Third-Person POV
The Unseen stood just outside the judges’ panel. The massive arena echoed cheers and scattered voices. Betty glanced at Stacey, her brow furrowed. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered.
“No,” Stacey replied bluntly, straightening her shoulders. “But I’m not letting Ivy walk away from this thinking she won.”
Before anyone else could say a word, Stacey stepped forward. The five judges, seated at a long table and engrossed in their notes, barely looked up as she cleared her throat.
“Excuse me,” Stacey began, her voice steady but firm.
One of the judges, an older woman with sharp glasses, raised her head and gave Stacey a pointed look. “This is highly irregular,” she said. “The competition is still ongoing.”
“I understand,” Stacey replied, her tone unwavering. “But what happened during our routine wasn’t just a mistake. It was sabotage.”
The judges exchanged skeptical glances. Another judge, a man with a clipboard, leaned forward. “That’s a serious accusation. Do you have evidence?”
Stacey hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shook her head. “Not yet. But we know something was tampered with, and it wasn’t an accident. You saw how we performed before the fall. That wasn’t us. It wasn’t fair.”
The sharp-glasses judge sighed. “Fair or not, the rules are clear. We judge based on the performance we see.”
“That’s why we’re asking for another chance,” Stacey pressed on, her voice rising slightly. “Not for pity, not for an easy pass—just a shot to prove what we can do. You’ve seen us. You know we’re better than what happened out there.”
The clipboard judge frowned. “And if we say no? What then?”
“Then we walk away knowing we fought for this,” Stacey said, her jaw tightening. “But if you give us this shot, we’ll give you a performance you won’t forget.”
Betty stepped up beside her, her voice quieter but filled with determination. “We’ve worked too hard to let this end because of someone else’s sabotage. All we’re asking for is a chance to finish what we started.”
The judges sat in silence, their expressions ranging from skeptical to thoughtful. Finally, the woman with the sharp glasses leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing. “If we do this, it sets a precedent. And it disrupts the schedule.”
“We’ll be quick,” Stacey promised. “And I swear, you won’t regret it.”
The clipboard judge leaned toward his colleagues, whispering something. A few tense moments passed before the sharp-glasses judge finally nodded. “You’ll have one shot. Make it count.”