Rebecca wakes to the weight of Reese’s head on her lap, his dark hair splayed across the bedspread like a shredded shadow. The last thing she remembers from last night is him hunched over his guitar, fingers moving slow, eyes somewhere else. Planning their escape. Big black rings bruise his eyes—he must have fallen asleep long after she did. She tilts her head, then runs her hand along his face, tracing the sharp lines of exhaustion.

  The digital clock on the bedside table reads 12:00. "Shit," Rebecca mutters under her breath. She sits up carefully, trying not to startle him. Then, she presses a hand on his shoulder and gently shakes him. "Reese, wake up."

  Despite her efforts, he jolts awake and turns his head from side to side, his eyes barely open. He examines his position, then runs a hand across his mouth. "What happened?" he asks.

  Rebecca gestures to the clock with her head. "We fell asleep."

  When they arrive at the dining hall, it's empty, and there's no food left. "We will have to wait until lunch," Reese says, though his eyes scanning the kitchen door suggest he's not convinced.

  "Yeah, let's wait," Rebecca agrees, pulling on his sleeve to guide him toward their usual table before he gets any ideas. Once seated, Rebecca pulls out her phone and sighs. "I really don't want to post anything today." Lunch is usually served by one o'clock, and she doesn't want to miss that meal too, but nothing comes to mind.

  "I have an idea," Reese says, pulling out his own phone. He points to his cheek with his index finger. "Give me a kiss." Instantly, he opens the camera and aims it at himself.

  Rebecca doesn't comply. She narrows her eyes as she notices what he's doing.

  With the camera still pointing, he looks at her confused. "What?"

  Rebecca takes a deep breath. "Nothing," she says, but she can't bring herself to fake a romantic moment just for the sake of the cameras. It feels too staged, too artificial.

  Reese smiles, not with tenderness, but triumph. He knows exactly what’s on her mind. “Come here,” he says, running a hand through her hair, just behind her ear. He presses his forehead to hers, and she closes her eyes at the closeness, forgetting the camera completely.

  Then he draws her in, his hand cradling the back of her head. She gives in. Allows herself to get lost in the moment. As the kiss deepens, their warm, unhurried breaths intertwine—inviting, stripping her of any ability to pull away. It’s a long, passionate kiss. Too intense for twelve o’clock in the afternoon.

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  The kiss ends when Reese's phone beeps softly. His attention shifts immediately to it, and the fervent passion of moments ago vanishes. He is now focused on his phone. Rebecca, meanwhile, fans herself with her hand to catch her breath. "There," Reese says. "I tagged you, so you can upload the same."

  Still confused by the shift in atmosphere, Rebecca checks her phone and follows his advice. It isn't a picture but a short video of their kiss. The camera, inches away from their lips. On the description box, there’s a caption that reads: "Best breakfast ever."

  The rest of the day slips in a heartbeat. Rebecca dedicates most of her time to training, not in the art of combat, but in the flexibility of her body. The exercise transports her to her days as a dancer, a past that seems to belong to another life.

  Even the fight between contestants 14 and 37 is brief, almost ephemeral. The first, with his reinforced bone structure, barely suffers damage under the attacks of the second, while she, with her elasticized skin, cannot protect herself from the handfuls of dirt she is forced to swallow, until she chokes, half on the dirt, half on her own vomit.

  That night, the arena and common room fall into silence. Even the hosts struggle for words.

  Contestant 14 is the youngest in the male group, just shy of eighteen. He spent his teenage years in a jubinale, convicted of multiple crimes, including homicide. Rebecca never watched his interview, but clips of it surfaced on her feed. In one, he confirmed that the first day of the show was also his birthday. He didn’t seem to care.

  He speaks passionately about his hip-hop career, though—even if he doesn’t expect it to blow up until after his death.

  Contestant 37, on the other hand, was everything he despised. An accountant who’d committed fraud for the sake of her best friend’s small manicure company: naive, pompous, and bad at her job.

  For the first time, Rebecca's stomach clenches when the fight is over and not about to start. Reese seems to share her unease, as he immediately takes her hand in a desperate attempt to reassure her.

  "Are you prepared?” he asks.

  Rebecca sighs, unable to move from her spot in the armchair. "Don't we have to wait until everyone has gone to sleep?" she asks.

  Reese examines her face. He doesn't try to pressure her or insist on keeping a schedule. Instead, he asks, "Are you really okay with this?"

  She offers a thin, strained smile, a curve of her lips that seems almost apologetic. "I'm fine," she replies.

  “Rebecca.” He faces her fully. “You want out? You just say it, okay? That’s all it takes.”

  The offer is tempting. She misses those nights—like two nights ago for example—when, after the battle, they would simply go to bed. Sometimes they had a late dinner, but most nights, after two brutal hours of watching violence and death, she would find comfort in the warmth of his arms.

  She longs for a night like that now more than ever.

  But would she be able to sleep, knowing she had the chance to escape and didn’t take it? Could she sleep, knowing that tomorrow it could be her turn to go? Or Reese’s?

  Knowing that, if none of those things happened, in the end, it would come down to him versus her.

  "I want to do this," she says.