leonel's name. Back to the warmth that had been missing beside him since she walked away.

He didn't realize how much he wanted her to choose him. How much it burned to see her fingers laced with someone else's.

'It doesn't matter,' he told himself. 'This is just a game.'