Ambergris Locakboxes Traveled Salt Routes by Hugh Calder 108

Chapter One Hundred And Eight: Observe, Predict, And Strike.

The door clicked shut behind them.

The sound echoed louder than it should have in the small, soundproof recovery room tucked behind the arena. No cameras. No screens. No noise from the roaring crowd outside. Just muted walls, dim lights, and two people standing far too close for comfort.

Cassienne leaned back against the table, pulling off her face mask slowly. Her breathing was steady now, but the adrenaline still buzzed beneath her skin.

Dreston didn’t waste time.

“That was reckless.”

She looked up at him. Not offended, and not defensive. She only just listens.

“You changed your pattern,” he continued, his voice low but firm, like a coach addressing a prodigy who knew better pushed too hard and too fast. You drew attention to yourself.”

Cassienne exhaled. “I know.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Two players teaming up against you in the first round? That doesn’t happen unless they’re threatened.”

She straightened. “I felt it too.”

“And you barely escaped,” he added. “Next time, they won’t miss.”

Silence stretched between them. It was heavy but not hostile.

“You were angry,” he said more quietly. “Or distracted.”

Cassienne didn’t deny it.

“I wanted to end it quickly,” she admitted. “I thought speed would bury suspicion.”

Dreston shook his head once. “Speed exposes you. Observation protects you.”

She met his gaze. “Like before.”

“Yes,” he said. “Like before.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Observe. Predict. Strike once.”

He stepped closer without realizing it. “That’s who you are. That’s why you win.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll go back to it. I promise.”

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Dreston reached out, without thinking, and ruffled her hair. The gesture was familiar and intimate.

It was too familiar. And Cassienne froze. So did he.

For a heartbeat, the past rushed in, their teenage laughter, their late–night matches, Dreston towering over her while she smirked after beating him again, his hand always messing up her hair like victory belonged to both of them.

Her eyes softened immediately. His hand dropped immediately.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

Chapter One Hundred And Fight Observes Predict An Ske

+25 Bonus

“It’s fine,” she replied, just as softly. Then she turned away before the moment could deepen.

With practiced ease, Cassienne gathered her hair, twisting it into a tight bun. She slid the face cap back on, pulling the brim low. The mask followed, hiding everything except her eyes.

Armor back in place.

Dreston watched her for a second longer.

Then, unexpectedly, he stepped forward and pulled her into a brief hug.

It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t desperate. It was grounding. Cassienne stiffened at first, then relaxed, just slightly, her forehead brushing his shoulder.

“You’ve got this,” he murmured. “Trust yourself.”

Before she could respond, he stepped back, immediately and the door unlocked with a soft beep.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

The arena lights flared back to life.

Five pods glowed as the remaining players prepared for Round Two. The commentators‘ voices rolled over the crowd, building anticipation.

“Five players remain, and tensions are already high.”

“Eyes are on Obsidian__13 after that aggressive first round.”

“And NYX is proving exactly why Coralreach trusts him with this stage.”

Cassienne settled into her pod, hands hovering over the control interface. No frantic movement this time. No rush.

She only waited. The game launched.

This map was different, dense terrain, layered cover, long sightlines broken by moving structures. A perfect playground for

patience.

Obsidian_13 vanished instantly. Not literally, but strategically.

She stayed in the shadows, observing movement patterns, tracking engagements without participating. The audience

murmured.

“She’s gone quiet.”

“That’s a complete shift in strategy.”

“This feels intentional.”

Across the map, NYX moved with purpose.

The other player–the one who just teamed up against Obsidian_13 in this round, made a mistake.

He went after Syntax. But that was a bad move.

NYX intercepted first.

The clash was brutal and fast. Syntax joined in, not out of trust, but opportunity. Within seconds, the unknown player was overwhelmed.

Chapter One Hundred And Fight cherve. Prubet. And Strike

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BOLD ELIMINATED.

The crowd erupted.

“One down!”

“That was coordinated–but not an alliance.”

Syntax didn’t linger on it. He never did. He moved alone, and everyone knew why. No one trusted him.

Another skirmish broke out near the collapsing ridge.

Two players clashed. Only one walked away.

MASK ELIMINATED

Only three remained. The tension thickened.

Sponsors leaned forward as the game got heated up. Journalists scribbled notes, while billionaires whispered assessments. Jeff Sandler sat perfectly still, his gaze sharp and calculating. It was dangerously calm.

Obsidian_13 still hadn’t struck.

“She’s waiting,” a commentator said. “She’s letting them thin themselves out.”

The clock paused.

INTERMISSION.

Players stayed in their pods this time, no breaks, no coaching, no interference.

The crowd buzzed. And then, the game resumed. Within seconds, a sudden ambush. A favorite fell.

The arena exploded in screams.

“No-!”

“That can’t be happening!”

“They’re out!”

Gasps rippled through the stands. A giant name, gone. The screen cut to black.

“This is unbelievable.” A commentator said,

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