Kicked, starved, or scorned, I always get up. I always go on.
Hawthorne walked through the courtyard, her eyes trained on Zavala. He stood looking out over the City, but turned as she approached. "Suraya," he said, inclining his head.
"I want to compete in the Guardian Games," she said.
Zavala paused. "Ah," he began. "Well, I'd imagined them as being…" He studied the unchanging expression on her face: expectant, determined, prepared for an argument. "For Guardians."
"I've seen the events," she said. "I can't do them all, but some don't seem Guardian-exclusive. I can collect resources. I can clear out Lost Sectors. Don't need to be a Guardian for that."
"True," Zavala said. "But…"
Hawthorne leaned close to him and dropped her voice. "When we were taking back the City, you said…"
"I remember what I said," Zavala murmured.
"You called me 'Guardian.' So?"
Zavala folded his arms behind his back and shifted his weight. "Which team would you fight for?"
"None of them," she said, then paused. "All of them."
"You have to choose."
Hawthorne crossed her arms. She studied Zavala. "Titans."
Zavala opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I'm not going to FORBID it, but…"
"Great," Hawthorne said, turning to go. "See you at the award ceremony."