Chapter 44. Nadia Watches

The lights over the cage burned white and merciless. The kind of light that erased depth, that made everyone inside it look like a ghost caught mid-breath.

Nadia sat behind the commentary glass, headset angled, reflection doubled across the broadcast feed. Her voice had been quiet for the first ten minutes. Too quiet. The producer had already tapped her shoulder twice, mouthing energy.

She ignored him.

You didn’t narrate a storm, she thought. You watched it.

The arena pulsed with restless energy—camera shutters clicking, sponsors’ logos flickering across LED banners, the low hum of the crowd bleeding into one continuous tone. She’d done this hundreds of times before, but tonight something felt different.

It wasn’t the fight. It was her.

Lia Chen stood under the center lights—smaller than Nadia remembered, sharper in outline. Gone was the reckless chaos, the volcanic anger that had once made every match unpredictable. What replaced it was