I turn my face into his shirt, mumbling into his leather jacket so the Game Master can’t see me talking. “Why are you doing this?”
He doesn’t look at me. When he speaks, his voice is so quiet I’m sure only I can hear him over the crunch of glass under his feet. “Why do you think, Eden?”
It feels like my ribcage has been cracked open to let light in. His arms tighten around me, hauling me up until we’re practically nose to nose. Then he ducks his head, his lips ghosting against the shell of my ear when he speaks.
“I thought I could do this,” he says, “but I can’t fucking handle seeing you in pain.”
The weight of his arms around me feels impossible. A hallucination my pain-addled brain is conjuring up to comfort me, like how when you die, every neuron in your brain fires at the same time, giving you one last good thing before pushing you into oblivion.
But I know it’s real because he keeps stopping midstride, catching his breath, before struggling forward again, and no good thing my brain could conjure up would include him in pain.
I drop my heavy head onto his chest. The glass thins out near the end.
He sets me down over the yellow line. My knees buckle, and I land in a heap on the smooth concrete, staring up at Nico as he steps over the line. I’m going to be the one up on the pole after this, but right now all consequences feel so unimportant because I have the real Nico back. Any amount of pain is worth it for that.
“Trial two is complete,” the Game Master says, each word bitten off with barely concealed annoyance. “Subject Two is the winner.”
The words take a second to sink in. How can I be the winner? Nico is still standing, swaying between his feet, like some hundred-year-old tree that a storm can bend but not take down. His face doesn’t reflect my own confusion.
Because he purposefully put me down before he crossed the finish line.
There are so many things I need to say, but the camera lens reflects the red emergency lights, and I can say none of them. I go to pull the flaps of my jacket around myself, for a hug from Dad, but my heart stops dead in my chest.
Dad’s jacket is still sitting out in the glass, balled up and torn and soaked in my blood.
The speaker turns on with a hiss.
“The loser will now begin his punishment,” the Game Master says. “It appears Subject Two has left her coat behind. Subject One will retrieve it.”
CHAPTER 41
Alexander submits to pain as other people submit to sleep—not reluctantly, but with relief.
—Journal of Donald Dellman, July 2021
“No,” I say, my voice warbling. “Absolutely the fuck not.”
Nico’s face is serious. “I have to go back.”
“Are you crazy?” A rush of protectiveness comes over me, so strong it almost takes me out at the knees. “No.Fuckthat guy.”
“Eden.”
He widens his eyes at me, giving this almost imperceptible shake of his head, and I know exactly what he’s telling me. We’re locked in these trials. He has no choice. Howard and Louise refused to participate, and the Game Master came down here andcutofftheirarmsandlegsuntil theydied.
I want to scream as he stares out at the hallway, and I know he’s working up the courage to go.
He steps onto the glass, and I hiss as his foot makes contact and his entire body goes rigid. Each step leaves a crimson smear behind him.
It’s like he’s moving in slow motion until all of a sudden, he’s there, swaying over my jacket. He wobbles and reaches for the wall, but he’s a foot too far away, and his fingertips scrape nothing but air. He takes one stumbling step, but doesn’t go down. I clasp both of my hands over my mouth.
So much blood is pooling under his feet that it spreads like spilled ink over the concrete. I try to remember how much aperson can lose before they pass out. Mom was a nurse. I should know this, but my brain is coming up empty.
When he steps onto smooth ground, his legs almost give out. I reach for him, but he braces one swollen hand on the wall and puts out his other to stop me.
He pushes off the wall and takes a step. His knees buckle.
I reach for him, swallowing the cry that rises, and collide with him, breaking his fall enough that his head lands on my thigh, the rest of him crushing my legs. All the wind has been knocked out of me. He blinks up at me, dazed, before he comes to his senses and pushes himself into a sitting position. There’s resistance when he moves his arm, and he looks down to find my fist clenching his sleeve tight.
