Chapter Twenty Seven

She scribbled her name across the space in the randoms column, watching it glow as it became computer-data joining the blink of the other locked-in solo entries. She wasn't sure why her eyes wandered, or found that Mirage and Pathfinder's names glowed softly in the middle column. Something whispered too quietly for her to hear, and a sense of uneasy premonition fluttered like a breeze over her skin.

"Heyy, that time again, huh?"

Wraith turned toward him, the edge of her mouth curving challengingly to hide the fact that he'd startled her from her thoughts. The grin grew as he stepped up beside her to put his own mark down.

"I look forward to racing you to the kill." was all she said in answer as she passed him by.

Octane hollered delightedly behind her, laughing like the mad.

"What a woman," he appraised, as he watched her disappear from view, "what a woman."

~.~

In the three weeks since their win, she'd been shadowed on and off by the archer. While not something that regularly occurred, - typically new faces learned fast to avoid Wraith, even if they won together - it had happened before, and she had initially tried to brush him off gently. He was alright, friendly when he slid into her booth without invitation at mealtimes, following Lifeline and Bangalore around like an eager puppy often too.

But after the first few days, Wraith realised that the others had taken a liking to him. Or, more specifically, they hadn't closed ranks against him like they usually did with strangers. The Elites were all old hands at the Games, and earning a place in their ranks was an honour, and a task. To say Darwyn had only one game so far on their roster made it fairly unusual that they'd put up with his presence.

Hell, when Mirage first made it onto their radar they'd all but kicked him from their table the first time he'd tried to join, and he'd latched onto Pathfinder fairly soon after. Octane had only had a marginally easier time lately, but his history with Lifeline was probably part of that. Wraith knew very little beyond what interactions she'd picked up on and the occasional references either made to past events, but he too had given the core Elites a fairly wide berth for the most part.

The other thing was that he was a fairly mellow personality, which struck a chord with the two women who most often accompanied Wraith, and as such was often there when they joined her at mealtimes. When they disappeared on the second week, Wraith ate alone more often. Darwyn had hung around the facility the entire time, and did join her several times, but to her relief he'd kept conversation to a minimum and given her space when she left.

While she hadn't been approached by either of her previous squad for a team-up, it surprised Wraith to realise that she wouldn't be unhappy to be assigned them both again in the name of returning Champions. They'd had a rocky start and taken time to find a passable rhythm, but she was sure that with a little work they could be a formidable duo. She was almost tempted to tell them that. Or tell Darwyn, at least, who seemed the most laid-back of the two.

Maybe you should rethink your stance on repeating squad choices.

Wraith almost jumped when the whisper sounded loudly in her ear, so loudly in fact that were she not leaning back against the familiar metal wall she'd have turned her head expecting someone to be standing right behind her, breathing down her neck.

She shook her head. No. The rule was there for a reason. A chosen squad, on a regular basis, was an intimacy she didn't need clouding her ability to adapt in the Arena. The unknown kept her alert, kept her fighting, kept her… strong.

Safe.

She frowned, uncomfortable at the suggestion. Well, perhaps. Closeness was a weakness she could ill afford. But to call it a matter of safety…

As the PDA beeped energetically and dragged her from her head, she got to her feet and pulled up the faces of her assignment. No more time for introspection. She had a Game to win. She thumbed the screen as she paced toward the crowd, yet somehow she knew before the screen lit.

She froze mid-step as the strange shiver iced her spine, catching her balance in surprise.

Great.

As she made her way towards the opening doors of the dropship, she shoved the device back into place with the irrational fear that her clenched grip might damage it somehow.

"Hello, friend!"

She raised the fingers of one hand in greeting, resigning herself to the reminder that the fates cared little for her plans.

Mirage's grin was wide and obnoxious as she came to a stop between them, and Wraith was already dreading the many, many times she was going to have to swallow the urge to tell him to shut up.

"What are the odds?" was his cocky greeting, and Wraith fought down the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

She gave a noncommittal hum in reply before Pathfinder listed off the statistics of such an occurrence, which Wraith already knew and would bet Mirage did too. She stepped onto the ship with them while they chatted far too loudly, dread in her gut. The last time they'd worked together hadn't gone great, and Wraith didn't want to face the reanimation process again so soon, thank you very much. It had been a painfully blunt reminder as it was.

She would survive this one, no matter what it took. And if that meant letting Mirage pick fights and leaving him to it, then…

Wraith scowled to herself at the knowledge she'd probably not actually go through with abandoning her team. Not when they were Elites, and competent. (For the most part.)

"Oh yeah," Mirage crowed when the device on his wrist lit up, "master of the jump, right here."

She nodded when he glanced her way, and Pathfinder began suggesting good areas to drop into based on his calculations of the likelihood of good gear compared to recent games, but Wraith tuned him out for the most part as the battle began to shake away in her blood. The Voices were shifting from sleepy into ready, their whispers quieting while the mood on the ship blended into alert.

The laughter faded, and what stayed sounded a little strained. Octane was mouthing off somewhere at the fast end, and someone else was growing rowdy in response, but she ignored it. If they wanted to start a fight on the dropship and cause potential trouble for themselves, that was their prerogative. Hers was getting into the right mindset to hit the ground running, to get herself a gun, and to keep her team alive.

Mirage was drawing things from his pockets andWraith watched him closely, wary of the metal band he began clipping around their teammate's wrist. When he was done he turned to her and pulled another band from his pocket with an eager grin.

"It'll help," he promised cryptically, "you'll see. Just wait."

She hesitated, but her gut told her it was unlikely he'd break the rules and bring uncleared gear on board. He was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid. And he was bound to know she'd kill him if he roped her into trouble with him. A disqualification, even just a single one by association, could tank a Legend's career.

She kept a warning glare on him when she extended her arm. His palm was warm against the cool of her wrist as she tried to squash the urge to pull away from his grasp. The strap was warm too, not so warm as his skin but still unexpectedly so. He looked up from what he was doing, his eyes catching hers.

"I figured leather was better." he answered a question she hadn't asked, a one-shoulder shrug as he turned back to securing the band, "Seems more your style."

When she watched but didn't answer, he amended the statement.

"You don't seem to really do metals."

Wraith said nothing about how the sentiment caught her off guard, her gut uneasy and squirmy that he'd noticed such a thing, or even that he'd bothered to adapt his design to her. Perturbed that he'd taken the time to do so before their Game, when she'd told him on no uncertain terms that she wouldn't be teaming with them again. When he was finished, she all but yanked her hand back.

The cooler steel of the casing was a gentle weight against her wrist. She wondered if he'd brought it just in case she was assigned to them, despite the slim odds. She wondered if he had another in his pocket or if he'd have given it to whoever else might've taken her place.

She wondered why she cared.

"Thank you," she said, for want of something else to say.

Mirage grinned wide.

"You don't even know what it does yet," he crowed, "just wait till you see!"

The ship doors clicked and hissed as they slid open, unlocked and waiting. The roar of the air woke Wraith's blood, and adrenaline started to trickle into her limbs. Several squads threw themselves out their doors instantly, eager for the ground. Wraith dug her fingers into the metal rail to fight the urge to follow.

"Airbase?" Mirage hummed, and Pathfinder shifted from one foot to the other, and back again.

"Agreed." he answered.

There was a pause before both faces turned her way, and Wraith blinked.

"Agreed."

From the size of Mirage's grin, you'd think she'd said something much more interesting, as he turned away with a nod.

"Okay gang, ready up." he commanded, before stepping from the ship a few seconds later.