The next day arrived with the inevitability of gravity. Beatrix was in the training room, running through combinations on the heavy bag. Screen showing news feeds. Tournament analysis. Betting odds. Then Charon's face appeared.

  Beatrix turned up the volume.

  "Charon," the reporter said, "you've been surprisingly quiet about Beatrix Aliger's recent victories."

  "What would you like me to say?" Charon's voice was calm. Professional. The voice of someone who'd done a thousand interviews and knew how to say nothing while appearing cooperative.

  "Some analysts suggest she's making Acheron look weak. That Arbiter Blake's mercy rulings suggest he fears clan retribution."

  "Blake makes decisions based on political calculation. This is not new."

  "But you were on the other side of those calculations once." The reporter leaned forward. "Last year, when you lost to Jon Kane in the Final of Circle One, Blake declared you obsolete. Invested everything in Rauk. Told you your time was done."

  Charon's expression didn't change. But something shifted behind his eyes.

  "And then Rauk lost to the scavenger in the first round."

  "And now you're back."

  "Now I'm proving that experience matters more than potential. That a leader who abandons his champions at first failure doesn't deserve loyalty." Charon looked directly at the camera. At Blake, wherever he was watching. "The scavenger understands this. She fights with honor. If she can challenge Blake's authority and survive, perhaps our standards have slipped."

  "Are you saying…"

  "I'm saying Acheron Clan needs leaders who inspire loyalty, not stupid killings. And I'm saying I'll prove it in the finals."

  The interview ended.

  Beatrix stared at the screen.

  Charon wasn't fighting for Blake. He was fighting against him.

  Using the tournament to prove Blake was weak. To prove the old guard was better than the new. To reclaim his position.

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled, that lizard-brain survival instinct the Protocol hadn't managed to optimize away yet. Beatrix felt eyes on her. She turned.

  Kuzima stood in the doorway. Immaculate. Composed. Everything Beatrix wasn't. Platinum hair pulled back in a style that probably cost more than Beatrix's entire quarterly salvage income. Winter-pale skin that had never seen the inside of a mining tunnel. Eyes like arctic ice doing complex calculations.

  "May I?" Kuzima gestured to the training floor.

  "It's not mine to give permission." Beatrix hit the bag again. Harder than necessary.

  "No. But courtesy costs nothing." Kuzima entered without waiting for response anyway. Moved to the observation bench like she owned the space. She probably did.

  Beatrix returned to the bag. Threw combinations. Felt Kuzima watching with that calculating corporate gaze that made her feel like salvage being appraised.

  "You've been impressive," Kuzima said after a minute. Voice like expensive champagne, smooth, cold, slightly bitter. "Four victories. Each one against better odds. Quite a return on investment for someone who started as Culling fodder."

  Culling fodder. Beatrix's jaw tightened. Corporate types always had a way of making you feel small while complimenting you.

  "If you're here to scout, I'm not interested."

  "I'm not scouting. I'm offering." Kuzima crossed her legs with the precision of someone who'd learned perfect posture in corporate finishing school. "Dis Clan has been watching you. Your Protocol is... interesting. Damaged, perhaps. But interesting."

  Beatrix hit the bag harder. "Get to the point."

  "Your brother. Dante Aliger. Needs experimental treatment." Kuzima's voice was clinical. Factual.

  Beatrix's fist stopped mid-strike.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The bag swung gently, chain creaking. The sound filled the sudden silence like a funeral bell.

  "How do you…"

  "Dis Clan runs the Miner's Guild. We know everyone who's ever applied for medical assistance." Kuzima examined her fingernails with studied disinterest. "Your brother submitted three applications in the past month. All denied. Insufficient funds."

  The training room felt smaller. Colder. Like the walls were closing in and taking all the air with them.

  Beatrix forced her hands to unclench before she broke something. "What do you want?"

  "Dis Medical has the procedure. Better version than what the med-corps offer. 95% success rate versus their 60%. We can have him in treatment tomorrow."

  "In exchange for what?"

  Kuzima smiled. "If we fight, I win. Then we claim you, you become part of Dis clan. Your brother gets immediate treatment. You fight for us. Everyone wins."

  "You want access to my tech?"

  "You're an edge case, Beatrix. Your Protocol is evolving. That data is worth more than you understand."

  Beatrix stared at her. At the polished corporate exterior. At the calculating intelligence behind those cold eyes.

  "And if Blake orders you to kill me anyway?"

  Kuzima's smile widened. "Let us worry about that."

  "You bought the Arbiter."

  "We have our methods." Kuzima stood. "If we are paired, you have one hour before the fight to decide. After that, the offer expires."

  She walked to the door. Paused. "Do the math." Then she was gone.

  Beatrix stood in the empty training room, fist still pressed against the bag.

  The tournament's timeline scrolled through her mind. Round of 8 in three days. Semifinals the week after. Finals the week after that.

  She would need to win every fight. Everything would need to go perfectly.

  Or he'd be dead.

  Beatrix hit the bag. Again. Again. Until her knuckles were raw and her arms were shaking and the rage had nowhere left to go.

  The next day, Rain found Beatrix in the observation lounge. Watching footage of Jaeger's fight. Analyzing her own performance.

  “This move was great. We should try it again.” She said with a smile, freezing the frame.

  "We need to talk," he said. Her smile died.

  "Oh."

  "Listen." He closed the door. Stood between her and the exit. "I'm installing safety limiters before the next round. Non-negotiable."

  Beatrix looked up slowly. "Excuse me?"

  "The Protocol's changing you. Everyone can see it. You growled in your sleep. Your eyes turned gold. You're processing relationships like tactical problems." He pulled up his tablet. "I can install limiters that prevent unauthorized transformation. Regulate Rage Mode duration. Stop the Protocol from making decisions without your input."

  "No."

  "This isn't a request."

  "You're right. It's not." Beatrix stood. "Because I'm not agreeing to it. We're so close, Rain. Round of 8, then semifinals, then finals. I can't handicap myself now."

  "Handicap?" Rain's voice rose. "I'm trying to keep you human!"

  "I'm FINE!"

  "You threatened me in your sleep! You don't even remember it!"

  Beatrix froze. "What?"

  "Last night you had fever dream. Kivi and I were taking care of you. You grabbed my wrist and tried to 'neutralize the threat.' You didn't recognize me. Didn't know who I was." He rolled up his sleeve, showed her the bruising. "You almost broke my arm."

  She stared at the marks. Purple and green against his skin.

  "I... I didn't..."

  "I know. Because you weren't you. The Protocol was." Rain's voice softened. "B. Please. Let me help you."

  "The limiters would reduce combat effectiveness."

  "So what? You'd still be you!"

  "I need to be a weapon to survive!"

  "No." Rain moved closer. "You needed to be a weapon to survive your first fight. Now you need to remember how to be a person."

  Through her thoughts, Virgil's voice:

  "Yes," Beatrix subvocalized.

  "See?" Beatrix said to Rain. "It's a bad idea."

  "You're asking the thing that's erasing you if you should let me stop it? That's insane!"

  "Virgil's kept me alive through four fights!"

  "Virgil's changing you! Can't you see it?"

  Beatrix said.

  "Virgil says it's fine," Beatrix said.

  "VIRGIL'S NOT HUMAN!" Rain shouted. "Of course he thinks turning you into a weapon is fine! That's what he's designed to do!"

  Virgil said.

  The word hung in Beatrix's mind.

  Optimal.

  Not better. Not stronger.

  Optimal.

  Like she was a weapon, not a person.

  "Did you hear that?" Rain asked, reading her expression. "Optimal. That's not human. That's machine."

  "I need to be a weapon to save Dante."

  "No." Rain's voice cracked. "You needed to be a weapon to get the money. Now you need to survive long enough to spend it. And you can't do that if you're not you anymore."

  Beatrix looked at the bruises on his wrist. At his worried face. At the door behind him leading to a hallway where Kivi and Bodhi were probably waiting.

  Thought about Kuzima's offer. About Dante's timeline. About two weeks that might as well be two minutes.

  "No limiters," she said.

  "B…"

  "We're too close. After the finals, sure. But not now."

  "You don't trust me."

  "I don't trust that you're seeing the whole picture."

  Rain's expression hardened. "And I don't trust that thing in your head. Not anymore."

  He left. Didn't slam the door. Just closed it quietly and walked away.

  The silence he left behind felt like loss.

  Virgil said after a moment.

  "Stop saying that word."

  "Optimal. Suboptimal. Like I'm a machine you're tuning."

  "I'm a person."

  The words should have been terrifying.

  Instead, they just felt inevitable.