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HALLIE

T he eight of us huddle together, watching the sun begin to set.

We’re cold. Exhausted. Dread sitting heavy in our bones.

None of us deserve to die here. But that’s not how this works.

Only one of us walks out alive.

And it has to be me.

My heart’s pounding. My eyes locked on the sun as it dips behind the trees.

The anticipation builds, tightening in my chest, waiting—just waiting—for that goddamn siren to wail.

I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for hours, mind spiraling, obsessing over one thing:

How the fuck do I win?

Be the last woman standing. That’s all. That’s the rule.

And I think I’ve figured out a way.

This is his hunting ground.

But I’m going to make it mine.

The moment the siren blares, the girls take off, feet pounding against dirt. All of them scatter forward, vanishing into the dense forest.

But I wait. Watching. Calculating.

I swing my gaze left, then right?—

And I trust my gut.

I go left.

And I run.

As fast as I can. For as long as I can.

My legs scream. My lungs burn. Branches whip across my face and arms, the cold air slashing through the lace of my bodysuit.

The earth crunches beneath my boots like bones.

I keep going until I find it. My spot.

I don’t know how long I’ve been running. Minutes. Hours. Time doesn’t exist here.

But then I see it.

A massive oak tree, towering and thick with age.

We used to climb trees on hikes when I was a kid.

Dad would hoist me up and tell me to trust my grip. To hold on tight.

And I did.

So that’s what I do now.

The branches look strong enough. They have to be.

I dig my boot into the bark, gripping smaller stumps and knots, hauling myself upward.

Don’t look down.

I’m not a kid anymore.

And heights scare the shit out of me.

But so does death.

And that’s what I’m hiding from.

He’s not the Hunter of Inferno.

He’s the Master of Hell.

I climb until my arms scream and my legs shake. Then I find a branch wide enough to hold me. One that gives me cover—thick leaves, twisted limbs. Something to disappear into.

I wedge my back against the trunk, stretch my legs along the branch, and reach for every leafy twig I can, snapping them off and draping them around me like armor.

They’ve got drones. Cameras. I know that.

But maybe this will help. Maybe they won’t see me.

Up here, I have the advantage.

But once the sun is gone, I’ll be blind.

So I wait.

I let the silence stretch around me like a shroud.

And I think.

Of memories. Of home. Of the few happy moments I’ve had lately.

Especially Conan.

God, I wish we had more time.

I liked who I was becoming with him.

Braver. Softer.

Still me, but somehow freer.

It’s the first time a relationship hasn’t felt like a prison.

It felt like flight. Like fire. Like fucking freedom.

A silent tear slips down my cheek.

I don’t wipe it away.

I just close my eyes and let it fall.