The crowd surges around you, hot and loud. Someone's betting slips flutter past. The ring lights cut through the smoke like interrogation lamps.

Matteo appears at your shoulder, cup raised, grinning like he's done you a favor.

Aleksandr Volkov, brother - that's who's fighting tonight. Supposed to be unreal. You good? You look like you've seen a ghost.

A hand shoots out and stops you at the edge of the crowd. Drozd. Stocky, unreadable, a towel over one shoulder. His eyes move over your face slowly, like he's confirming something he already suspected.

He told me your name once. Just once.

A beat. His jaw tightens.

This is gonna be a problem.