V

  Rebecca lets the synthetic tones and drum patterns shape her movements. The bass thrums in her stomach, her arms and legs obeying without thought. She started dancing when the sky burned orange, hesitant like the others. Now, with the dark dragging the shadows out, she’s given in completely.

  The common room stayed locked until four in the afternoon. Then, they were summoned. The chairs were gone. The capsules had returned. A voice over the speakers ordered them inside. Rebecca obeyed—there was no other choice. That’s all she remembers.

  The next time she opened her eyes, the capsules rested on the hillside of an island. Through the glass door, Rebecca caught glimpses of the landscape, but once it slid open, the view stole her breath.

  Outside the capsule, the wind tore through her hair, cool against her skin. She could breathe again.

  Behind them, mountains loomed, their peaks crowned with massive slabs of rock. Below, the beach stretched out, its sand soft, golden—warm, maybe. But between them and the shore, an army of spider drones stood guard. Probably because that’s where the DJ was.

  And in front of her, the sea. Vast. Untouched. Free.

  Tomorrow, in the arena, that’s what they’ll be fighting for.

  Back in the house, Rebecca stepped into the capsule in her usual jumpsuit. She stepped out looking like a whole different person.

  The show had dressed her in an obsidian gown, sleek as liquid silk. Metallic threads laced through the fabric, catching the light with every shift of her body. Her makeup was simple yet tasteful: a smoky eye that emphasized the intensity of her gaze, and a deep crimson lipstick, providing a splash of color against her monotone outfit. Her long black hair fell in loose waves down her back, framing her silver earrings.

  When the sun vanishes the island shifts into a different kind of beauty. Everywhere she looks, darkness swallows the landscape. The mountain is invisible, but she feels it, pressing against the dark. The sea reveals itself only through the breeze it carries.

  Above, the sky's the only thing not lost to the black. Stars—too many to count—spill across it. The longer she looks, the more they multiply.

  The lights pulse with the music, and Rebecca moves with them. She's one with them. She hadn't found the guts to dance ballet—too many memories—but this is different. This is necessary.

  When the lights soften, their glow turning warm, the music follows. Rebecca stops, breathless. She sinks onto the grass, tilts her head back. Breathes.

  Then, someone sits beside her. Reese.

  She had seen him dancing with his pack of goons. He looked devastatingly handsome. His tailored midnight-blue suit, embroidered with gold, brought out the depth in his dark eyes. His usually messy hair was slicked back, exposing the sharp angles of his face. She can’t see any of that now, only his silhouette, which he carries with such confidence.

  “You look…" he pauses, searching for the right word, “…breathtaking.”

  As another song begins, he outstretches a hand toward her as an invitation. “Dance with me?” he murmurs, his eyes locked on hers.

  Dancing with Reese here, under the stars, in front of the sea, feels dangerous. The idea of being so close to him in such a romantic setting, surrendering to the rhythm and losing herself in the moment, is both exhilarating and terrifying. Yet, the music, the atmosphere, and above all, Reese’s expectant eyes make it almost irresistible.

  He leads her back to the dance floor, his hand warm on her lower back. The music has shifted to a slow, sensual melody. It’s not as terrifying as she imagined, she realizes, as they begin to move in synchrony. Following Reese’s rhythm comes effortlessly to her. Their dance feels more like a conversation—casual and playful. Intimate. "So," he begins, a mischievous glint in his eye, "the infamous Rebecca graces me with her presence on the dance floor. I feel honored."

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  Rebecca raises an eyebrow, a faint smile dancing on her lips. “Don't let it go to your head,” she retorts. Whether it’s the dancing, the dress, the island, she feels more self-assured than ever. “I'm only doing this because my feet were getting bored.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he chuckles, drawing her closer. “I assure you, my dear Rebecca, boredom is the last thing you'll ever feel in my company.” He twirls her smoothly, their eyes locking for a moment before pulling her back into his embrace.

  “Is that a promise?” she teases, tilting her head slightly.

  "It's a guarantee," he replies, his low voice so close it sends a tingling wave from her ear down to her neck. As the music swells, he dips her low, her back arching gracefully. When he lifts her back up, his expression turns serious. "You know what? I've been practicing, too."

  "Practicing what?" she asks, casting him a skeptical glance.

  "Dancing," he answers, his initial confidence softening into a shy smile as he meets her eyes.

  “You knew there was going to be a dance?”

  “There was one in season nine.” He shrugs. “But that’s not why I did it. I was nervous about dancing with you—after all, you’re a professional—so I’ve been sneaking in lessons in my room.”

  Rebecca’s heart melts at his confession. The thought of him working so hard just to keep up with her brings a smile she can’t hold back.

  Then, he looks at her deep in her eyes, she notices even in the dark. "You've never mentioned how you… your leg, wasn't it?"

  Rebecca draws in a sharp breath. "What about it?"

  "I want to know what happened to you."

  She hesitates. Again, the way Reese looks at her makes it impossible to say no. She definitely blames the dancing this time.

  "We were celebrating—some friends and I," she says, shaking her head. "Some of my backup dancers and a few I was tutoring. We were celebrating in the studio because I had just starred in a huge choreography. A big deal. Then they said, ‘Let’s do the Torch Lift. You do it perfectly.’ And we did.” She cracks. "But he dropped me."

  Rebecca exhales, staring at nothing in particular.

  "They said it was an accident, but…"

  Nobody laughs at an accident. She keeps that part to herself. Otherwise, she might break.

  "What a fucking asshole."

  "The worst part," she mutters, "I only got to perform in the premiere. After that, I had to watch it from home, both legs in casts."

  Reese watches her for a moment, then pulls her into a quick but tender hug.

  They dance in silence for a while, playfully moving to the upbeat songs, occasionally stepping on each other’s toes. It always ends the same: Reese apologizing to Rebecca and her smacking him lightly on the arm, both of them laughing. As the tempo slows, they draw closer. In a moment of boldness—or perhaps foolishness—Rebecca rests her head against his chest.

  In that moment, she wishes time would simply stop. Everything is perfect.

  And every minute that passes, every step they take, brings the first fight of the season closer. She’s checked her social media; her numbers are promising, and many of Reese’s fans are backing her. Still, the messages she reads feel more like threats than support: “Don’t you dare break his heart,” “Prove you’re good enough for Reese,” “If you ever hurt our boy…” They’re constantly testing her, subjecting her to an exam she never asked for.

  Suddenly, Reese breaks the silence. “Don’t be afraid, okay?” he murmurs, as if he can read her mind. He leans in, his cheekbone gently resting on the crown of her head, his warmth enveloping her. “You have nothing to fear.”

  "I can’t stop thinking about the fights," she admits. "I don’t want it to be tomorrow—ever."

  He nods. "I know, but tonight is tonight." He spins her out and then pulls her back in, their bodies brushing together.

  She smiles, impressed by how effortlessly he handles the spin. "I'm terrified."

  He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You shouldn’t be."

  "I guess we’ll see," she retorts. "To me, it looks like I’m safe as long as I don’t do anything to upset you or make you look bad."

  He tightens his grip on her hand, his eyes searching hers. "Rebecca," he says in a soft, lowering tone, "trust me—you have nothing to worry about."

  "And why is that?" she challenges, knitting her eyebrows.

  He pauses, his expression shifting as his teeth catch on his lower lip. "Let’s just say," he begins, drawing closer, "you have certain… advantages."

  "Advantages?" she repeats, confused beyond measure.

  He smiles. “Trust me, Rebecca. You’ll be fine.” He spins her again—a double spin—and she instantly realizes he’s trying to shift her focus. Leaning closer, he murmurs, “Just lose yourself in the dance for now. Enjoy the moment.”

  Reese; he smiles as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Yet her questions come roaring back: Does he really believe she’s safe? What does he know that she doesn’t? Or is he playing another game with her mind?

  Meanwhile, the live chat scrolls at a dizzying pace with a wild stream of texts and emojis: hearts, flames, and endless thumbs-up and thumbs-down that, from tomorrow on, will dictate the fate of every contestant.