“Doing what?”
“Thinking about something you refuse to share.”
He leans back slightly, considering.
“Trust me,” he says again.
The loudspeaker interrupts before I can respond.
“Finalists report to arena entry immediately.”
Bron stands and pulls me upright with him, his fingers warm around my hand.
“Well,” he says with quiet confidence, “showtime.”
The tunnel leading into the arena trembles with the thunder of the crowd beyond the gates. Stadium lights pour through the opening ahead as the massive doors begin to rise.
Bron squeezes my hand once.
“Ready?”
My heart pounds as I inhale the charged air.
“Ready,” I whisper.
Together we step forward into the roaring arena, determined to win.
CHAPTER 30
BRON
Night settles over the Fratvoy compound like a heavy curtain pulled across a stage.
Most of the contestants have retreated to their quarters, either sleeping, drinking, or pacing themselves into quiet panic before the championship event tomorrow. The compound lights burn low outside the dormitory windows, casting long bars of pale gold across the courtyard where security patrols drift back and forth like patient ghosts. Somewhere in the distance a generator thrums steadily, its vibration crawling through the concrete floor and up into the bones of the building.
I lean against the railing of the balcony outside our assigned room and stare out into the dark.
The air smells faintly of dust, ozone, and alien grass warmed by the day’s sun. It’s cooler tonight than usual, the kind of crisp edge that sneaks under your shirt and wakes your skin up.
Normally I’d be talking.
Normally I’d be cracking jokes about monster-sized obstacles and ridiculous television producers and how tomorrow’s grand finale will look fantastic when I win it and spend the prize money irresponsibly.
Instead I’m staring at the courtyard and trying not to think about curtains.
Behind me the door slides open.
Tilda steps onto the balcony, barefoot, her hair loose around her shoulders in a way that still catches me off guard every time I see it. She’s wearing one of the compound-issued sleep shirts, the fabric thin enough that the breeze presses it lightly against her frame.
She watches me for a moment before speaking.
“You’ve been standing out here for twenty minutes.”
“I enjoy the scenery.”
“There’s a cargo drone and a recycling bin.”
“Stunning architecture.”
