Xavier was frozen on the spot, his breath forgotten in his lungs, and his palms felt moist.
Xavier's brows furrowed as he looked down at his splayed-open fingers.
"...my palms are sweaty..."
When?
Something unsettling crept around him. There was an almost overwhelming, chilling sensation that had nearly suffocated him just seconds ago.
His thin smile vanished, and his slanted eyes swept over the audience area, replaced by vigilance. But he couldn't notice anything different.
The crowd and audience were the same as before: showing mixed reactions at the arena, hurling insults at Victor, and singing praises for Ceres.
Xavier pulled out a small napkin from his breast pocket and used it to wipe his suddenly sweaty palms and brows. Consciously, his gaze shifted toward the arena stage, where it lingered.
"...Number 1499..."
There stood Victor.
