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“Ah, our resident Romeo and Juliet, intent on dying together. All right then. Up next should be Mr. Henry, but I’m skipping him.”

Henry tried to say something, but at a wave from the bartender, his mouth snaps shut.

“I’m skipping you, Sir Galahad, because I know you are not going to deal in good faith.” The bartender looks at Noemi and me. “He’ll agree as a way to protect you two, with no intention of actually doing anything except making sure this one…” He slants a look Raymond’s way. “Well, you know.”

The bartender straightens. “All right then. Do we even need an answer, Ray? I suppose so, for the sake of clarity. Do you, Raymond the Asshole, take this challenge, winning back your fair Bryce and escaping the clutches of death—”

“I do.”

THIRTY-ONE

Henry lunges for Raymond. He’d known what the man would choose. We all did. The bartender was right. Henry would have agreed to the bargain with no plans to fulfill it. Anything to keep Raymond from leaping on the offer.

But when Henry lunges, Raymond disappears. We all wheel, looking around frantically.

“He’s gone,” the bartender says. “For now. This is the part where I tell you three the rules, without him—you know—trying to murder you. It’s really hard to hold a conversation with that happening.”

He hops from the bar. “The rules are simple, really. He’s going to try to kill you three. You don’t want that to happen. For one, you’d be dead, which is sad. But more importantly—since you’re going to die either way—you don’t want that asshole to win. Of the bunch of you, he’s the one who actually deserved to die.”

He lifts a hand. “And don’t tell me no one deserves to die. You know what I mean. He most deserves it, and he least deserves a reprieve. So don’t give him one, okay?”

I speak up. “You said if he kills us, it’ll be more merciful than what we face otherwise. I’m not sure spite is going to make us kill him, no matter how much it might amuse you.”

“Oh, I’m not too worried. You’re all fighters. You won’t accept an easy death as long as you see even the slimmest chance of escape.”

“So there is a chance?” Henry says.

“No, but you’ll never take my word for it. Happy hunting.” He lifts his hands and then pauses. “Oh, in case it wasn’t totally clear, Raymond is only one of the things you’ll be facing out there. He just happens to be the easiest to kill.”

“Out there?” I repeat. “Where—?”

The bar vanishes.

I’m in the forest. I spin, looking for the others. I even call them. Only silence returns.

This is how it will be. Not the three of us fighting Raymond in a bar. We could have done that, which is why we’re out here. A battle royale isn’t much fun in a small arena.

We’ve been thrown back into the forest, separated and alone, without even our meager weapons.

Out here. With whatever else is out here.

I think of what happened to Caleb, and my knees wobble. The bartender implied Caleb was still alive in that creature that he’d become. Is that the fate for all of us? Not death but—

I press my palms to my eyes. Do not panic.

Why not? If panic makes me decide to just let Raymond kill me, isn’t that better? A few seconds of pain with his hands around my neck?

The bartender said our fate is to die horribly as a punishment to Maggie for not carrying out her duties. Maybe that should make me leap on the Raymond option as a blessed reprieve, but instead, fury blazes through me.

I’m supposed to die horribly as a punishment for someone else? Someone who showed me mercy?

I did nothing wrong. I’ve spent my life shouldering my internalized blame for what happened. The careless child who got Dr. Dabrowski killed.

But even the bartender—that sadistic bastard—admitted I was blameless. Wrong place, wrong time. Only it wasn’t the “wrong” time for me; it was the wrong time for Dr. Dabrowski. I didn’t count.

A twig cracks, and I freeze. That’s when I realize that I’m poised in the middle of a damn clearing.

I resist the urge to drop to the ground, and instead I lower myself, very carefully, until I’m hidden in the grass and undergrowth. Then I look around. The nearest source of cover is at least ten feet away, an old log big enough for me to curl up beside and disappear.