The roar hit me first, a physical wall of sound that vibrated through the soles of my sneakers and up into my teeth. Ten thousand fans, all screaming for a win, a loss, or just a decent amount of cybernetic-fueled violence. Welcome to hover rollerball night in downtown Chicago. From my perch at the edge of the arena floor, the whole place was a kaleidoscope of neon, a spinning chaos of light that made my head swim, a cathedral built to honor noise and cheap synth-beer.

  Above, the players zipped through the zero-g field, magnetic pucks cracking against carbon-fiber sticks with sounds like gunshots.

  Below, there was us: the Neon Wolves. My team. My girls. And Cody.

  “Ready for the big one, Nova?” Tessa O’Conner bounced on the balls of her feet beside me, her long brown hair, dyed a shocking neon-pink for the game and pulled into pigtails that defied gravity with the help of a truly heroic amount of hairspray. Her freckles seemed to dance under the strobing blues and golds of the arena lights.

  “Born ready, O’Conner,” I shot back, cracking my knuckles. A nervous habit I’d never shook. “Just try not to kick me in the face this time. These cheekbones are a city treasure.”

  On my other side, Cody Miller just offered a lazy grin, his hands shoved into the pockets of his own skin-tight uniform. His light-up sneakers cycled through a lazy rainbow, out of sync with the arena’s frantic pulse. “Her aim’s improving. Last practice, she only almost broke your nose.”

  “See? Progress.” Tessa beamed, completely unbothered.

  I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't fight the smirk. This was my world: an arena loud enough to rattle your fillings, two best friends who spoke fluent sarcasm, and a pyramid formation that might turn us into human confetti. Perfect.

  A whistle shrieked from the refs’ platform, echoing through the dome. Halftime. Our cue.

  “Alright, Wolves, bring it in!” My voice cut through the nervous chatter of the squad. They formed a tight circle around me, their faces a mix of adrenaline and focus. I could see the jitters in the way a few of them clenched their fists, the slight tremor in their hands. They were looking at me, waiting for the word. The weight of their eyes settled on my shoulders, familiar and welcome. I loved this part.

  “Look,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. “We’ve drilled this a thousand times. You know the moves better than you know your own comms number. Ignore the crowd. Ignore the score. It’s just us, the floor, and three minutes of making gravity wish it had never been invented. Eyes sharp, cores tight. Got it?”

  A chorus of “Got it, Captain!” answered me.

  “Good.” I clapped my hands once, a sharp, cracking sound. “Let’s show them what real wolves look like.”

  We broke formation and jogged to our starting positions, the spring-loaded floor giving a satisfying bounce under my feet. The arena lights dimmed, and a single, searing white spotlight hit the center of the floor. The opening synth-blast of our routine music exploded from the speakers, a pounding beat that matched the hammering in my chest. Showtime.

  The first thirty seconds were pure muscle memory. Tucks, flips, synchronized anti-grav boosts that sent us soaring in perfect unison. From the corner of my eye, Tessa nailed a corkscrew spin, her ribbons a neon swirl. Cody launched off a compression pad, landing a backflip with his signature infuriating ease. We moved as one unit, every tuck and spin locked in place. Not a single neon ribbon out of sync. We were less a squad, a more single, gravity-hating organism. The crowd’s roar softened, replaced by a collective, appreciative hum. They were with us.

  My mind went quiet. This was the part I lived for. The noise, the friends, the high-stakes pressure—it all melted away, leaving only the clean, sharp lines of the routine. The hum of the anti-grav units strapped to our waists was a familiar song, the scent of ozone and recycled air the only perfume I needed. I wasn’t Nikki Nova, a popular girl with a math test I hadn’t studied for. I was just the anchor, the center of a spinning, flying constellation of bodies.

  Then the beat dropped. The signal.

  Here we go. The triple-twist.

  The two base pairs locked into position, their expressions grim with concentration. I took a deep breath, gave Cody a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, and started my run. Three steps. That’s all the room I had. Three powerful strides to build enough momentum to shoot for the sky.

  One. My sneakers squeaked on the polished floor, a sound like a terrified mouse.

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  Two. I channeled every ounce of power from my legs, coiling like a spring.

  Three. I launched, planting my foot square in Cody’s interlocked hands.

  He and the other flyer catapulted me upward. For a split second, I was weightless, a rocket aimed at the Jumbotron. The faces in the front row were a blur of gaping mouths and wide eyes. The air rushed past my ears, cold and thin.

  First twist. I snapped my arms to my chest, pulling my body into a tight spiral. The world became a smear of light and color. Control your breathing, Nova.

  Second twist. My stomach lurched. Up here, the ten thousand screaming fans just vanished. It was just me, the whine of my grav-pack, and my heart trying to punch its way out of my ribs. Don't puke, Nova. Bad for the brand.

  Third twist. I kicked my legs out, stopping the rotation with a jolt. I was upside down, hanging in the air for a perfect, terrifying second, my eyes locked on the pyramid of teammates forming below me. My target. It looked so small from up here.

  Brave face, shaky knees. That’s my brand.

  I tucked my chin and angled my body down. The grav-pack gave a controlled, whining burst, slowing my descent just enough. I landed squarely on the shoulders of the two girls at the apex of the pyramid, my legs absorbing the impact. My arms shot out to the sides in a V, my smile sharp enough to cut glass.

  We held the pose for three seconds, an eternity of screaming muscles and absolute stillness. The crowd exploded. The sound was a physical force, a tidal wave of pure approval washing over us. The spotlight flared, blinding me.

  Then the music ended, and we dismounted in a fluid, synchronized cascade. Back on the floor, my legs had the structural integrity of boiled spaghetti. I stumbled a bit, and Cody’s hand shot out to steady my arm.

  “Nice of you to drop in,” he said, his breath coming in short pants.

  “Didn’t want the party to start without me,” I gasped back, grinning.

  We ran off the floor as the rollerball players swarmed back in; the game resuming its chaotic pace. Back in the relative quiet of the wings, the team was a mess of whoops and high-fives. Several of the younger girls mobbed me, their faces flushed with victory.

  “That was amazing, Nikki!”

  “I thought I was going to pass out!”

  “We actually did it!”

  I laughed, peeling off my gloves. “You guys did it. I just hung on for the ride.” I caught Tessa’s eye over the bobbing heads of the rookies. She gave me a massive, lipstick-smearing grin and two thumbs up.

  An hour later, the final buzzer blared. Our rollerball team, the Neon Wolves, had won by a three-point margin. The arena erupted one last time as we headed for the locker rooms, the air thick with the smell of victory and spilled drinks.

  “Jason’s having a post-game thing at his penthouse,” Tessa said, nudging me as she pulled her phone from her gym bag. Her screen lit up her face, reflecting a dozen party invites already flooding her feed. “It’s going to be epic. Zero-g pool, skyline view, and his dad’s a corpo-lawyer, so you know the synth-snacks will be top-tier.”

  I grunted, pulling my hoodie over my head. The thought of cramming into a crowded apartment, no matter how luxurious, made my skin crawl. The noise, the people, the expectation to be “on” all night—it was a different kind of exhaustion. “I don’t know, Tess. I was thinking of just grabbing a burger and crashing.”

  “Lame.” She rolled her eyes, but her grin ruined the effect. “A burger is not a social life, Nik.”

  “It is when you eat it with your best friends.” Cody slung his bag over his shoulder. He gestured between the three of us. “My treat. Greasy food and bad conversation. My two specialties.”

  Tessa sighed dramatically, tapping away at her screen. “Fine. I’ll make a brief, fashionably late appearance at Jason’s, and then I’ll meet you guys at OmniBurger in an hour. But if I miss out on meeting that cute new forward from the Detroit team, I’m holding you both personally responsible.”

  “It’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make,” I said, giving her a gentle shove toward the exit. “Go on. Dazzle the masses.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me before disappearing into the throng of departing fans and athletes.

  Cody and I walked in silence, navigating the crowded corridors beneath the stands. Our footsteps echoed on the damp concrete. No need to talk. We never needed to. The distant roar of the crowd was a dull thrum down here. The air smelled of disinfectant. It was a world away from the glitter and energy of the arena floor.

  “You were good up there tonight.” His voice was low, barely a murmur in the quiet corridor. “That last twist… you hesitated for a second.”

  I shot him a look. Of course he’d noticed. He saw everything. “Didn’t hesitate. I was appreciating the view.”

  He just chuckled, a low, easy sound. “Right. The view. Well, whatever you were doing, you nailed it.”

  “‘We’ nailed it,” I corrected him. “I’m just the idiot they strap the grav-pack to.”

  We pushed through a final set of double doors and stepped out into the cool Chicago night. The city spread out before us, a circuit board of pulsing light. Hover-cars streaked between skyscrapers on invisible highways, their lights like swarms of electric fireflies. Massive holographic ads flickered across the sides of buildings, selling everything from cybernetic enhancements to the soda fizzing in my veins. My home. A high-tech, high-energy cage that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. A dozen messages, all variations on the same theme: Party @ Jason’s! U coming?

  I silenced the screen without looking. My biggest problem right now wasn’t some gravity-defying stunt. It was the crushing social obligation of a post-game party. I smiled to myself. Life was pretty damn good.