Reese doesn’t show up for breakfast the next morning and Rebecca knows why. He spent the whole night rewriting the lyrics to one of his old songs. At five in the morning, he uploaded a video. In it, Reese sits in his armchair, guitar in hand, as usual. No flashy edits. No theatrics. Just him, playing a song.

  The video starts with him looking directly at the camera. "This one goes to all my friends and fans out there. You mean the world to me. Even you, you cheap bastard. This one’s especially for you."

  Rebecca listens. The lyrics don’t make sense. At first, they sound like a mess of unrelated sentences—random phrases stitched together. But then she catches it. There’s a pattern. Fragments of conversations. Little things. Probably things only one other person was meant to understand. She just hopes the tech guy gets the message.

  While Rebecca slips a protein bar into her pocket for Reese, Lena sits beside her. She looks devastated.

  “You didn’t come back to the common room last night,” she says.

  Rebecca nods. "I didn’t. Why?"

  "You missed the fight." Lena sighs.

  Rebecca’s eyes widen. "Who lost?"

  "Contestant 10." Lena leans forward and lets her head fall onto her hand. "They fought for five hours. The hosts left. Most of the audience in the arena left. The hosts ended up announcing her victory remotely. I bet they had two videos recorded—just in case."

  Five hours? Rebecca can’t even process that idea. She read online that her own fight lasted forty minutes. Four hours and twenty minutes more of that and she would’ve lost her head.

  “How’s… she?” asks Rebecca. She’s never learnt Contestant 23’s name, but saying her number doesn’t seem appropriate at the time.

  She and Lena claim to be close; they both share a passion for sports. Contestant 23 used to be a boxer—before she kicked her dog to heaven during a fight with her also deceased girlfriend. In jail, she learned to calm down.

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t left her room.”

  Before Rebecca can say anything, Lena straightens up and spits out a bunch of questions, one after the other.

  “What about you? How are you doing with the fight? And Reese? Are you two back together yet?”

  Rebecca inhales slowly. She doesn’t want to snap at Lena. Not again. Not after she was there for her when no one else was. She sure knows how to get under her skin, though.

  "Lena, no. I’m not back with him." She hesitates. "I mean…"

  How does she explain it? That Reese barely looks at her. That he won’t let her in his bed. That the idea of him kissing her feels like a dream. That if she tries to put it into words, she might break.

  She settles on, “He’s still angry, I think.” Then quickly adds, “But please don’t post this. None of it. It won’t matter, I know—they’re probably already listening—but still…” She gestures at the cameras. “Right now, I just want to disappear for a while.”

  Lena places a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that,” she says. “I’ve decided I’m done doing what they ask. I’m putting a stop to it.”

  Rebecca frowns.

  Lena gives her a small, tired smile. "Maybe you were right. Maybe my chances of winning are basically nonexistent. But if I have to die, I don’t want to go out as a bitch." Her voice softens. "I’m a good person, Rebecca. I want to stay a good person until the end."

  Rebecca looks at her. Then, she smiles too. A real smile, born of real fondness.

  “And the fight?” Lena presses on. “How are you handling the fact that you killed a person?”

  Rebecca scoffs. “I'd do it again, gladly.”

  An awkward silence follows. Rebecca shoots a glance at Lena, expecting to find her scandalized, disgusted. But Lena looks more frightened than anything. So frightened, she tries to hide it.

  “I meant, to him, Contestant 1. He wasn't necessarily gentle with me. But I guess I'm just blaming him for my own faults.”

  “No, I get it. You'll feel better,” Lena concludes.

  Reese spends the rest of his day doing anything but paying attention to her. She lets him. She gives him the space he needs to decide if he’ll forgive her. Or if he won’t. The only time he acknowledges her is during the battle. That night, Rebecca and Reese sit side by side in the common room. The noise around them fades into the background.

  She leans in slightly. "Anything?"

  Reese doesn’t answer right away. He just says, "Maybe." Then he looks at her. At her nose, at her chin, her cheeks. Anything but her eyes. "Rebecca, there are certain things I don’t want to talk about." A pause. Then, he adds, "Just remember what I’ve been asking you all this time, will ya? What I asked you that time on the rooftop. You will have to do that, yeah?"

  For a second—one that might as well have been a full minute—Rebecca stares at Reese. She can only see the side of his face, because he has his eyes glued to the screen: his straight nose, his long eyelashes, the dark, deep line between his eyebrows. The desire to rest her head on his shoulder, to hide her face in the crook of his neck, grows like a physical knot in her chest. When he finally turns to her, he raises his eyebrows, demanding an answer.

  Rebecca swallows and nods.

  There’s a brief moment when their eyes finally meet—no, not just meet, linger—and hope warms her from the inside. Of course, it doesn’t last. Pure, cold dread replaces it when the numbers flash across the screen. One is 15.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The other, 30.

  “No.” Rebecca’s fingers tighten around Reese’s sleeve.

  Across the room, Lena stands. The lights from the picture of the arena tint her hair pink and red and purple. For some reason, she always sits near the front. Always so close to the big screen. Rebecca notices that for the first time. Like it matters. Like it’ll give her any advantage now.

  “Reese, she can’t.”

  But Lena is already moving. Already disappearing behind the steel door with Contestant 15. Rebecca stares at the screen. Any second now, Lena will appear there.

  And when she does she looks terrified. A child. Rebecca’s breath catches.

  "This is insane."

  Lena is already on the floating platform, being carried to her spot. "She stole a stupid trophy from some teacher’s office. Why… how could—" Her fingers clench tighter around Reese’s sleeve. "Why did they choose her?"

  Reese’s voice is quiet. "What’s her ability?"

  Rebecca inhales sharply and her stomach drops. She doesn’t know. She never asked.

  She thinks that thought will haunt her through the entire fight. But she doesn’t get the chance. Despite her Adhesive Skin, Contestant 15 fails instantly. She lunges at Lena. The punch is weak. Slow. Lena stops it with a single hand. She grabs Contestant 15’s fist and twists it until she falls to her knees and begs her to stop. Lena doesn’t look anything like her usual self. That competitive, ruthless version of her was probably reserved for hokey. She lets go of Contestant 15’s hand and grabs her head, both sides. And with a single, effortless twist—the neck cracks.

  The fight is over.

  Rebecca waits for her return to the common room. So does Reese. In fact, he approaches her first.

  “Well done, Lena,” he tells her, pressing a hand to her scalp and messing her hair.

  Lena smiles, but her eyes are too wide and too lost for Rebecca to believe that smile is anything remotely close to real. She walks up to her.

  “How are you?”

  Lena lifts her head, but her eyes keep wandering. “Can you walk me to my room?”

  “Sure.”

  Next morning, Lena doesn’t show up for breakfast. Or lunch. Rebecca goes to see her in her room. She knocks. No answer. She opens the door. Nothing. Her stomach tightens.

  She searches the common room. The training facility. The dining hall. The kitchen. Even the shared bathrooms. She’s nowhere. Rebecca returns to Lena’s room. This time, she steps inside. Her legs tremble as she moves toward the bathroom door. She doesn’t know what she expects to find. But a knot in her stomach tells her she won’t like it.

  And, goddammit, she is right.

  The scream rips through her before she even realizes it. It spreads through the entire house. She knows it because within seconds, the others are there. Their eyes darting from one to the other.

  Rebecca falls on her knees and grabs Lena’s body, pulling her onto her lap. Lena’s arms hang stiff, blood-drenched from elbow to wrist. They fall forward, cold and slack, rigid at the elbows. Like they shouldn’t bend that way. Next to her, a piece of broken mirror reflects the bathroom light, its edge darkened with dried blood.

  Rebecca’s jumpsuit also soaks through. She doesn’t cry. Not because she isn’t sad. Because she doesn’t accept this is real. She doesn’t blink, either.

  When other contestants kneel beside her and take Lena’s body from her arms, Rebecca stands. She doesn’t see who they are. Their faces are blurry. Indistinct. All she knows is she has to get out of there. Her stomach twists violently. Her heart slams against her ribs. But she doesn’t stumble. She walks straight through the crowd, spine upright, chin up. Only her face gives away her inner turmoil—through the quivering at the corners of her mouth and her tear-glistening lashes.

  Rebecca slams her bedroom door shut behind her. Her hands tremble, air doesn’t reach her lungs, and she can’t stop pacing along the narrowing walls. She stumbles backward onto her bed. Her breath is shallow, erratic. And she bursts.

  She screams. Kicks the wall. Kicks the bed. Her fists slam into the mattress, into the pillows, into anything that won’t bruise her hands. A tantrum. A full-blown, feral tantrum.

  Years had passed since she had lost control like this—back when she was a dancer. Young, obsessed, desperate for perfection. When her body refused to cooperate, when the routine fell apart, when she wasn’t good enough, she’d collapse onto the studio floor, fists pounding against it, breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts.

  It didn’t happen often. But when it did, it felt unstoppable. Then, she grew up. She learned to control it. Or she thought she did. Because here she is—screaming into the void, kicking at nothing, clawing at air. And nothing changes.

  Her gaze snaps to the mirror. But instead of the real one, hanging on her wall, she sees the one in Lena’s bathroom. Shattered. Broken into a thousand jagged pieces. Her breath catches and her stomach twists violently. Her eyes flick to the clock on her nightstand. She snatches it up, unplugging it with one sudden pull. Then she throws it.

  The clock slams into the glass. A violent explosion of shards brings her back to reality. The minute fragments burst outward, crashing onto the floor, the bed, her skin. Rebecca stands there, panting. It doesn’t help. The mirror is gone, but the image of Lena stays with her.

  And through the remaining cracks, she sees Reese. Standing in the doorway. Watching her. His face is blank. No anger, no pity, just… there. Rebecca’s breath hitches. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. She just stares back at him through the fractured glass.

  Then, finally, she turns around. "Reese."

  He doesn’t let her finish. He comes closer and pulls her in, arms wrapping around her. He presses a hand gently to the back of her head; with the other, he circles her waist. Rebecca breaks. She sobs against his chest. Messy, childlike. Like her tantrum.

  She cries for everything. For Lena. For her leg. For burning down her studio. For prison. For Contestant 1. For the humiliation. For betraying Reese. For the horrible certainty in her gut that only one of them will make it out alive. She can’t bear it.

  “I can’t be here anymore,” she cries out, her voice muffled by his skin. “I can’t take another day. I need to get out, Reese. I need to get out now.”

  “Working on it,” Reese whispers.

  Rebecca lifts her head. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  She stares at him, unsure whether she heard him correctly or if it was just her imagination giving her false hope.

  He doesn’t give her an answer, or even a clue. He just breaks the hug and takes a step back, despite her clinging to his shirt, fingers wrapped around the fabric.

  Desperate for something—anything—that might make her feel better, she leans in to kiss him.

  He pulls away immediately. "Don’t."

  Rebecca recoils and places a hand on her own chest. The pain is sickening. "When are you going to forgive me?"

  Reese avoids her gaze. His eyes fall on her phone instead, which lies on the floor by her nightstand. She probably dropped it when she grabbed the clock.

  "I already forgave you," he says. "It’s just that… you’re not the woman I thought you were."

  Rebecca gasps. The words annihilate her. They pulverize the already shattered pieces of her heart into ash.

  She presses a hand to her stomach, like it’ll help, like it’ll hold her together. After everything, she didn’t think there was still anything left to hurt. But there it is.

  She searches his face. Is he telling the truth? Or is this just part of the act? There are things they can’t talk about—not if they don’t want to get caught. But why would he lie about this? How does that fit?

  Unless—It’s not a lie at all.

  Rebecca steps back. A shard of glass cracks beneath her heel. "I think I want to take a nap."

  Reese nods. He says nothing. Just turns and leaves.