The hallway falls silent again.
I stand there for several seconds staring at the empty space where she was standing a moment ago.
Then I let out a long breath.
“Well,” I mutter to myself, “that was productive.”
But the truth settles quietly into my thoughts as I turn back toward the main compound corridor.
The resemblance is real.
The timeline is real.
And Tilda’s reaction?
That might be the most convincing evidence of all.
Still.
If the last few years of my life have taught me anything, it’s that forcing answers out of someone rarely ends well.
So for now I do the only thing that feels remotely intelligent.
I wait.
Because sooner or later the truth has a way of walking out into the open on its own.
CHAPTER 19
TILDA
The compound feels different when the numbers drop.
At the beginning of the competition the place was loud in a chaotic, carnival sort of way—too many contestants, too many egos, too many couples convinced they were about to dominate the entire show. The corridors were packed with people arguing, flirting, bragging, panicking, and generally behaving like a herd of caffeinated animals trapped in a televised experiment.
Now it’s quieter.
Not silent, but sharper.
The kind of quiet that happens when the field shrinks and every remaining contestant suddenly realizes the odds are getting serious.
Only twelve couples remain.
Twenty-four people.
Out of the hundreds who started.
The giant ranking board in the central hall glows above us like a scoreboard in a war zone. Names scroll slowly across the display, highlighting the remaining teams in bright gold while eliminated competitors fade into dim gray text beneath them.
I stand in front of it with my arms folded, studying the updated standings.
Third place.
Bron and I are in third.
The number sits there on the board like a challenge.
“Don’t stare at it too hard,” Bron says behind me. “You’ll scare it away.”
