I press it into memory like it is code I will need later. I keep repeating it softly, lips barely moving.
I start to say my own address, in California. The house Seth and I were not even finished settling into.
I stop.
The thought lands quietly and hurts more than I expect. We were already planning an escape. A different place. A clean slate. A future that now feels like something from another life.
If I die, Seth will hunt down everyone responsible. And then he will kill himself, because living without me is not something he believes in.
The image hits me hard and sudden. Seth alone. Seth bleeding. Seth choosing death because I’m not there to stop him.
I bite down hard, forcing the tears back. I refuse to let that future take shape.
Miles reaches out before I can pull away, his hand closing around my wrist.
“Hey, look at me.”
I do.
“We’re going to figure out how to get out of here,” he says. “Okay? I don’t know how yet. But we’re not just waiting to die.”
I nod.
But I don’t believe it, not really. This place isn't built for survival. It's built for spectacle. For blood, for endings people watch.
But there is one thing I know with absolute certainty.
I’m not going out quietly.
Chapter 17
Seth
Connor’s Silicon Valley apartment looks exactly like the kind of place a smug, overpaid tech-bro would live in. An architectural flex with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer no privacy but scream wealth.
The front door is framed by a top-tier security system, motion sensors, camera feeds, keyless entry. It probably costs more than the SUV we stole.
Beau doesn’t even glance at the keypad.
He steps forward, raises his suppressed pistol, and fires two clean shots straight through the wood. The soft thump of the silencer barely masks the heavier sound of bodies hitting the floor on the other side.
Travis nearly faints. “Beau! What the fuck? How did you even know—”
Beau opens the door. “I didn’t know. I assumed.”
Beau steps over the bodies like they are nothing more than clutter on the floor. Travis freezes behind him, staring down at the blood pooling beneath the guards like he’s stumbled into a murder scene he isn’t ready for. Beau doesn’t even blink.
I shove past both of them.
Connor is on his feet, already moving toward a drawer in the sleek kitchen, probably where he keeps whatever designer weapon makes him feel powerful in his gated, oversecured world. His three glowing monitors light him in cold light as he reaches, frantic.
He doesn’t make it.
Travis crosses the room with a burst of momentum none of us expect and cracks his fist across Connor’s jaw hard enough to send a shockwave through the glass-topped table. The sound echoes through the marble and steel interior like a gunshot.
Connor collapses to the floor, blood pouring from his split lip, one hand fumbling at his side like he still believes he has a shot at control.
He doesn’t.
