The Nobleman, a man whose presence felt like a cold draft in a warm room, didn't snap his fingers for the guards. Instead, he slowly withdrew his hand from the betting slate, the heavy Golden Mark glinting between his fingers. He leaned forward, his silk robes rustling, and fixed Kael with a gaze that felt like a surgical probe.

  "A 'chicken'?" the Nobleman repeated, the word sounding like an insult on his tongue. "You just saved me a fortune with a slur, peasant. Or a stroke of mad luck."

  Kael’s heart was still hammering at 180 beats per minute. The adrenaline from the race hadn't faded, and his brain was still stuck in 'Analysis Mode.' He didn't see the finery; he saw the data

  "Luck has nothing to do with it," Kael said, stepping closer to the balcony rail, ignoring the gasps of the surrounding elites. He pointed down at the track where the Ravok Talonfowl was being led away, its chest heaving rhythmically.

  "Look at the tarsal joint—the 'ankle,'" Kael explained, his hands moving as if he were sketching in the air. "The Talonfowl has a longer lever armmechanical advantageTorque

  The Nobleman’s brow furrowed. "Torque? Leverage?"

  "It’s physics," Kael continued, his voice rising with the manic energy of a teacher who finally has a student. "The Stalker is built for a 'Slalom'—its muscles are packed for lateral agility. But that water pit? That was a High-Viscosity trap

  The Nobleman looked from Kael to the track, then back to Kael. For the first time, he saw the grease under Kael’s fingernails not as filth, but as the mark of a craftsman who had touched the "engine."

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  "You don't talk like a trainer," the Nobleman whispered. "You talk like you... built the beast."

  Before Kael could respond, a firm hand gripped his shoulder and yanked him backward. He stumbled, nearly tripping over a silk rug, only to find himself staring into the pale, furious face of Lyra

  She looked like she had run a marathon. Her breath was short, her hair was coming loose from its braid, and her eyes were darting around the VIP box like she was looking for an exit in a burning building.

  "He’s a simpleton, My Lord!" Lyra blurted out, her voice a mix of apology and terror. She bowed low, forcing Kael’s head down with her hand on his neck. "He’s my stable-hand. He took a kick to the head as a child. He... he says strange words when he’s excited."

  "He just predicted a fifty-to-one upset using 'strange words', Shepherd," the Nobleman said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "I am Lord Valerius

  Lyra didn't wait for a formal dismissal. She gripped Kael’s arm with a strength that left bruises and dragged him out of the box, weaving through the stunned nobles and down the stone stairs.

  "What were you thinking?" she hissed once they reached the shadows of the lower concourse. "You barged into a High-Noble's box! Do you know what they do to people like us for 'disturbing the peace'?"

  "He was going to lose his money, Lyra! The math was right there!" Kael protested, but his voice died down when he saw the genuine fear in her eyes.

  "Kael, listen to me," she said, pinning him against the cool stone wall. "In the Lower Tier, being smart keeps you alive. In the Upper Tier, being smart makes you a toolown the man who can predict the future."

  Across the plaza, near the Ministry’s main gate, Kael saw a familiar silhouette. Valen

  Taren