Time blurs inside the cell.

  Reese leans against the wall, arms draped over his knees, eyes fixed on the dull concrete floor. He’s been here since six in the morning—at least that's what he estimates. Could be longer. Could be shorter. It’s hard to tell without a clock, without the shifting rhythm of the house. And without his phone.

  All he knows is that he’s useless down there. And it’s her fault, she put him here. Rebecca.

  His chest tightens. What the fuck was she thinking? He turns her words over, again and again, like he’ll find some hidden meaning if he picks them apart enough. “I told you I didn’t want you to fight for me.” That’s what she said.

  That’s what she did this for. To stop him. His fingers dig into his palms. Is she insane? Does she really think he can just sit back while she—

  A sudden rattling sound yanks him from his thoughts. He lifts his head. A spider drone crawls through the ceiling hatch, its mechanical legs clanking against the metal grate. For a second, hope flares in his chest. They’re letting him out.

  But the door remains locked, and the spider drone never comes near it. Instead, it projects a flickering image onto the wall at the end of the corridor. Tonight’s episode. Reese’s stomach plummets.

  The show’s intro flashes across the screen, garish and bright. Then, the hosts start talking—about him, about Rebecca and Contestant 1.

  His jaw clenches. He buries his head in his arms, fingers pressing desperately against the sides of his head, just above his ears. Why won’t anybody shut those motherfuckers up? Every word that comes out of their twisted mouths is utter bullshit.

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  "Desperate for attention?" "In constant need of external validation?" They don’t know the first thing about Rebecca.

  But maybe neither does he.

  “Why the fuck did you do it?”

  The hosts announce the battle is seconds away, and the two numbers flash onto the screen.

  Reese shoots to his feet. No. No, no, no. His pulse hammers against his skull. He slams his fists against the metal bars.

  On the screen, Rebecca and Contestant 1 appear on the arena floor. She looks tiny, surrounded by the colossal stands. Way too pure to do what she’s supposed to.

  “HEY! HEY—OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR.”

  Nothing.

  “I know you hear me, you creepy piece of shit.”

  Reese grips the bars, shaking them hard enough to make his arms ache. His throat burns. Rebecca is going to fight. Fuck. Against him. That cunt. Contestant 1.

  His breath comes fast and shallow. That asshole’s ability—what is it? What is it? Augmented speed. Fuck. One of the best. She won’t be able to track him. She won’t be able to keep up.

  His fingers tighten around the bars. The metal groans under his grip. He presses his forehead against the cold surface and closes his eyes. He promised her he would protect her. Now she’s out there on her own. She did this. She caused this mess. And yet, that doesn’t change a goddamn thing. He can’t lose her.

  He can’t stop picturing it either: that asshole, kissing her, touching her.

  And now the bastard will have his hands on her again. That thought—that image—makes him snap inside.

  He slams his fist into the bars, over and over, until his knuckles split, until blood stains the cold, unyielding steel. They don’t let him out. The drone keeps projecting the arena—completely unbothered. And Reese is left in his cell, trapped, helpless, furious.