Page 19

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

Ezra

The next several trials were simpler in concept but no less lethal.

For the textile trial, we were herded to the top floor of a crumbling ten-story building on the outskirts of city limits. Each of us was handed a pile of mismatched fabrics, sheets, tablecloths, blankets, whatever could be scavenged. Along with a single spool of thread and one needle. The task? Fashion a makeshift rope, climb down, and hope you didn’t meet the ground headfirst.

I’d never sewn a damn thing in my life. By the time I pricked my finger for the twelfth time and bled all over a pale blue sheet I was trying to attach to a fraying green tablecloth, I admitted defeat. Instead, I shifted over to help Bex however I could. She was nimble with the needle, her fingers steady and sure, no doubt from patching up the hand-me-downs she and her brother had scraped by with.

Briar and Thorne teamed up too, working side by side as if they’d done it a hundred times before. They chatted easily with Bex, laughing like old friends. I guess surviving several days alone in a forest together does that to people. Now that they were our housemates too, I couldn’t help but wonder if their bond with her would only tighten, and selfishly, I hoped mine wouldn’t unravel because of it. If Bex had room for all of us in that battered heart of hers, I could learn to share her affections.

Franklin Shale, the chosen from Horizon Collective, was the first to test his makeshift line. He made it to the third patch before the knot gave out, sending him plummeting. The sickening crunch of his body hitting the ground echoed up to us. Bex buried her face in the crook of my neck, trembling as I held her. Franklin didn’t die right away, we heard the screams as they hauled him off, but judging by the sounds he made, I bet he wished he had.

Cayal Orin of Ember and Fenly Nots of Stormwatch were the first to reach the ground unscathed, claiming first and second. Nile Fulton and Dani Cale from Oasis and Steelheart weren’t far behind, taking third and fourth.

Once Bex finished her line and Briar and Thorne completed theirs, the three of them made the smart call to twist their ropes together for extra strength.

I volunteered to stay behind, anchoring the top of the rope until they reached the bottom. It seemed fair since I didn’t actually do anything to contribute to the competition. Bex protested, but thankfully her other admirers talked her down.

She landed fifth. Thorne, sixth. Briar, seventh.

I was alone then. The last of our little group, and I knew I’d have to move slower due to my weight and my lack of an anchor. Every shaky knot I checked twice. By the time I reached the ground, Devrin Marx had already made it down, claiming eighth.

Which left me with ninth.

Not great.

But considering I was still breathing… not bad either.

The fuel trial was every bit the firestorm I figured it’d be. A classic straight-shot race from one side of an open field to the other, only this field was laced with pressure plates buried under cracked, dry earth, each one wired to barrels of unstable fuel. One wrong step and you’d light up like kindling, taking out anyone dumb enough to be standing nearby.

Bex was the first to speak up when we were brought to the starting line. “Spread out,” she whispered, eyes darting between us. “I don’t want one of us taking the rest down with a single bad step.”

None of us argued. Even though every instinct in me screamed to stay close, to keep them within arm’s reach. Truth was, none of us gave a damn about winning this one. Fuel was valuable, sure, but not worth a body count.

When the horn sounded, most of us hung back, watching as the others crept forward like they were navigating a minefield. Which, technically, they were. For a race, no one moved fast.

Beron Golader, the elected from Wildfold, was the unlucky bastard who made the first mistake. His foot must’ve caught a trigger because one second he was there, and the next a blast of heat and flame shot up from the ground, tossing him like a ragdoll through the smoke. The heat hit us even from a distance, and instinctively we ducked, shielding our faces from the blast. He survived, barely. He’d be down a leg, and half of his face. But I knew they wouldn’t let him quit. They’d patch him up and send him back out for the next trial .

We took it slow after that. Careful steps, measured moves. By the time we crossed the line, we’d placed dead last, well except for Beron who couldn’t even finish. Not a single point for our Collectives. But we still had all our limbs, still had each other.

In the nights between the trials, the five of us would record our talking heads, sometimes solo, but often together per Zaffir’s insistence that the world wanted to see us as a team. We’d sit around the living room, playing games, telling stories. Getting to know each other. Thorne was a cocky sonofabitch, but he had some redeeming qualities too. And I’d be lying if that super computer brain of his didn’t impress the hell out of me.

Briar was magnetic in a way that sneaked up on you. She told stories about the secrets she could pull from a room just by watching those in it. That’s one hell of a skill. I got it, though. I found myself telling her more than I meant to, more than I should have, just because she got me to lower my guard. But my biggest secret? I was still keeping that one locked up tight.

And then there was Zaffir. I was honestly surprised by how not-awkward things were between us. We didn’t talk about it, whatever had happened between us. Not out of shame, I don’t think. It just… didn’t need words. We were letting it unfold on its own terms. I’ve always preferred the company of women, but I’ve never been one to shut the door on what my mind and body wanted, no matter who it came from. And while Praxis-born men were not, and never would be, my type, there was something about Zaffir during those nights, when the camera was off. He was unguarded and real. Maybe it had everything to do with the woman we were all orbiting like moths to flame. Bex had a way of pulling truth and hunger and hope from all of us, without even trying.

Bex .

Around us, she was radiant, like some star we all orbited without even realizing it. Her laugh, light and unexpected, filled up the space between us. Every time she spoke, we all leaned in, caught in some invisible pull. I don’t think she knew the effect she had on the room. Maybe that made it all the more powerful.

I found myself hoping that each trial would be short and simple, just so we could retreat back to our little safe haven. The place where ‘Wildguard,’ as they call us, was starting to feel less like a publicity stunt… and more like something real. Something that might last.

The produce trial was a goddamn death trap. I knew it the second we stepped inside. The stench of rot hanging in the air, the tangled mess of vines and creaking platforms suspended over a pit lined with splintered wood and rusted metal. Produce dangled from ropes and baskets above us like bait. Some of it fresh, most of it questionable. The kind of thing you’d only eat if starving… or stupid.

The goal was simple. Gather as much fresh, edible produce as you could and deliver it to the top platform without falling to your death. Once you arrived at the top platform, they made you take a bite of each piece you collected. So, if you were one of the unlucky ones who couldn’t see the difference between an apple and death, then you were screwed.

Lucky for us, we had Thorne. The bastard had a weirdly encyclopedic knowledge of poisonous plants and spoiled food. “That one’s good,” and “that one’ll kill you in five minutes,” he called out, pointing as we climbed. His voice sharp, confident.

I moved fast, strength was my advantage here. While other Challengers hesitated on weak boards and frayed rope, I pulled myself up with ease, yanking baskets toward us and tossing good fruit down to Bex’s waiting arms below. She was quick too, careful but not timid. I could hear her nervous gasps every time one of us slipped or a board snapped nearby. Real fear, not the performative kind. It settled something tight in my chest.

Briar nearly went over the edge at one point, her boot catching on a loose vine as a basket gave out beneath her. She slipped, body pitching sideways toward the pit. Without thinking, I grabbed her wrist, the force of it jolting through my arm as I yanked her back. Her wide, startled eyes met mine for a beat and then she nodded. No words needed.

Beron fell to his death. I knew it was coming. A climbing trial right after he’d lost a leg and nearly his life? He never stood a chance. But even if we knew what his outcome would be, it was still painful hearing his scream and the horrible sound as his body fell to the pit below and was impaled on the metal stakes.

We crossed the finish line in third, fourth, fifth and sixth, one after another. A mess of sweat, dirt, and bruises. And when we ate our share of produce, we were met with delicious tart juices, not painful convulsing death. Not like the chosen from Ember. She took a bite of her pear and within seconds she collapsed onto the platform, foam falling from her mouth which was opened on a silent scream. Her body wracked with seizure-like symptoms, and all we could do was watch until her body stilled, and her lifeless eyes dulled.

I held Bex’s hand while she rested her head on Briar's shoulder and Thorne placed a comforting hand on her shoulder from behind. God help me, I really trusted these people. And it was then that I was hit with an even more striking, and painful realization. If I lost any of them, I wasn’t so sure I wouldn't lose myself too. I felt simultaneously thrilled that I’d found a little family, guilty that I was replacing the one I’d lost, and terrified that I’d lose this one too.

For the next trial, they marched us out to a stretch of farmland on the far outskirts of the city, close enough to The Wilds that the treeline looked like jagged teeth against the horizon. Each of us were tethered to a single animal, and handed a dagger. I got a sheep, fluffy and clueless, while the others each ended up with calves.

The rules were to keep your livestock alive until morning.

It was easy for the first few hours. Too easy. I knew there had to be a catch coming soon. And sure enough, not long after sundown, the howls started. Low, mournful, then multiplying until the night air was thick with them. A pack of wolves. Hungry ones.

We scrambled fast, corralling our animals into a tight circle, the four of us standing guard as the wolves descended. Thorne and Briar handled themselves like they were born for it, moving with practiced ease, no doubt from their years of hunting experience they’d shared with us. Bex was focused and fierce too, though I could see the panic in her eyes whenever a wolf got too close.

Me? I was all brute force and bad decisions. I had no finesse, or foresight. After fighting a few off with pure strength, a wolf managed to come at me from another angle and sink its teeth deep into my arm before I could even react. I roared, more pissed than anything, but my idiot sheep panicked, bolting straight into the waiting jaws of another wolf. By the time Thorne cut the thing down, it was too late. Stupid animal was dead.

Bex was on me in an instant, killing the wolf still latched to my arm and hastily binding the wound with a strip of her shirt, even though it left her calf momentarily exposed. I tried to protest, but she wouldn’t hear it.

When dawn finally broke, only Thorne and Briar still had their animals alive. Out of everyone else, only three more had managed the same. The rest… Well, you didn’t have to look too hard to see the blood on the dirt. Only five people completed the trial, and won resources for their collectives, but at least no other Challengers died.

When we got back from that trial a few hours ago, they insisted I take the first shower and deal with the mess on my arm. It hurt like hell, so I didn’t bother arguing. The hot water stung like a mother, and by the time I was clean, the dull throb in my arm had turned into a sharp, relentless ache I could no longer ignore.

I slipped out of the bathroom and made my way to the room I now shared with Zaffir. As I stepped inside, Zaffir’s gaze drifted to my bare chest before snapping up to meet my eyes.

“You need to get that arm checked out,” he said, his voice softer than I expected.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, turning my back to him as I started to dress.

“That was a nasty bite,” he added, and I heard him get up, his bare feet padding across the floor until his hand settled on my shoulder.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I grunted, trying to ignore the way his touch stirred something in me I hadn’t let myself think too hard about. I’d tried chalking it up to Bex’s involvement, but there was something about Zaffir that hooked me in ways I didn’t fully understand.

“Maybe so, but you should still let us patch you up,” he said, gently grabbing my arm to study the wound. I met his eyes and I wish I hadn’t because there was a heat in them that I had been quietly avoiding since that morning in the kitchen.

Before I could pull away, a knock hit the door.

I yanked my arm free, earning a smirk from him, and he crossed the room to answer it. Bex stood there, hair damp, skin flushed from the heat of her own shower, and a first aid kit tucked under one arm.

“Welcome, Dr. Hollis,” Zaffir teased, stepping aside to let her in. “Our patient is being quite stubborn.” She shot him a faint smile before striding over to me.

“Sit,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

My eyes betrayed me, trailing the droplets of water slipping down her throat, over her collarbone, disappearing into the dip of her robe’s neckline.

She caught me looking. The unimpressed arch of her brow told me she knew exactly where my head was at.

“Yes, ma’am,” I muttered, sinking down onto the edge of the bed.

Zaffir dropped onto his bed, reaching for the cursed camera I’d grown to hate having in our room.

“Come on, not now,” I groaned, shooting him a glare. Bex glanced over her shoulder at him, one brow raised.

“You know I have to feed them a certain amount of behind-the-scenes fluff every day,” he said with a casual shrug, fiddling with the lighting until the room was bathed in that cold, artificial glow. “And who doesn’t eat up the ‘tough girl patches up her big, brooding boyfriend with lingering sexual tension’ bit? It’s a classic.”

Bex didn’t even blink. She’d gotten good at tuning the cameras and the man behind them out when she needed to. Zaffir, for all his charm and easy jokes, still wore the Praxis colors, even if it didn’t always feel like it fit him. Every time he picked up that camera, it was a reminder of where he came from. Where he really belonged.

The red light blinked on, and I forced myself not to look at it. I was getting better at pretending it wasn’t there, but it still crawled under my skin.

The plan was working, though. The people loved us. Bex and her loyal protectors. Crowds had started showing up outside the trial arenas, shouting our names, waving signs. Zaffir told me there were entire threads and chat rooms dedicated to us, fans cutting together clips of our moments, setting them to music like we were some tragic, war-torn romance epic. It was ridiculous.

Zaffir kept saying it was good, that getting the people on our side gave us leverage. But I noticed the nerves he had when he thought nobody was watching. I knew he was thinking of something specific when he’d warned us not to let it go too far.

I just wasn’t sure what too far looked like anymore.

Did too far mean I shouldn’t kiss her where the cameras could see? Did too far mean she shouldn’t show how much she cared about all of us? Did too far mean I wasn’t allowed to fall in love with this fierce, stubborn, maddeningly beautiful woman in front of me?

A sharp sting in my arm yanked me out of my spiraling thoughts. I hissed through my teeth as Bex pressed a cloth against the deep puncture wounds. My instinct was to jerk my arm away, but her hand shot out, steady and firm.

“I have to clean it, Ezra,” she warned, voice low and certain.

I gritted my teeth and held still, biting back a curse as she wiped at the gashes with something sharp-smelling. Antibiotic, I guessed. We didn’t have this kind of thing back in Canyon. This little box, packed with gauze, creams, and ointments that promised to stop infection, was a luxury the people in Canyon would have to bleed for.

I stared at the stupid red kit like it had personally wronged me. So simple. So easy. And so far out of reach for the people that Bex loved. I could have cared less about if the people in Canyon suffered after the way they treated me, but Bex’s love for them had softened my own anger .

“I know,” Bex murmured, catching my glare and clearly reading the thought in my head. “I feel the same.” She kept working, wiping away the blood with gentle, careful hands. “If Canyon had even a few of these… we wouldn’t need to dig as many graves.”

My eyes flicked up to Zaffir, locking onto him as the camera rolled. I hoped he caught the look I tried to send, ‘don’t use that’. It wasn’t directly ‘anti-Praxis,’ but it was close enough to be interpreted as such. And the last thing I wanted was to paint a target on her back.

So I did the only thing I could. I changed the subject.

“I’m going to help you save your brother, Bex.”

Her head snapped up, eyes locking on mine.

“That’s my vow to you,” I said, voice rough, the words dragging out of me like they’d been waiting to be spoken. “You’ve become…” I swallowed, feeling that familiar ache in my chest. “Important to me. More than I know how to say.”

Has it really only been a few weeks? Because my heart felt like it had carried her name forever.

“Ezra…” she whispered, her voice trembling in a way that gutted me.

I cupped her cheek, running my thumb along the soft curve of her cheekbone. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned into my touch like she belonged there. Like maybe too far was already miles behind us.

Not wanting to share this moment with the ever-watching lens, I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, even though every instinct in me screamed to claim her lips. I pulled back, let her finish tending to my arm, and forced myself to keep still.

Zaffir’s communicator buzzed, sharp and insistent, and he quickly shut off the camera before hurrying out of the room to answer it.

The second the door clicked shut, I reached for her. One hand on the side of her face, I guided her to me and pressed my lips to hers. Soft. Slow. Nothing demanding, nothing desperate, just warmth and quiet, and something like healing. She kissed me back, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t exist.

But then, as if she remembered what she was doing, she pulled her lips back. Pushing me away gently, she sighed, a sound that wasn’t relief. It was heavy, aching, and sad.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, brushing my thumb along her jaw.

“I…” she hesitated, then shook her head. “Nevermind.”

She started to stand, but I caught her wrist and gently tugged her back down beside me.

“Talk to me, Bex,” I murmured, my voice rough with the fear of whatever she might say.

“It’s stupid,” she whispered, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“I doubt that,” I said, pulling her against my side, holding her there like it might stop her from slipping through my fingers.

“I just… sometimes it feels like it’s all a show,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “Us. Thorne and Briar too. This whole little team the people love to root for. And I get it, it’s working, it’s helping, but…” She swallowed hard. “I’m starting to have real feelings. Honest-to-God feelings for all of you. And if it’s just for the cameras… I just need to know so I don’t get myself hurt.”

The ache in my chest was sharp and immediate. Because my heart wasn’t mine anymore, it belonged to her, and I’d gladly let it break if it meant keeping hers whole.

I reached for her face, tilting her chin up until her tear-bright eyes met mine.

“Let me be clear, Bex,” I said, my voice steady even though my heart thundered in my chest. “If I haven’t made it obvious enough, then that’s on me. Because I love you. And believe me when I say that I’m just as surprised as you are. Hell, I never knew I’d be able to feel something like that again, but then you happened.”

Her eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

“You…”

“Love you,” I finished for her.

And I watched it happen, the way those words crashed over her, breaking through the walls she’d built. Relief, fear, joy, and something that looked like hope flickered across her face in quick succession.

“I wasn’t letting myself,” she confessed, voice shaking. “Fall for you. Any of you. Because I couldn’t tell what was real… what was just for show.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I know,” I said quietly. “And honestly maybe at first I wasn’t all that sure either.”

She looked like that had wounded her. I gripped her hands. “Bex, I won’t lie and say I didn’t let Zaffir spin the story he wanted. At first at least. We agreed that if people saw a connection between us, they’d want me to stick around. Then I could protect you in the trials.”

She sucked in a breath.

“So, the hand holding, the limo…” her eyes widened as if the thought returned in brutal force. “The Welcome Ball?”

“No, God, no, Bex. I was never pretending with you. I just let the camera see it. From the start, I was drawn to you. You were fascinating, beautiful, and you looked at me like I was a person, not a criminal. I hadn’t felt that in a long time. But I kept telling myself that’s all it was.”

I ran a hand through her hair. “But then I saw you dancing with Thorne. His hands on your waist, your eyes watching him, his eyes watching you, and I felt jealousy like I’d never felt before. And desire like I’d never imagined.” I took a deep breath. “And then I spent three days in the woods searching for you, not sure if you were alive, dead, or out there in pain somewhere. And that’s when I knew. That this,” I brushed my fingers over her cheek, “this is the only thing that’s felt real to me since I won that fucking election.”

She smiled at me, soft and quiet, like she could see straight through the walls I’d spent years building. Past the bravado and the bitterness I wore like armor. She looked at me like she could still see the man I used to be. The one who’d been beaten and broken. Betrayed by the only people he’d ever trusted. Sold out by the only place he’d called home.

The door opened, and Zaffir slipped back in, his usual focused swagger noticeably dulled. His expression was off, too distant, too subdued for the demanding camera op we knew.

“Hey,” I called, brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

His glazed-over eyes blinked like he was just remembering the rest of us existed. “Oh, uh… nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Bex said, already moving toward him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, and he melted into her touch. Their eyes met, an entire conversation happening in silence between them.

“I’m okay, Brexlyn. Promise.” His voice was soft, tired. “I just… I’ve got an extra project to prep for. And your next trial kicks off tomorrow morning.”

He ran a hand through his wild red hair, disheveling it further.

“What kind of project?” I asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied, and there was a weight in his voice that tightened my stomach.

“What is it?” Bex pressed before I could.

Zaffir hesitated, his gaze flicking between us. The struggle on his face was clear. His Praxis loyalty warring with whatever it was he felt for her, for us.

“I think…” he sighed. “I think we did our job too well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

He looked at me, something like regret in his eyes. “The four of you are being sent to a live interview tomorrow night after the trial. The public demand, and the support for your little team, has gotten too loud to ignore. And the producers want to cash in while the fire’s hot.”

Bex frowned. “And that’s a bad thing, why?”

Zaffir’s jaw clenched. The truth sat on his tongue but he refused to share.

“Trust goes both ways,” I told him quietly, meeting his gaze.

He nodded once, then lowered his voice. “I was… warned. About turning you into a martyr.”

“A martyr?” Bex echoed, alarm in her voice.

He nodded. “You’ve reached a level of public favor we haven’t seen in a Challenger in years. If something… happened to you in the trials now, if you died on that screen…”

“The people would riot,” I finished for him.

“Exactly.” He glanced toward the door as if afraid someone might overhear. “Archon Veritas wants her people invested, but not obsessed to the point of acting on it.”

Bex’s brow furrowed. “Wait… you think your edits made people like me too much?”

Zaffir gave a small, sad smile. “I think the people saw the real you, Brexlyn. And they fell in love with you, just like we knew they would. I think the Archon’s realizing that attention breeds power. Power breeds influence. And if you wanted to, you could turn those hearts and minds against Praxis.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bex scoffed, shaking her head. “I could never do that. ”

But Zaffir caught her hands in his and held them tight. “Yes,” he said softly. “You could.” He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb along her bottom lip “You already have.” His meaning was clear. It was obvious in the way he’d produced his edits. The way he sanitized our worst sides for the public's eyes, but kept the honest and raw truth of who we were there for all to see. The way he had shared with us secrets we never should have known… He was Praxis, sure, but Bex had him seeing things differently.

And for a heartbeat, the room felt still.

“I don’t want to cause problems,” Bex whispered, her voice barely carrying. “I just want to win what I need for my brother… then go home.”

“And I’m going to do everything I can to help you do that,” Zaffir promised, no hesitation in his voice.

The thought of her in danger made my blood run hot, made my fists clench. But the idea of someone like her, someone genuine, kind, and good, rallying the people against Praxis and their sadistic Reclamation Run, against the way they hoarded resources and dangled them over our heads like scraps to starving dogs… that was a dangerous, intoxicating idea.

“Ezra?” Bex’s voice pulled me out of it.

“Yeah?”

“You said something under your breath.”

“Nothing important,” I shrugged. “Just… wondered what life might look like if we weren’t under Praxis’ boot anymore.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The treasonous thought seeping into our minds. None of us spoke for a long moment, but I knew we were all thinking the same thing.

“So, what should I do tomorrow? At this live show?” Bex asked quietly. “Go out there and make people hate me? ”

Zaffir shook his head, a tired sigh escaping him. “No. But it wouldn’t hurt to…”

“To what?” she pressed.

He hesitated, then said it. “To thank Praxis.”

“Thank them?” she echoed in disbelief just as I muttered, “Fuck that.”

“I know,” Zaffir said quickly, holding up a hand. “I know how it sounds. But if Archon Veritas even suspects you’re becoming a threat… if she senses for a second that you might turn the people against her, the favor you’ve built won’t save you or your brother. Not anymore.”

He looked between us, eyes sharp, serious.

A line drawn in the sand.

If it were just me, I’d like to think I’d use that spotlight to speak out, to light a match and burn this whole nightmare down. But it wasn’t just me. I didn’t have anyone waiting for me on the other side of this, but they did. Bex did.

And it was a nice dream, imagining we could do something about the selfish rule of Praxis. But that was a risky game I don’t think any of us were prepared to play.