Page 54

HALLIE

T he trees rustle in the breeze. Why are the woods so damn scary at night? I’ve seen enough movies to know this is where the monsters hide. That in itself sends shivers down my spine.

As I look left and right, that’s all I see. Trees and more fucking trees, spanning for miles.

I’m already exhausted. The adrenaline’s wearing off. I’m not sure how long I’ve been walking now. It feels like forever, but it could be just an hour.

Now I’m just wandering aimlessly in the dark woods with only the moonlight for company.

A key.

I need to find a damn key.

Arms curled around my chest, I walk with my nerves lit like tripwires. What monsters live out here after dark?

A tree looms ahead, and I lean against it, drop my backpack, and start digging through it blindly. My hands fumble, clumsy in the dark, searching for anything useful?—

A flashlight.

Flick.

The beam slices through the night like a blade, and I exhale as light floods the space around me.

I check the supplies:

Protein bars.

A bottle of water.

One Liquid IV packet.

A pathetic first aid kit.

Matches.

Great.

Bare bones survival.

No sweater. No real food. No comfort. Just enough to stay breathing.

But I don’t need comfort. I need that fucking key. I’m trying to get my brain to focus on this one task so I don’t think too wildly about the rest—or the consequences for losing.

With the light in hand, I push forward.

Then I hear faint footsteps up ahead.

I kill the flashlight. My back slams against a tree, chest rising slow and shallow. I don’t breathe.

The steps aren’t heavy. Not a man.

A woman.

I creep forward, slow as death, waiting for a glint of her in the moonlight.

And there—a silhouette, feminine, about my size.

I flick the flashlight back on.

She whips around and freezes.

And I see it.

The key. Hanging from her hand on a chain.

I remember the rules. I can fight her. I just can’t kill her. Can I really be this woman?

I’m Contestant Ten. The last woman left. This might be it. My shot. I’ve probably been dropped in this part of the woods for a reason.

She tightens her grip on the key and takes a step back. We’re evenly matched.

She bolts.

And I go after her. Fight or flight, I chose to survive.

My legs scream as I push harder, faster, the flashlight shaking in my grip, tracking her. I’m trying to be quiet, but every branch I snap sounds like a gunshot in the silence.

She veers left and trips on some low branches.

That’s all I need.

I lunge at her, putting all my force behind it.

My weight crashes down on her and I slam her to the forest floor.

One hand on her face, the other fighting to keep her down as she thrashes, panicked.

She’s strong.

But I’m desperate.

I grab the key. Yank it free.

And I’m gone.

Running. Blind and reckless and breathless.

My lungs burn, throat raw, but I don’t stop. Not until I’m sure no one’s chasing me.

Only when silence returns do I slow. I kill the light, clip the chain to my bra strap, and shove the key deep into my bra.

Lesson learned.

Hide the key. Don’t advertise your target.

The woods stretch deeper and darker, but I keep moving. The air shifts around me?—

Still. Watching.

I don’t know if I’m alone.

I don’t know if I ever really was.

At a break in the trees, I drop my rucksack and collapse onto it. I flick the flashlight back on and let the beam land on the metal.

Number six.

That’s the cabin I need.

But I haven’t seen a single one yet.

It has to be out here. Somewhere.

My eyelids grow heavy. I yawn. Tempted.

But no.

No sleep. Not here. Not yet.

As I steady my breathing, I glance up.

A red light blinks above me.

A drone, maybe?

It hovers over me and I glare up at it.

Fuck whoever’s behind it.

Fuck this whole twisted setup.

They named this place after Decadence Chocolate . America's sweetest luxury.

What a joke.

This isn’t sweet.

It’s hell.

The drone drifts off, and I’m left swallowing rage.

My fingers twitch toward my mask. I want to rip it off. I can breathe, I can see—but it’s still suffocating.

But I hesitate.

If I’m being watched, if every moment is being judged, would taking it off break a rule? I vaguely remember the contract saying something about having to wear this flimsy uniform and mask at all times.

I can’t risk it. Not now.

This ridiculous costume, the mask, the lingerie—it’s all part of their game.

A trap, maybe.

Or a test.

I stand and strap the rucksack back on.

One goal left.

Find the cabin.

And don’t get caught doing it.