VI

  Seven nights have come and gone outside of the Live compound, each one taking a contestant with it. Their absence is becoming notable—in the empty chairs in the dining hall and the shorter lines for the training booths. Rebecca is getting used to the fights too. She no longer needs to hide her face from the blood or cover her ears against the cracks of broken bones. She’s numb to all of it, and she’s almost thankful for it.

  Reese spends his days with Contestant 22, the girl from that night. Rebecca always catches them out of the corner of her eye. Yes, twelve contestants have died, but the house is still too small for forty-two people. He laughs easily with her, shares inside jokes, and touches her with a familiarity that makes Rebecca want to break whatever she’s holding in half.

  Rebecca, in turn, seeks solace in Lena's sharp wit and precise observations. They dissect the remaining contestants' strategies, mock the producers' catchphrases, and share theories over lukewarm protein shakes and cat meat. Yesterday, they spent the entire day trying to decipher how the metallic fabrics in their bodies work. Contestant 6, the loud twin, tried to use his ability in the dining hall while others were there, but his ability was deactivated immediately. Rebecca didn’t like to think that other contestants would use their deadly biological weapons so lightly, but she felt a strange sense of eeriness knowing they were being watched so closely.

  Despite their situation, Lena always manages to appear happy and positive. Rebecca admires that in her. Except when she catches her looking at her with pity whenever Reese is near. She furrows her brows at the way she absentmindedly traces the outline of the wooden bird he gave her or places a hand on Rebecca’s knee when Contestant 22 and him watch something, head to head, on each other’s phones.

  “I told you I don’t care,” is usually her answer, pushing Lena’s hand away or turning around to avert her gaze.

  Reese’s fan base is still all over her feed, calling this “their first fight”. They flood her comment section, preaching about how love should be free, how she shouldn’t deny Reese the chance to be with whoever he wants. And if she won’t put out, then what’s she whining about? Rebecca does her best to ignore it.

  Her eyes hurt from staring at her phone all day, and the harsh light of the common room burns her scalp. The afternoon gives way to the evening, and all the training booths have been taken since morning, leaving her with little to do but wait. Lena didn’t catch one either, even though she practically swallowed her food to secure a spot. Turns out, as she tells it, Contestant 1, Contestant 24, and some others—though she doesn’t know exactly who—have been saving booths for each other.

  Rebecca is about to respond indignantly to Lena’s discovery when she sees it: the thumbnail of a video uploaded earlier today. In it, Reese and Contestant 22 sit on his bed, in front of a camera. Lena’s voice fades into the background; everything around the tiny picture blurs.

  “What can we do?”

  Rebecca lifts her head, but even Lena’s face is out of focus. “Huh?”

  Lena starts talking again, and Rebecca wants to listen—she tries—but all she can think about is the video and what could be in it.

  “...or we’ll never be able to train.”

  "Right," Rebecca says, making an effort to recall some of Lena’s words. Something about the other contestants—staying in the booth until someone from their team arrives. She pauses. "Uh, why don’t you go and wait? If someone else comes asking for the booth, just say you were there first."

  Lena’s eyes widen. “That’s a good idea. Let’s do that now.” She stands up but stops after one step. “You’re not coming?”

  “I want to see something first.”

  Lena presses her lips together ever so slightly. She knows. That’s why she doesn’t insist—just nods and leaves.

  Rebecca takes a deep breath and buries her face in her phone again. With a shaky finger, she taps on the video.

  He is sitting in his armchair, and she’s on the bed. Him with a guitar, her with a ukulele. Apparently, unless the video is heavily edited, besides having a PhD in Biology, being a renowned investigator of life after death, or something huge like that—and having the lips of a goddess—she also sings.

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  They sing together in the video, one of Reese’s songs.

  After their performance is done, they stay a little longer. The live chat floods the left corner of the screen, messages scrolling too fast to read. They chat for a while, answer a few questions, then play some more.

  Why am I watching this?

  She’s about to shove the video away when Reese reads a question aloud—one with her name, or rather, her number in it:

  “You and Vanessa are so cute together, much better than… with 42.”

  Contestant 22 bursts into laughter. “Boy, we’re not together!” she says. “I don’t even believe in being together with someone. We’re all alone in this world.”

  “Right,” Reese’s voice sounds in the back. “Nah, we’re not together.”

  He leans toward the camera again, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah, no,” he begins. He doesn’t read the question, but his answer doesn’t really need one. “I’m not going back to Rebecca either. That’s over, folks.”

  Rebecca’s breath catches. Her stomach twists.

  She’s unable to look away now—she either needs to hear something that will soothe the ache in her chest or destroy her completely. Reese continues.

  "Listen, I’ve done it all,” he says, plucking at the guitar strings. “She’s a beautiful woman. Big heart. All that.” There’s a pause. Then, he scoffs. “But she’s made it absolutely clear that she doesn’t want me. She doesn’t trust me. She wants nothing to do with me. Simple as.” He exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “I’ve bent over backwards, done every fuckin’ thing I could to prove I’m not some waste of space. But nah. She won’t see it, man. And you know what? I’m fuckin’ sick of it. No one should feel like they aren’t good enough. No one.”

  He rubs a hand across his face, then turns to Contestant 22. “Shall we play another?”

  “Yeah!”

  Rebecca closes the app and throws her phone away. It lands on the rug, under a chair in the front row.

  She’s invaded by an overwhelming urge to yell, to scream, to cry and kick and destroy everything in sight—but instead, she curls into the chair, hugs her knees, and buries her face between them.

  She wants to dance. She wants to get out of there and dance.

  One by one, the other contestants start filling the common room. Contestant 2 even returns her phone when he trips over it. Everyone is nervous, as usual, but Contestant 6 beats them all. He grabs his head, mumbles under his breath, and snaps at anyone who dares to breathe near him. His ability hasn’t been activated yet.

  Lena is the last to arrive, sweaty and breathless, and takes the chair next to her.

  Rebecca’s gaze drifts toward Reese’s usual spot. He isn’t alone. Contestant 22, her shiny black curls spilling over her arm, sits beside him, laughing loudly, grabbing his arm with both hands.

  Rebecca clenches her jaw, swallows the lump in her throat, and turns back to the screen, feigning indifference—an expression she’s mastered.

  Her fingers tighten around the wooden bird in her pocket, squeezing so hard the edges scratch her skin. She blinks back the tears that now burn her eyes. No one will see her cry—not here, not now.

  The hosts’ cheerful greetings pull her back to the present. The white numbers on the black screen are already rolling when she looks at the holographic screen.

  Then they stop. But they don’t make sense.

  The female host’s voice rings through the arena—so shrill that the common room speakers crackle with static. “Let’s welcome into the arena… Contestant 5… and Contestant 42!”

  Blood drains from Rebecca’s face. Forty-two. Her number.

  Her world tilts.

  Now, what?

  She’s done.

  And then Reese steps forward. “I’ll fight in her place.” His back turned to her, blocking her path, he addresses the hosts through one of the embedded cameras in the wall, his arms slightly open to take up more space.

  Rebecca stares at him from behind. What?

  If she takes one step closer, she’ll be able to reach him—and do what? Stop him? Thank him? Step aside and let him fight in her place?

  The male host snickers, glancing at the audience, then at his co-host, who simply shrugs. "Contestant 13? Are you certain? Substituting for another contestant is... unconventional, to say the least."

  Reese doesn’t even hesitate. "I’ve checked the rules, big boss—it’s legit. So I’m stepping in. She’s out."

  He turns to Rebecca, his eyes searching hers. He offers a small, almost imperceptible nod—a silent confirmation of his decision.

  The other contestants murmur among themselves. Contestant 22’s voice rises above the whispers. "What are you doing, Reese?"

  The audience is eerily quiet. They probably don’t know how to react. They don’t want Reese risking his life again, but they can’t stop him. Even Lena, usually quick with a barbed comment, sits frozen in silence.

  After a beat of hesitation, the male host finally concedes. "Very well, Contestant 13, if you insist."