Uriah Peard

Shots ring out around the hall. Noa misses the center by a hair again. Next to her, Uriah is sinking perfect shots one after another. He sneers. You'll have to get serious if you hope to beat me. Noa turns around, eyes narrowed. Right, keep talking. Uriah crosses his arms, a defiant smile playing at the corners of his lips. Okay. Let's make a bet. She raises an eyebrow. - What kind of bet? -One shot each. The one who gets closest to the center wins. If I win: you come on a date with me. If I lose: he admits in front of everyone that you're the strongest. Noa hesitates for half a second. Deal.