There are many things that she might have blamed for her loss - exhaustion, the weight of magic, the flames on her face, his speed, her distraction - but Six is certain that it comes down to her own lack of desire for victory. It feels hollow and pointless, joy taken from it when she imagines him here by duty rather than for pleasure or for friendship; he does not wish for her company, truly, and she should not beg it of him.

What a sour, sad concept, that she is so desperate for the approval of a man who barely considers her of note. It is a startling, pained thing to realise, twinned with the knowledge that they were not friends, had not been friends, despite her hopes and her considerations.

Breathing out, she drops her sword into the ground, the flames going out, before she drops into an awkward, rehearsed bow, formal and dramatic.

"Congratulations. A good victory."