VII

  "Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for a battle—not just for survival." He pauses. "Not for glory, not for freedom, not for greatness… but for love."

  "It could be worse."

  "Tonight, in the arena, we welcome Contestant 5…" The host pauses, letting the dramatic tension build. "…and Contestant 13."

  Contestant 5, a former member of a notorious motorcycle gang infamous for its violent tactics and firearm trafficking, cracks his knuckles. Whether he’s grinning or simply baring his teeth is unclear. He relishes the prospect of facing Reese—that much is obvious. The popular singer, the golden boy; the challenge seems to ignite a primal thrill within him.

  Rebecca is still standing near the steel door when Lena tugs her sleeve and leads her back to her chair. She sits down but can’t stop shaking. She feels guilty for being relieved and anxious for the battle to be over. Why is he doing this? After everything he said, after publicly declaring their separation, why would he risk himself for her?

  She watches as Reese steps into the arena, his back straight, his head held high. She grabs the wooden bird with both hands, completely unaware of it, and presses it against her chest. He is walking into a fight he hasn’t earned, choosing to take on this challenge for her. And in that moment, despite feeling sick with fear, Rebecca knows with a certainty resonating deep within her soul that the resentment, the anger—everything—has shifted completely.

  The battle begins quickly. The spider drones haven’t even cleared the arena when Contestant 5 lunges. His muscles bunch, his fingers bent like claws. In a seamless motion, Reese counters with a precise kick to Contestant 5’s knee, sending the larger man crashing to the ground. A collective gasp rises from the crowd as Reese bounces back, light on his feet, never losing sight of his opponent.

  Rebecca watches, her heart racing against her ribs, while Lena rubs her back gently. Every muscle in her body tenses, her shoulders ache, and she sweats despite feeling cold.

  He’s good, she thinks, a surprised breath escaping her lips. He’s familiar with his surroundings. He knows what to expect. Contestant 3 had been similar—larger and more muscular than Reese, his prowess seemingly impenetrable. Besides, Contestant 5’s ability isn’t anywhere near as formidable as Contestant 3’s was.

  She clings to the hope that the parallels between that fight and this one might give Reese even the slightest edge—but does he truly need it?

  Contestant 5 certainly didn’t learn anything from watching Reese’s previous battle, because he repeats Contestant 3’s same pattern. He attacks—once, twice—too many times. Yet Reese doesn’t even use his ability this time; he evades each blow, moving like smoke.

  Reese lands a sharp elbow to Contestant 5’s jaw—not enough to break it, but enough to rattle his balance. He follows with a precise kick to the solar plexus, a blow that might have shattered ribs on someone else. On Contestant 5, it only forces a momentary wheeze—but a moment is all Reese needs.

  His movements are more than just graceful; they are strategic. He carefully chooses his points of attack, aware that Contestant 5’s skin seems impervious to conventional blows. Again and again, the larger man is sent sprawling, his strength nullified by Reese’s agility and cunning.

  The longer she watches, the more her apprehension twists into admiration. She can fight it all she wants, but pride overrides her.

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  "He’s really fighting," she whispers, her voice lost beneath the arena’s thunderous roar.

  She had doubted him when he insisted she should trust him, that his feelings were genuine; yet here he stands—fighting for her, risking everything.

  Was it possible he had been telling the truth all along?

  Reese lands a well-aimed blow to Contestant 5’s neck; the impact echoes through the arena. Contestant 5 staggers back with a pained groan, hands clutching his throat. Reese gains the upper hand—if only for a moment. The crowd roars. They chant his name. They demand Contestant 5’s death.

  Reese smiles.

  Rebecca doesn’t like it. He shouldn’t be smiling. He shouldn’t be letting his guard down.

  Then it happens—a single, fatal misstep.

  Overconfident, Reese attempts a risky spinning kick aimed at Contestant 5’s head but underestimates his opponent’s reach. Contestant 5 grabs Reese’s leg mid-spin and yanks him off balance with a guttural scream of triumph.

  Reese hits the ground with a sickening thud—a low but distinctive sound, like the kick of a drum.

  Rebecca feels icy dread wash over her as Contestant 5 seizes his opportunity to deliver a crushing blow to Reese’s skull. The crowd falls silent; even their collective breath seems to pause as Reese lies crumpled on the arena floor. His chest heaves violently before slowing to an eerie stillness.

  Contestant 5 stands over him, triumphant, panting, assessing.

  Rebecca stares in horror at Reese’s motionless form. The rapid healing that should have already repaired his injuries is taking too long—far too long. This wound isn’t acting like the others.

  Maybe some injuries really are lethal.

  No.

  Rebecca covers her mouth with both hands—wooden bird clutched tight.

  Reese is breathing.

  Contestant 5 notices too. He leans down toward Reese, his face distorted, his voice amplified by the surrounding microphones:

  “Enjoy your last moments, singer boy,” he scoffs. “Once you’re gone, nobody will protect your little ballerina—she’ll be all alone… all mine.”

  He grabs Reese by the sides of his head and twists his neck—the same way Reese did to Contestant 3 in his previous battle.

  Rebecca’s blood runs cold.

  She squeezes the bird so tightly that her palms actually bleed. A strangled gasp escapes her as she realizes:

  He’s going to die.

  And this time, it’s her fault.

  Silence grips the stands, broken only by a few desperate cries—pleading for Reese to stop pretending and get up.

  Rebecca can’t breathe.

  Until she sees it. A faint twitch of his fingers. A shallow hitch in his chest. Suddenly, his neck snaps back into place like a scene from a horror movie.

  It isn’t graceful. It’s ugly, grotesque.

  “What the fuck?” Contestant 5 drops onto his backside, visibly revolted. “You’re a freak.”

  Reese is drained. His eyes distant, his skin almost green. Will and adrenaline are all he has left, forcing him to keep fighting. He pushes himself upright—faltering, then steadying just as quickly—groans slipping past his lips. His eyes blaze with hatred.

  The spectators remain muted, but for a different reason now.

  At that point, Reese fights back like a cornered animal—ferocious and fearless—trading blow for blow against Contestant 5’s brute strength, even as he takes several hard hits himself.

  At last, in a moment of pure desperation, Reese harnesses Contestant 5’s momentum and throws him to the ground. His face contorted with rage, he forces Contestant 5’s face into the dirt, burying his nose and mouth. Contestant 5 jerks and thrashes, but Reese’s grip holds firm—his entire weight pinning him down. Until, finally, Contestant 5 goes still.

  Rebecca watches.

  She’s no longer afraid of the brutality in him. She doesn’t fear the man on the screen, committing a heartless murder in front of thousands of people.

  She’s thankful beyond herself for the aggression in him.