Contestants sit in the common room, some silent, rigid, others chatting in low murmurs, feigning disinterest. Rebecca forces her attention on her breathing. She knows this moment too well. The stillness before the announcement. The way the walls feel tighter, the air thinner, the sense that at any second, her number could be called.

  But tonight, something else occupies her mind. Reese. He sat next to her. After a day of avoiding her, keeping his distance, saying nothing more than a few monosyllabic sentences, he sat right here. Close enough that their arms almost brush. He doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t acknowledge her. But he’s here. And somehow, that gives a different meaning to the twisting in her guts.

  A sound crackles from the overhead speakers. Rebecca straightens. The room falls silent. A moment later, the smiling faces of the hosts appear on the screen, greeting both the contestants and the audience.

  “The wait is over! It’s time to reveal tonight’s combatants.”

  Someone clears their throat behind her. Someone else exhales, shivering. And the numbers appear. A few gasps. Someone whistles. Rebecca’s stomach finally unclenches. It’s not her. Not tonight, at least.

  “Let’s receive in the arena, Contestant 10,” the female host announces. Then the male host continues. “And Contestant 23.”

  A small, quiet groan comes from the other side of the room. Rebecca’s gaze snaps toward the source. Contestant 10 leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into his temples. His jaw flexes.

  His ability, Enhanced Equilibrium, is not bad. Not great either. Rebecca doesn’t look away. She tries to imagine how that’s going to hold up in the arena.

  Her heart slows, but the relief is bitter—because someone else has to go, and now she knows how terrifying it is. Contestant 23 rolls her shoulders back, exhaling through her nose. Reinforced Rib Cage. Rebecca can't decide which of them has the advantage. She isn’t sure it matters. All that’s left now is to watch.

  On-screen, the arena floor stretches beneath the lights, empty and waiting. Rebecca’s stomach tightens. She can’t believe she was there just last night. She fought. She survived. And now she’s sitting here, watching it like everyone else.

  She inhales slowly, trying to shake off the grip of it. She sticks a hand in her pocket, and her fingers twitch against the phantom of the wooden bird, but all she finds is her own thigh. The sparrow. She should have picked it up. She should have held on.

  She turns to Reese, intending to tell him. But another thought slams into her. Something more important. She swallows, then leans just slightly toward him.

  "Reese. Cheers."

  She speaks in a whisper, just as Contestant 10 growls over the speaker, but Reese hears it. His brows knit together. For a second, he looks genuinely confused. Then his brow relaxes, and his eyes land on hers.

  Rebecca smiles because he remembers.

  She nods. Just once. He exhales through his nose, almost like a silent laugh, and shakes his head. But when she stands, heading for the kitchen, he follows.

  The place is empty. Rebecca steps in first, but before either of them speaks, she points at Reese’s phone. Then, at the pressure cooker on the counter.

  Reese arches a brow, but says nothing. He tosses his phone inside. Rebecca grabs the entire pot, walks across the kitchen, and shoves it into the oven—one of the older ones, tucked in the farthest corner.

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  Reese turns on the sink. Water rushes down the drain. He hits the exhaust fan, too. Then, he switches on two blenders, their motors roaring over the white noise of the fan.

  Only then does he look at her. "This better be good, Rebecca."

  She exhales. Presses her hands against the counter, holding herself together. "I lost the bird."

  Reese stares. Just stares. Then he scoffs. "That’s it? That’s what you brought me here for?" The words hurt more than they should.

  Rebecca curls her fingers against the rounded edge of the counter. With her fingernails, she carves short lines into the damp wood beneath.

  Reese notices. His expression softens. "I’m sorry," he mutters, shaking his head. "I didn’t mean that." He leans forward, arms bracing against the counter. "It doesn’t matter, Rebecca. You put it to good use."

  Rebecca nods once. She looks around, if there are cameras in the kitchen, they are extremely well hidden. She takes a quick look at the oven where Reese's phone is, and sighs. She wants to tell him. She can't believe she forgot about it until now.

  “Reese, can you wait for me here? I need to show you something.”

  “How long?”

  “Two seconds, I swear.”

  Reese takes a deep breath before finally saying, “Okay.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Rebecca says and runs to the door.

  On the way to her bedroom, she realizes just how massive the dining room is, and how endlessly long the C-shaped corridor feels. She wishes she had left her clothes at Reese’s, like she did so many times before, but no. She has to sprint all the way to the forty-second dorm and back.

  Her clothes—the ones she wore during the battle—are still there, lying on the floor right at the foot of the bed. She picks up both the jumpsuit and the jacket and checks the pockets. The phone is in her trousers.

  Instinctively, she tries to unlock it, but it doesn’t respond. The screen stays black and broken. Either way, she takes it with her back to the kitchen, leaving her real phone right where she placed it before tonight’s battle even started: on her nightstand, by the digital clock.

  The first thing she sees when she opens the kitchen door is Reese. He’s still waiting, half-sitting on the counter, enduring the ear-splitting cry of the exhaust fan and the blenders. Rebecca is out of breath, but seeing him there gives her just enough strength to smile.

  She doesn’t say anything—just shows him the phone.

  Reese’s eyes narrow. “Why do you have that with you?”

  “This is what I wanted to show you,” she explains, “It’s not mine. And it isn’t working.”

  “Where the hell did you get another phone?”

  Rebecca hesitates before meeting his gaze. “Contestant 1.”

  Reese crosses his arms over his chest and grinds his teeth.

  “I took it after the fight,” Rebecca continues. “It was still functioning when I grabbed it. But now it won’t turn on.”

  Reese’s lips part slightly. He looks from the phone, to her, then back again. Something changes in his face.

  “That was very clever, Rebecca.”

  Her whole face lights up. “Do you think it’s possible to get it working?” She hesitates. “Maybe your friend could.”

  A second too late, Reese hides a smile behind his hand. Rebecca sees it—and with it, she deciphers the expression on his face. It’s pride. Not just approval. Pride. He’s proud of her. And for the first time since the incident with Contestant 1, hope resurges in Rebecca.

  "You can’t ask directly. That’s the problem," she adds.

  "I’ll find a way. Don’t worry."

  "I don’t know why I’m asking you this," she spits out, the words almost slipping from her mouth on their own.

  Reese lifts a hand toward her face—but falters. Instead, he rubs his head and then reaches for Contestant 1’s phone. He puts it in his pocket and thanks her.

  That’s the last thing he says to her before turning the devices off and heading to the old oven. He retrieves his phone from the hidden pot and starts walking away.

  When he’s just steps from the exit, Rebecca calls after him.

  "Reese…" Her face burns. "Can I sleep in your room tonight?"

  Reese pauses to consider it. Then, he simply says, "I think better when I’m alone."

  And just like that, he leaves her.