“They treat us like animals,” Sarah says quietly. “Like prey to hunt.”
I hold my wrist, trying to keep the shaking at bay.
“A physician will come,” Miles confirms.
“For this?” I lift my broken wrist, the motion making me suck in a breath.
“Yes.”
I stare at him, confusion clawing through the pain. “Why bother fixing it if they’re just going to keep torturing me?”
“Because it’s not about killing you. Not yet. They patch us up so they can break us more,” Sarah adds.
Miles nods. “You’re no fun to them if you can’t move.”
My stomach turns. My lungs feel too small. My fingers go numb.
Seth isn’t here. No one to ground me. No one to talk me down.
Sarah curls deeper into herself and looks down at the floor again.
Miles is quiet for a moment, then says, “They want us ready.”
“For what?” My voice barely sounds like mine.
He looks at me, eyes flat. “The games.”
A scream echoes through the vents above.
Miles doesn’t flinch. “They’re warming up.”
My voice shakes. “Warming up for what?”
He doesn’t look away. “For whatever part of the show we’re in today.”
My chest rises too fast. I can’t slow it. I can’t steady it.
Seth’s voice cuts through the panic. The memory of it:
Slow it down, baby. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Look at one thing in the room. I’ve got you.
I squeeze my eyes shut. One breath in. One breath out. It hurts. It doesn’t fix anything. But it keeps me from falling apart completely.
“I’m not dying here,” I whisper, even though it comes out broken.
Miles’s expression softens.
“Good,” he murmurs. “You’ll need that.”
Another scream echoes, louder this time.
No one reacts.
They are used to it. They are dead inside in a way I refuse to be. I wrap my good arm tighter around my ribs.
Seth.
Please don’t be dead.
