Page 207 of House Ignis

She was letting someone inside, and it suited her.

The sound of Asher's chuckle snapped me back to reality. He tilted his head at Jeremy, that wicked grin carved into his mouth.

Jeremy snarled in response, the ground quaking harder beneath us.

“Honestly, I can't believe they're actually doing this,” Ember muttered from beneath Ezra's arm, rubbing her hands together as if the chill could explain the frantic edge in her voice.

Ezra didn't move. He stood between us, his gaze fixed on the field.

"I can," he said quietly. His tone wasn't amused or impressed. It was knowing. "You do not challenge Asher. Not in front of his friends." His jaw flexed slightly. "And especially not in front of his—"

He cut himself off, his arm around Ember tightened just a fraction.

I turned toward him, my heart thudding. "In front of his what?"

Ezra didn't look at me. He kept his eyes locked on the pitch, his expression unreadable.

The ground trembled before I could press him for an answer.

A deep, tectonic rumble rolled through the stadium, rattling the bleachers beneath our boots and vibrating in my very marrow.

My attention snapped back to the field.

They weren't circling anymore.

Shadows detonated from Asher, lashing across the field like living whips and snapping toward Jeremy with brutal precision.

Jeremy reacted instantly, slamming both palms to the earth with a guttural roar.

Roots erupted—thick, coiled, and violent.

They burst upward to meet the shadows head-on, the impact cracking like thunder.

Earth and shadow exploded into a brutal storm that sent dust, sparks, and shards of turf spiraling into the air.

The crowd gasped in unison. I couldn't breathe.

Jeremy landed the first blow.

The ground split with a violent tremor, a wall of raw stone and packed earth surging toward Asher.

It slammed into Asher's chest with bone-shaking force, hurling him across the field.

Gasps tore through the bleachers, but mine was a jagged scream I couldn't choke back.

"Asher!"

My fingers dug into Ezra's arm so hard I felt the muscle flex like cold steel beneath my grip.

His jaw was locked, his entire body coiled tight—every instinct in him clearly screaming to leap into the arena and stand at his brother's back. But when he looked down at me, the ferocity in his sunset-orange eyes softened, just for a heartbeat.

"He's got this," he murmured.

But the white-knuckled tension in his frame betrayed the lie.

I turned back, heart hammering against my ribs.

Jeremy stood tall at center field, his green eyes blazing with something merciless.