“You feel hot,” he says.
“Oh yeah?”
It’s not something to joke about. Everything feels too warm and too cold at the same time, but I don’t want him to worry.
“Do we have more water?” I ask because it’s the only thing my brain can focus on anymore.
Nico steadies the remaining bottle with one hand as I drink everything except for the last quarter, then he leaves again. I curl up on the floor, feeling his absence like a bruise, before he returns with a tarp he found buried under some collapsed debris. He wraps the crinkled plastic around us, then slides back behind me. Keeping my eyes open feels like trying to curl dumbbells with my eyelids.
“Do you want me to tell you about the mountain again?” Nico asks.
I want to tell him I’m sorry for being weak and for not being the kind of person who can power through blood loss and dehydration with the power of my mind, but the words won’t come.
The world grays out. I can hear him talking and try hard to hold onto each word he says, but all of them smear together until all I can think about is dunking my head into the puddles of rainwater on top of that mountain and gulping down muddy water until I die.
Nico’s chest rises and falls under my cheek in an unsteady rhythm.
I blink out at the shadowy expanse of the building, the entire thing coming in and out of focus.
“Hey, baby girl.”
I open one eye to find Dad crouched in front of me, and everything inside me stills. He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him, with his buzzed hair, stocky build, and tired eyes crinkled at the corners. He’s wearing that half-smile he’d get when he caught me doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing, but was more proud than mad about it.
“You’re not real,” I say, my voice barely audible even to myself.
Dad’s smile widens. “Does it matter?”
Guess not.
“I’m trying to be tough like you told me, but I’m not strong enough,” I say.
“It’s okay, little one,” he says. “You don’t have to be strong enough to win. You just have to be strong enough to try.”
“I’m scared,” I say.
“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared,” Dad says. “It just means you do it even though you are.”
“Will you hate me if I give up?” I rasp.
“Eden?” Nico asks, voice hoarse from sleep. “Who are you talking to?”
I look back toward where Dad was crouched, but he’s gone.
I miss Dad so much. I miss the way he’d lie on the floor next to my bed and hold my hand after I had nightmares, all the way until I went back to sleep. He promised nothing could hurt me as long as he was there.
Except something did hurt me. Something hurt all of us, and Dad couldn’t stop it because he wasn’t superhuman. He was just a man.
I try to turn toward Nico, but the room spins like someone fired up a centrifuge. I can feel his hand on my face, but I’m already slipping away from him.
“Eden?”
I surface from unconsciousness slowly and disoriented. My eyes are groggy, and it takes a couple of seconds before I recognize Nico’s silhouette.
“The speaker turned on,” he says. “The Game Master said nothing, but I think he’s getting ready for the next trial. What do you need most right now?”
I move my arm, immediately regretting it as a ripe throb of pain rushes up through my shoulder. I probe around the tourniquet. The fabric that binds my stump is sodden in places, and there’s a smell coming from it that I try hard not to think about too much. I’m not cold anymore. I feel warm and comfortable, which would feel good if I didn’t know better.
“Thirsty,” I say.
