Rebecca forces herself from the bed, the morning light burning her eyes, her skin, her brain. Every one of her movements feels like an act of will, dragging her weary body through the motions of a routine she no longer finds solace in. She dresses mechanically, her mind fogged with too many thoughts and none at all.

  The dining hall is unexpectedly quiet. Reese sits at their usual table, his expression a blend of concern and apprehension. Rebecca, instead, chooses a different spot a few tables away—one already occupied by Vanessa and Contestant 24. They’re so wrapped up in their conversation that they don’t even notice when she sits a few chairs down.

  “Two? Are you crazy?” Vanessa asks Contestant 24, but based on her tone, Rebecca doubts she’s expecting an answer. “Do you have any idea how expensive they are?”

  Vanessa pauses, and Rebecca glances at them from the corner of her eye. Contestant 24 smiles but avoids meeting Vanessa’s gaze. Then, she adds:

  “Listen, if anything were to happen to me, I want you to…”

  She stops and turns to Rebecca, who quickly shifts her attention back to Reese.

  As soon as their eyes meet, he picks up his try and walks toward her, ignoring the startled faces of her companions. She had chosen this table on purpose, certain it was the one place he wouldn’t follow her. She had been wrong. He sits across from her, studying her, searching for answers she doesn’t have herself.

  "What’s going on?" he asks. “Why did you leave last night? Why are you sitting here?”

  Rebecca notices he hasn’t even touched his food.

  “Are you not hungry?” she asks.

  Reese doesn’t say anything. He keeps studying her, now with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re hiding something.” Rebecca’s eyes widen, surprised by his words. “I noticed it last night, but I wasn’t sure. What is it?”

  Rebecca avoids his gaze, her fingers tracing patterns on the worn wooden sparrow in her pocket. She shoots a glance at Vanessa and Contestant 24, who look as confused as Reese is. She doesn’t know what to say, so she gets straight to the point. "I need you to stop fighting for me, Reese." The words feel inadequate, insufficient.

  Reese leans in across the table, pushing his tray aside to rest his arms on the surface in front of him. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean exactly what I said," she replies, choosing her words carefully. "I don't want you to fight for me anymore." She meets his eyes now. “Your food is getting cold.”

  Reese leans forward, his eyes narrowing. "But... are you sure? I mean, if what you want is to experience a battle, we can arrange that." He says, his gaze drifting to a point beyond her shoulder, calculating the possibilities. "I can make sure you're paired with someone you can easily handle."

  Rebecca shakes her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. It’s a brittle smile, born of exhaustion, but a smile still . "I want to fight my own battles, Reese. All of them."

  Reese doesn’t try to hold her hand or fix her hair. He keeps his distance, once more studying her. Since she entered the dining hall, he hasn’t stopped studying her.

  "No," he says simply. "I won’t take that chance. I won’t risk something happening to you." His words are both a balm and a blade. He truly believes in a future where they escape together, a future that, deep down, she knows is impossible.

  "You don’t seem to get it, Reese," she whispers, barely moving her lips.

  Reese’s expression hardens. His jaw tightens with the words he’s swallowing back. "I told you I’ll find a way."

  In that moment, Rebecca realizes this might be what she loves most about him—his unyielding faith in himself. But Anya's words flood back: “The machine is never wrong, 42. It's always been one survivor.” She opens her mouth to speak but Reese interrupts her.

  “We can’t talk. Not about that.” He stands, ready to leave. “Do you still trust me?” Rebecca hesitates before giving him the slightest nod. “Good. I need you to trust me, especially now.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  As he leaves for the training room, Rebecca realizes she isn’t hungry either. Anya’s voice, now lodged deep in her head, has killed her appetite. It’s either him or her. No hidden path, no secret way to a shared future. She locks this truth away.

  She glances at Vanessa and Contestant 24 once again. It appears their shock was only momentary, since they’ve already resumed their private conversation. Rebecca wonders if they have a plan to escape together too. If they’re as delusional as she and Reese were.

  She replays the fragments she heard of their conversation. “Do you have any idea how expensive they are?” and “If anything were to happen to me, I want you to…”

  Vanessa is a smart woman—maybe the smartest in the whole house. It wouldn’t surprise Rebecca if she had managed to smuggle some kind of asset into the show. But whatever it is that’s so expensive, Live will know how to use it against her.

  After a while, she follows Reese to the training room but keeps her distance, choosing a booth far from his. She needs to train, now more than ever. She needs to focus, to rebuild her strength. But her training doesn’t last long.

  Lena approaches, hesitant, like a bird with a broken wing. Rebecca is used to the way she moves—jerky, uneasy, like someone bracing for a blow that never comes.The dark circles under her eyes aren’t new, but her bonier cheeks are.

  “Rebecca.” Lena clutches her phone like a shield, her eyes darting as if expecting someone to eavesdrop. “Please, don’t be mad for asking you this, but… what’s going on with you and Reese?”

  The question hits like a punch to the gut. Rebecca barely has time to process it before Lena stumbles ahead. “It’s… it’s my followers,” she stammers. Panic bleeds into every syllable. “They’re… worried. They want to know if things are okay between you two. They say you spend too much time in Reese’s room, and… well, they can’t see you there. We don’t want to disappoint them, Rebecca. We don’t want them angry. They’re the ones watching out for us.”

  The fear in Lena’s voice is contagious. Rebecca doesn’t know what to say. The demand for answers is too sudden, too absurd. Something cracks inside her, and before she can stop it, the words come pouring out like verbal vomit.

  “They’re angry?” Rebecca spits, her voice tight with fury. “Let them be angry. Let them scream, let them cry. Their tantrums won’t change a damn thing. It won’t bring back our past lives, and it sure as hell won’t bring anyone back from the arena. You will die regardless, Lena, let me tell you that. It’s just what the game is.”

  Lena flinches, but Rebecca isn’t done. The words keep spilling out before she can even process what she’s saying.

  “They’re obsessed with a show, Lena. A show that manipulates them, and they lap it up. That’s the real danger. One day, they’ll decide they don’t want you anymore, and it won’t matter what you do. They’ll send you to the arena anyway.”

  The bitterness is suffocating, and she feels an urge to spit it all out. “And I’m sorry,” she adds, her voice hollow, “but I don’t think your chances of winning are high.”

  “Rebecca…” Lena exhales, wide-eyed.

  The same look Rebecca once gave her—like someone too broken to fix—is now turned on her. She had pitied Lena before. She shouldn’t have. There’s no difference between them now.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” Lena says at last.

  For a second, Rebecca considers calling her back. Telling her she doesn’t need to be left alone. Telling her to stop looking at her like she’s some three-legged stray. But the urge fades. She doesn’t have the energy to argue, let alone convince someone she’s fine. Instead, she turns back to her training.

  Before she can even start, her phone vibrates. Once. Twice. Too many times to count. She checks the screen. An upload from Lena. When Rebecca clicks on it, her own face stares back. The title reads: “Live Reaction Challenge.”

  The overlaid text commands the next move:

  “Get Rebecca angry on live.”

  — @claude_thebigviper

  The video is barely a minute old, but it’s already drowning in likes and comments. None of them even mention Lena. They’re all about her.

  “Rebecca’s just awful,” one comment snarls, followed by a string of furious emojis.

  “How dare she tell Lena she’ll die!” another wails.

  “That boney ass bitch. She doesn’t care about Lena, she doesn’t even care about Reese.”

  The next one makes her stomach turn.

  “I’m going to laugh so hard when Reese opens his eyes and lets that bitch die in a fight.”

  The replies spiral from there, worse with each passing second. They describe, in excruciating detail, all the ways they hope she dies. She had braced herself for scorn, for the hate of Reese’s fans. She thought she was ready. But this, coming from Lena’s, hits differently.

  “Lena!! Reese!! Leave that bitch be!” One comment pleads. “You two are good people. You deserve better!”

  And then, the one that cuts deeper than all the rest. Not hateful. Not cruel. Just a simple, brutal truth.

  “Lena hasn’t done anything to you. How can you tell her she won’t win? Just because your spirit is broken doesn’t mean you have to break others.”

  Rebecca stares at the words, her breath caught somewhere between rage and regret. She should stop reading. But she doesn’t.

  She scrolls.

  And the world keeps turning against her.