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Heat rushes to my face, then drains just as fast. I think Archon might intervene, but he only chuckles like the question is the funniest thing he’s heard all night.

Well, I have to admit, it is kind of funny.

“I like that one, boy.” Archon beams. “Good job.”

Cage is giving me this choice on purpose, as payback to Sloane and Christian.

And I’m fucking taking it.

I look directly at Sloane. I want her to feel it. I want the loss to hollow her out from the inside, the same way she tried to hollow me. And she did it for him.

To tell the truth, I’ve never really liked Christian. He’s one of those pretty boys who care about his looks and nonexistent six-pack abs more than anything else. For the last year, it’s been obvious that Sloane is more invested in their relationship than he is.

Always planning dates. Always accommodating his needs first.

It’s almost like he’s swallowed up the old Sloane, piece by piece, and spit out this new version of her that only worships him. I should’ve said something months ago, but the change was so gradual you put it off until it’s right in your face.

It’s in my face now.

“Christian.”

“Blair, please, don’t do this.” Sloane scrambles to me, reaching out, the tears falling like raindrops and beating down her face. “He’ll die.”

“That’s the point, Sloane. Die. There are four of us left, and I’m not going down without a fight.”

“No!” she shrieks. “Please, please…” Her words tumble over one another, becoming incoherent as panic strips away whatever composure she has left.

I don’t have the energy, but I force myself to stand anyway, shaking her pathetic self off.

A guard steps forward and places a heavy hunting knife on the table in front of me. The blade is already stained from earlier rounds. Usually I would gag at seeing, touching someone else’s blood, but not after all I’ve been through tonight.

I wrap my fingers around the handle and walk his way. One guard holds him still as another yanks down his pants.

“Do it then,” Christian says roughly. “Do your fucking worst!”

“Growing a pair of balls, are we?” I laugh. I put on a brave act, one that reminds me of the first contestant, Veronica, but really… I’m scared. I’ve never killed anyone before. This isn’t something I can ever come back from.

But it has to be done. It’s either them or me.

The first cut isn’t easy. I have to put almost my whole body’s worth of pressure into the knife to dig deep enough. Christian jerks once, gritting his teeth, but he doesn’t protest or scream. I’ll give him that.

Blood runs hot and fast over my hands. I force myself to keep going, sawing through flesh and tissue, a coppery smell filling the air with every slice.

His breathing turns ragged. By the time the knife finally finishes its work, his legs give out, and he collapses to his knees, face gray, gurgled sounds catching in his throat.

Sloane’s scream shreds through the air, carrying every ounce of her pain with it. She drops to her knees, body folding in on itself as the sobs take her completely. Raw, broken, animal sounds that scrape against the antique paintings.

“Christian!” She crawls toward him, reaching for him even though she already knows. He’s not surviving this.

I stand here and watch her break.

And something dark and disturbingly satisfying unfurls in my chest. The warmth spreads slowly, settling into me as I watch her suffer.

And the worst part? I like it.

I feel… pleasure at her cries. Her desperate pleas. Her abject hopelessness.

I don’t know what that says about me now.