The roar of the crowd fades as Y/N flies, steady until a chill crawls up her spine and she knows she’s being watched. She turns and finds Mattheo Riddle already looking at her, his gaze fixed and unrelenting like the match means nothing. Her grip tightens, her focus slips, because there’s something in his eyes, something dark and knowing, and no matter how fast she flies, she can’t escape it.