Devil Gambit

The final needle found its mark.

Four mosquitoes. Four kills. No bites.

Dirga exhaled a slow, hissing breath between his teeth, the tension bleeding from his shoulders only slightly.

"Really, Sasa?" he muttered, eyes still scanning the edges of the arena. "Even during rest?"

Above him, Sasa’s voice drifted down, sugar-sweet and insufferably smug.

"Oh come now, Dirga. What’s a rest if your senses go dull?" A lazy pause. "The whole point is to keep them sharp."

Dirga didn’t argue. He couldn’t. The logic was maddening — but undeniable.

His gaze rose toward the illusory sky.

08:47.

Still time on the countdown.

But not peace.