Page 16

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Thorne

A shower had never felt as good as it did now. The warmth of the water poured over my head and shoulders, sluicing away the layers of dirt, blood, and grime that had clung to me like a second skin after nearly a week in the forest. I braced a hand against the tile wall, watching the water swirl dark at my feet before it disappeared down the drain carrying with it every ache, every cut, every moment of fear and adrenaline that had led me here.

For the first time in days, I felt like myself again.

Briar ended up finishing eighth and I got tenth. We probably could’ve pushed for a better spot if we’d actually hustled at any point before the last few miles. If we’d strategized harder, treated it like the desperate race it was meant to be. But honestly? I didn’t regret a damn thing about the slow and steady approach we took. Because every night around the campfire, every lazy morning conversation, and unplanned stop in the woods gave us more time to get to know her. Brexlyn Hollis.

God, even just thinking her name now sent a pulse of something electric through me. Shivers down my spine and thoughts that had no business creeping into my mind. The way she felt pressed against me in the shadows of those trees, her breath catching, her gaze locking on mine like gravity itself had tethered us together in that moment. The way her lips parted like she was just about to…

I would have. I was going to. I could still feel the ghost of that almost-kiss. The fire of it. But then her fucking bodyguard had to show up.

Ezra. Tall, brooding, possessive. I’d half a mind to knock him clean out when he appeared, all protective glower and sharp words. But what gutted me, what made the anger coil into something uglier, was the way Bex had sunk into his arms like it was instinct. Like he was her safety and comfort wrapped in flesh and muscle.

I’d heard her a few nights when she thought we were both asleep. Those quiet, broken sobs she buried in the forest floor. And I knew she was crying for him. I wanted to reach for her, tell her it was okay. That she wasn’t alone. That she had me. That she had Briar, too. That there was a whole damn world outside the orbit of Ezra that was ready to hold her up. But I didn’t. Because she still needed him.

But it didn’t stop me from hoping. Hoping that the longer she was around us, the more she learned the secrets to my sharp edges and smart mouth, my stubborn heart and fractured past, the more she saw me, maybe one day she’d need me too.

Not instead of him. Not in competition.

But maybe in addition .

I let my mind wander to the memory of her soft skin, the hitch in her breath as I pressed my hardening cock against her. She welcomed my touch, she was desperate for it. I let my hand drift lower and wrap around myself, hard and thick at the simple thought of her. The warm water fell over my skin, and the slick slide of soap against my palm made each touch smooth, effortless, and sinfully indulgent. I let my head fall forward against the tile, eyes slipping shut as the memory of Brexlyn Hollis spurred me forward.

Those eyes. The kind of blue that made the sky look washed out and forgettable. The way they sparkled when she was amused, the sharp, defiant glint they held when she challenged me, and the soft, vulnerable flicker she tried so hard to hide when she thought no one was looking. Her long champagne colored hair that framed her face. And her lips… thick, lush, like they were made to be kissed, bitten, ruined.

But it wasn’t just her face, or the sway of her hips, or the curve of her waist that drove me out of my mind. It was her mind. That brilliant, relentless, sharp-as-fuck mind of hers. Nothing got me going like watching those gears turn, like seeing the way she absorbed everything I told her about the forest, every plant, every track, every creature. She wasn’t just listening to me ramble. She learned. She remembered . And the more she did, the more I wanted to give her things to remember.

I wanted to lean in, whisper devilish, filthy things in her ear, and watch the way her breath hitched. Wanted to put my hands on her in ways no one ever had and feel her arch into me. Wanted to leave marks, memories on her skin and in her head, so no matter how far she went no matter whose arms she collapsed into, my touch and my words, would be the ones haunting her.

The fantasy of her, hair damp with sweat, lips parted, breath ragged as she moaned my name, flashed through my mind, and a groan tore from my throat. I worked myself harder, faster, chasing the thought of making her mine, even if only in fantasy.

And when the pleasure crested sharp and hot behind my eyes, it was her name that spilled from my lips in a low, desperate growl.

I killed the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel and slinging it low around my hips. The air outside the bathroom was cooler, and goosebumps rose along my skin as I moved down the hallway. I could hear Briar’s voice carrying from the main room, something lighthearted directed at Char, our ever-present camera guy. Briar was probably cracking some joke or recounting one of the million near-death experiences we’d somehow spun into an adventure this week in a ruse to get Char to lower his guard and tell us something about the Architects or the next Trial. When people feel comfortable, they let their guard down. Simple as that. And Briar was great at making people comfortable.

I didn’t bother joining in on the conversation. It wasn’t my scene, never had been. I kept my head down and made for my room, slipping inside and locking the door behind me with a soft click. The quiet was instant. I exhaled, leaning my back against the door for a second before pushing off and crossing the room.

Briar had always been the people person, the one who could smooth-talk a soldier out of his weapon or sweeten a tense situation with nothing but a smile and a clever story. She had this easy way about her, like every conversation was a game she already knew how to win. And people ate it up. Hell, half the time so did I. But that wasn’t me, I never had the energy for that social shit.

People were exhausting. The fake smiles, the unspoken rules, the way you had to tiptoe around words and egos like navigating a minefield. Conversations always came loaded with invisible strings and ulterior motives you had to unravel before you could get anywhere real. I wasn’t built for that kind of dance. I didn’t care for the performance, the half-truths, the carefully curated versions of ourselves we presented like masks at a masquerade.

Give me something solid. Concrete. Something that made sense. Math, science, those were my languages. In those worlds, you didn’t almost find the answer. You either did, or you didn’t. It was clean, unburdened by emotion or messy histories. No guessing what someone really meant, no gut instinct trying to decipher tone or meaning. Just numbers. Just facts. Just proof.

But with people? Too many variables. Too many factors you couldn’t control or predict. Feelings. Trauma. Lies. The impossible-to-track chain reactions of words spoken decades ago, still rippling through their bloodstream. No matter how well you thought you knew them, you never really know anyone. Not entirely.

And that… that’s what made someone like Brexlyn Hollis so goddamn dangerous. Because even with all her painful memories, I wanted to know her. To figure her out. To run the equation of her and solve for X. And something told me that girl was going to ruin me long before I ever got the chance.

Just as I finished tugging on the silk Praxis-issued pants, a soft knock sounded at my door. I didn’t need to ask who it was. There were only three of us in the house, and besides I could always feel Briar coming. It was like some invisible thread stretched between us, tugging gently to let me know she was near. She was a part of me in a way no one else would ever be. Well… maybe someone else could…

I opened the door just in time for her to brush past me, claiming a seat on the edge of my bed without waiting for an invite.

“Yeah, sure,” I drawled sarcastically, closing the door behind her. “Come right in, make yourself at home.”

“Figured we could watch the coverage together,” she said with a shrug, already reaching for the remote like it was her room. Her easy confidence was both infuriating and comforting in its familiarity.

I hadn’t turned on the coverage since we got back. Part of me didn’t even want to see it. Praxis had a way of twisting everything to fit their own narrative.

“Char says your little spat with Ezra got caught in full view on my feed,” Briar added casually, flicking through channels until she found the right one.

I sighed, climbing onto the bed beside her. “Of course it did. Can’t wait to see what kind of villain edit Char cooked up for me. Bet he painted me as the obsessive, girl-stealing asshole.” I tried to keep my tone light, but there was a sharp edge under it I couldn’t quite blunt.

Briar glanced over, reading me like she always did before glancing away. “Char told me Canyon’s camera guy came to him after we found Bex,” she said, keeping her eyes on the screen. “Offered to cut our footage for the rest of the trial.”

I frowned. “Why the hell would he do that?”

Briar shrugged, her expression unreadable. “No idea. Char was just happy to ‘have some time off from the cutting room.’ Could be a setup. Could be nothing. But either way, it’s weird.”

It was more than weird. The idea that another Collective’s operator was holding the strings on our public image made my stomach twist. Brexlyn didn’t need much help from clever editing to win hearts, but what about us?

“It’s starting,” Briar said, pointing to the screen .

We both fell silent as the feed opened with the row of us lined up, blindfolds on, backpacks strapped tight, sitting in the humming belly of the plane. It was surreal, watching it now and seeing it for the first time despite having lived it. I saw Briar lean over to whisper our plan to me, her face grim. Then we were at the door, one after another, and I felt the phantom drop in my stomach just watching us fall.

The coverage cut seamlessly between Challengers, sharp edits of screaming voices and flailing limbs, and when the footage switched to a particularly panicked individual, my breath caught. His panic was raw, his voice high and cracking as his chute tangled, snapping against him uselessly. This was Dominic. The sounds he made were horrible, terrifying. He screamed for help. Screamed for his family. My eyes stung. The only saving grace was that his camera couldn’t catch his face. I knew what was coming and still, I closed my eyes before it happened. Didn’t need to see it. But I heard the impact.

When I opened my eyes again, I heard my own voice call for Briar. They showed our reunion, and to my surprise, the edit was… kind. Heartfelt. The moment played genuine and unfiltered, the way it had actually felt.

Then came the part I braced for, when we found Dominic. Briar and I approached, then when we switched off our camera feeds, instead of cutting away, the footage shifted to his perspective. From his fallen body, we watched ourselves work in quiet, reverent movements, cutting his chute loose, pulling him free from the debris and wreckage, laying him out with care. Didn’t make a spectacle of it. Just let it play out in silence from his ‘eyes’ until we lowered the chute over him, and the screen went dark.

The coverage moved on, showing other landings, other faces, but I barely registered them. I glanced sideways at Briar, catching the same stunned expression mirrored on her face .

“That was…”

“Respectful,” Briar finished quietly.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Not exactly Praxis’ style,” I muttered. “But… I’m glad they showed Dominic’s story like that.”

Briar gave a small nod, the kind of wordless agreement only we could have. No debate, no over-explaining. Just shared understanding.

The footage shifted, and the second Bex appeared on-screen, both of us stilled. There she was, dropped through thick trees and branches, the limbs clawing at her as she fell through them, the kind of landing that could’ve wrecked anyone else. But not Bex. She moved like her instinct was as attuned to the woods as ours, pulling herself free, finding cover, and checking her gear with practiced, shaking hands.

The audio stayed close, catching every quick, shallow breath and the soft grunts of pain and effort as she fought through it. And with every strained sound, something in my chest tightened. It wasn’t pity. It was… respect. Pure and sharp, building like a quiet storm inside me.

The footage carried on, and Briar and I watched in heavy silence as the other Challengers battled their way through The Wilds. Devrin Marx from Saltspire moved like a machine, all determination and stubborn resolve. He barely stopped to sleep, never lingered to tend wounds. Just pushed forward with that dead-eyed intensity Saltspire was famous for.

Then there were the Horizon Challengers, the elected and the chosen, who managed to find each other on the second day. From then on, they moved together, a tight alliance, navigating the woods with focus. Their pace was relentless. No doubt they had intentions to win.

And then came Winnie.

The camera cut to feed from the chosen Steelheart Challenger, an elderly woman whose age alone should’ve disqualified her. She’d landed hard, shattering her leg. The footage lingered as she tried to crawl, dragging herself through the dirt. She called out again and again, voice cracking and wild with desperation.

Her camera tilted up to catch the open sky as she lay back, exhausted and broken. She kept trying to move, to sit up, to call out for someone, anyone. But her voice faded over the hours as the sun set and the darkness blanketed her. And when the snarls began in the distance, thick and low like some nightmare thing, she panicked.

Briar, without a word, grabbed the remote and muted it. We both turned our heads, looking away from the screen, away from the inevitable end neither of us needed to watch.

The room felt heavier for it, the air thicker.

When we finally looked back, the footage had shifted to Ezra. He was crashing through the underbrush, branches whipping at his face, calling out Bex’s name. There was a desperation in his voice that settled uneasily in my stomach. Briar caught my eye, and we shared a look.

“Bex, please. Where are you,” Ezra muttered to himself, his voice cracked and raw. “Please… be okay.”

“Damn. They’re really making him out to be this big protector. They’re really gonna make me look like an asshole, aren’t they?” I asked rhetorically. They were painting Ezra this man on a mission to save the girl, meanwhile, I was gonna be the cocky sonofabitch that swoops in.

I can see it now.

Hell, I’d probably do the same thing if I were trying to get ratings. Dammit.

Briar put a comforting hand on my shoulder, but didn’t respond. She knew I was right.

The feed cut to Bex’s point of view in full flight, sprinting through the trees, a snarl chasing after her like death itself. I leaned forward, every muscle in my body tensing as if I could leap through the screen and help her all over again. The moment in the edit was just as intense as I remembered it, the fear in her cries, the sound of her breath hitching in her throat. And then, Briar’s camera caught me swinging that rock, cracking it against the creature’s skull and dropping it in a heap at her feet.

But what came next surprised the hell out of both of us.

The edit didn’t cut away to some Praxis-approved narrative beginning to paint me as this villain. It lingered. It moved between the three of us, Briar, me, and Ezra, all focused on Bex in our own ways. Briar’s hand steadying her shoulder and cleaning her wounds, my voice murmuring that she was okay, and working to provide meals for her, Ezra’s panicked search and desperate need for her safety. The footage painted a picture of people showing each other genuine care. Of people looking out for each other in a place designed to tear them apart.

And the weirdest part? It made it look like our only motive was Bex’s safety. Briar, me, and Ezra, protectors rather than competitors.

The footage shifted to a quiet moment the three of us shared around one of our late night campfires. We were laughing, joking, teasing, flirting, on my part mostly. It was easy, simple, and fun.

“I told her about Felix,” Briar whispered.

I turned to face her, my jaw slack.

We never talked about Felix. That was the rule, unspoken, but solid as stone. He’d tried to take us when we were kids, and Briar and I hadn’t seen him for what he was. That blind spot, that failure to recognize the danger in him, was her deepest shame. She never listened when we tried to convince her that it wasn’t her fault. I knew that event changed her.

And as far as I knew, she hadn’t spoken his name in nearly twenty years.

But now she’d told Bex?

“What’d she say?”

“That it wasn’t my fault,” she replied.

“Like I’ve been saying for two decades,” I retorted.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving me off.

“You must really trust her,” I said carefully.

She met my eyes. “Don’t you?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

Briar’s eyes fixed back on the screen and I knew we’d likely never speak Felix’s name again. Fine by me. But a part of me was glad that someone outside of us two knew about it. Maybe now that she’s shared it, it wouldn’t weigh as heavy with an additional person to help carry the weight.

I glanced back at the screen just in time for the big showdown. I braced myself when I pulled her against a tree and caged her in. I waited for the fight, the anger…

But it never came.

The footage cut from Bex and I pressed together in tense silence, thinking we’d heard something in the woods, to Bex calling out for Ezra. She threw herself into his arms. Like it was a happy reunion.

I turned my head, locking eyes with Briar. Her brow was furrowed, mirroring my confusion.

The Ezra on the screen thanked us for protecting her. And on camera, we swore we’d do it again.

“I’ll protect her,” Ezra said on the screen. His eyes looked at Bex with a type of longing that I understood intimately. “I care about her, and I want her to survive this. That’s all that matters. ”

“How convenient,” I chimed in, my own eyes finding her like she was the light and I was a damn moth. I smiled at that thought. “I feel the same way.”

Then Ezra met my eyes. It was a silent conversation, but if I read it correctly. He was telling me that the way I felt about Bex was okay. That he wasn’t upset that she had more people in her corner. For a moment, it felt like he was giving me his blessing to show her I cared.

“So we’re all in agreement then,” Briar added. The edit flashed around the campfire, showing each of our faces. Determined and connected. A team.

Then the coverage moved on, away from us, away from her, to the Challengers who took the top seven spots.

“What the hell was that?” I muttered, still staring at the screen.

“I have no idea,” Briar said, her voice low, wary.

“We looked like a team,” I said slowly, the words tasting strange in my mouth. “The four of us. That edit made it look like we were a damn team.”

“A team whose sole mission was to keep Brexlyn Hollis alive,” Briar added, her eyes still on the now-muted footage. “We might need to send a thank you card to that Canyon Collective cameraman.”

I gave a short nod, the wheels already turning in my head.

“Maybe we can be though,” I started, trailing off.

“Be what?” Briar asked, her brow lifting.

“A team,” I said, meeting her gaze. “Maybe we actually work with Ezra. Keep her safe. Keep each other safe. Alliances aren’t the worst thing to have out here. And you said it yourself, you trust her.”

Briar studied me for a long moment, narrowing her eyes. “You sure this isn’t just about spending more time with her?”

I smirked. “Why can’t it be both? ”

She shook her head, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at her mouth. “Get some sleep, Thorne.”

Briar stood from the bed, the mattress shifting under her weight as she moved to the door. Before stepping out, she glanced back.

“The trials are only just getting started.”