Page 5

CHAPTER

FOUR

Bex

I couldn’t sleep.

Nova had told us we’d be arriving in Praxis by morning and that we should get some beauty rest. Her exact words were, “The cameras won’t leave you alone from the moment we stop, so enjoy the quiet while you can.” Easy for her to say, she wasn’t the one about to be paraded like a prized animal for public entertainment.

I shifted on the stiff cot again, the thin blanket tangled around my legs like it was trying to keep me awake too. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that cameraman—Zaffir—with his maddening smirk and accusatory tone.

How could he possibly think I was lying about my brother?

Did people really do that? Exploit their families, fake sob stories, just to win public favor? I thought about the Challengers I’d rooted for over the years, the ones I’d cried for, cheered for, believed in. Were they all just performing ?

The thought made my stomach twist.

I already felt guilty enough for even speaking about my brother’s condition. But it wasn’t fake. It wasn’t. And I wouldn’t let myself become someone who lied just to win hearts and airtime.

I sighed and sat up, raking my fingers through my hair. Sleep wasn’t coming. My mind was a hive of too-loud thoughts and too-late regrets.

I remembered the glint of amber liquor in Nova’s glass earlier that night. Maybe a drink would help. It had been a long time since I’d had anything stronger than desert water, but the idea of a warm haze dulling the sharp edges of my brain sounded blissful.

I quietly slipped out of my traincar, pulling a knit cardigan around the frankly vulgar black silk night dress that Nova said was mine. I was suddenly terrified to see the rest of my Praxis issued wardrobe. But at least I had this thick sweater. The wool was soft and warm. I’d never owned anything like it. The train was quiet, humming and swaying gently in the moonlight. Shadows stretched long across the floor, and I padded softly, barefoot, through the narrow hallway toward the dining carriage.

I rounded the corner near the bar, the soft gleam of moonlight from a cracked window barely lighting the way, just enough to make out silhouettes.

And I collided with one. A solid, unmoving wall of muscle.

I stumbled back with a sharp breath, nearly yelping, but before I could make a sound, strong hands grabbed my arms, steadying me.

“Easy,” a deep voice murmured.

I looked up and met Ezra’s fierce, shadowed eyes.

For a second, neither of us moved. The moonlight painted his face in half-light, outlining the sharp angles of his jaw. There was a faint scar along his brow, and quiet intensity in his expression.

His grip on my arms lingered, not tight, not possessive, just anchoring. Warm.

“I- sorry,” I breathed, heart still hammering from the scare.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice was low, rough as gravel. This was already the most I’d ever heard him speak.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “I was… going to get a drink.”

He didn’t let go right away. And I didn’t step back. Something about the moment stretched. Stilled.

I was suddenly aware of everything, the way his fingers brushed lightly against my arms, the way his eyes searched my face. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and his muscular chest was on full display didn’t help.

“Me too,” he said finally.

“What?” I responded, shaking my head and trying to focus.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he clarified. “Thought the bar might be less crowded at midnight.”

A corner of my mouth lifted, a half-smile. “I guess great minds drink alike.”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, finally releasing my arms. “Come on then.”

And for some reason, I followed. Maybe it was the promise of the liquor. Maybe it was that I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Or maybe it was just him.

I trailed behind him, studying the dark black sleep pants that hung low on his hips, and his toned back as we made our way to the bar, careful to keep a respectful distance this time. The last thing I needed was to barrel into him again like some nervous wreck. He didn’t speak as we walked, but his presence filled the space between us like heat from a campfire, quiet and hard to ignore.

When we reached the bar, he pulled out a stool and gestured for me to sit. I hesitated, then climbed onto the seat, clutching the edge like it might steady the tremor of nerves humming just under my skin. Without a word, Ezra slid behind the bar like he’d done it a hundred times before, pulling two mismatched glasses from a shelf and lining them up neatly on the counter.

“What’s your poison?” he asked, voice low and edged with a hint of dry humor.

I opened my mouth to answer, but stopped. Not because I didn’t know, but because the question felt different coming from him.

My eyes drifted to the bottle he was holding, then to his rough hands. For the briefest of moments, I remembered what I knew about the other Canyon candidates. The criminals. The poison. The death. And now here I was. In the dead of night. Alone. With another convicted criminal pouring drinks.

It suddenly occurred to me that I should be afraid.

“You’re wondering if I’m actually going to poison you,” Ezra said calmly, not even looking up as he uncorked the bottle.

“No,” I said, too quickly.

The corner of his lips quirked up into a smirk as he poured a finger of whiskey into one of the glasses. “You’re not a very good liar.”

I sighed, looking down at the worn wood grain of the bar. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… forgot, for a second.”

“That I’m a criminal,” he finished for me, his voice matter-of-fact. Not offended. Not angry. Just resigned.

He recorked the bottle and set it aside, then lined up three more bottles in front of me with a pointed look that said you choose . He picked up his own drink and took a sip, watching me over the rim of his glass like he could see straight through me.

I hesitated again. It wasn’t fair, this creeping suspicion in my chest. He hadn’t done anything to me. Hell, he’d caught me when I almost fell earlier. But the truth lingered in the back of my mind, unwelcome and sharp.

I didn’t know what his crime was.

Even though he didn’t look like a murderer… Do they ever?

I met his eyes then, green and unreadable, and suddenly the air between us shifted. I remembered where we were. What we were about to face. What this game required of us. Fear wouldn’t help me here.

I didn’t need another enemy.

I needed someone who might stand beside me when things got brutal. Someone strong. Capable. Someone like him.

My gaze dropped to the middle bottle, dark label, worn edges, something smoky maybe. I pointed to it silently.

Ezra raised a brow but said nothing. He took the bottle, uncorked it with a twist, and poured the amber liquid into my glass. Not a drop more than I’d need to sleep. Not a drop less than I’d need to quiet my thoughts.

When he handed it to me, our fingers brushed. I didn’t pull away.

“Cheers,” he said, with that same almost-smirk that made it impossible to tell if he was amused or just tired of the world.

“Cheers,” I echoed, and lifted the glass to my lips.

It burned, but in a good way.

I watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifting with the motion. There was a quiet tension in his shoulders that seemed to ease as the alcohol worked its way through him. He exhaled with a low, appreciative groan that rumbled in his chest.

“I’ll admit,” I said, breaking the silence, “I wasn’t sure you were ever going to speak to me.”

He turned his head, giving me a sidelong glance. “You’re not the one who put me here,” he said with a casual shrug. Then his gaze sharpened. “Or maybe you are. Who’d you vote for?”

“Rexen,” I answered instantly, more honestly than I expected. I think I just really needed him to know I didn’t vote to sentence him to death.

He nodded, almost as if he’d guessed. “You really wouldn’t want to drink anything he handed you.”

I let out a soft laugh, surprised by it. His eyes flicked to my face instantly, catching the sound like it was something rare.

“Don’t know whether to thank you or be offended,” he added, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might’ve been the beginning of a smirk.

“I knew you’d do well in the physical trials,” I said quickly. “But I needed someone who stood a chance in the mental ones.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I winced. “Not that you couldn’t stand a chance. I just meant Rexen had formal training, you know, schooling and-” I cringed. “Not that you need school to be smart. Obviously. I just-”I groaned and buried my face in my hands, mortified. “Please stop me before I say something worse.”

A deep, warm chuckle rolled out of him, and I felt it like a pulse beneath my skin. I slowly peeked up from my hands to see him watching me with that same quiet amusement, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it .

“You’re more afraid of offending me than you are of me,” he said, still laughing quietly to himself.

“Yeah, well,” I muttered, taking another sip of my drink. “I don’t have a reason to be afraid of you.”

He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes as he lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Maybe you should be.”

There was something in his voice, teasing, but edged with something darker. A reminder of the reason he was here. A reason I hadn’t dared to ask about yet.

I held his gaze for a beat longer than I meant to, then raised my own glass and clinked it gently against his. “Maybe,” I said, my voice quieter now. “But I’m not.”

“Good.”

Something about the way he said it, low, unbothered, maybe even a little impressed, sent an unexpected warmth to my core. Not the alcohol this time. Something else.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

“You wanted Rexen to place in the medical trial. That’s why you voted for him,” Ezra said, not accusing, just stating it like it was already obvious. “For your brother?”

The truth hit harder coming from him. Not because it wasn’t my little secret anymore, the entirety of Nexum probably knew by now, but because hearing it aloud made it real. Tangible. And painful.

I clenched my jaw, trying not to let it show. “Yeah,” I said through gritted teeth. “His condition is treatable... if we had anyone back home to treat him.”

I could feel the anger rise like an unrelenting wave. I hated how easily it surfaced, but I was tired of apologizing for it. Tired of what we were forced to live without in the Canyon Collective. What my brother had to live without.

Ezra took a drink, watching me. “Who was the girl you were speaking to? The one you left your brother with. She looked familiar.”

“Ava,” I said, my heart skipping a beat. “My best friend. She’s practically Jax’s big sister too. You might recognize her because her brother was our Challenger a few years back.”

Ezra’s brows lifted in recognition, and he made a low sound in his throat. “Yeah... yeah, that’s it. He’s the one who…”

He trailed off, the rest of the sentence hanging between us like smoke.

Killed himself.

That’s what he was going to say.

“Yeah,” I murmured, the word tasting bitter. “That one.”

The grief came creeping back in like a tide, slow and heavy. It always did when I thought of him. What he went through. What the Run did to him. He came back with a body intact but a spirit broken. He hadn’t placed above last place for a single trial, and somehow to the people who’d sent him, that became unforgivable.

The cruelest part of the Reclamation Run was how the rewards were structured. As long as all ten Challengers remained alive and competing, the resource prizes were tiered. First place earned a full year’s supply, enough to sustain an entire Collective. Second and third place still walked away with a meaningful share. Fourth and fifth got something, though it was barely enough to stretch. But sixth place and below? Typically nothing.

And that system only got harsher as competitors started to die off, which they always did. Fewer survivors meant fewer rewards. If only five were left standing, only the top three received anything at all.

Ava’s brother had been one of just three Challengers who made it out alive that year. He placed third in the last few trials. But with only three left, that also made him the last, and last place, no matter how brutal the odds or how hard the fight, meant going home empty-handed.

The night he got back to Canyon, they were waiting, people who had voted for him to die, then cheered for him. All of a sudden they hurled their hatred like knives. Night after night. At his door. At his name. The Collective that sentenced him to death didn’t welcome him home alive, they blamed him. As if failure to bring back resources meant he didn’t deserve to breathe.

The threats. The harassment. The utter isolation.

It was too much for him. And Ava. I saw the toll it was taking on them first hand. They both lost so much of themselves in those weeks following the Run.

He proved to me, in the most heartbreaking way, that survival wasn’t the same thing as freedom. That making it home didn’t mean you were safe.

Didn’t mean you were whole.

Didn’t mean you’d been spared.

Ezra nodded slowly, mulling that over. “You don’t have any other family that could look after your brother?”

I looked down at my drink and swallowed hard, thankful for the change in subject, but not all that comfortable with the newest line of questioning either. “Nope. It’s just the two of us.”

There was a beat of silence where my guilt felt suffocating. How could I just leave him like that? I hated myself. But then I tried to remind myself that I was doing this for him too. To get him the resources he needed. I guess both things could be true at once. I could be doing the right thing, and still hate myself for it.

Ezra sat quietly waiting for me to exit my shame spiral. No prying, no follow-up. Just the quiet clink of glass as Ezra uncorked the bottle and poured another splash into my glass without asking. A silent gesture that made my chest tighten.

I gave him a small, grateful smile, and we sipped in comfortable quiet for a moment.

“What about you?” I asked. “Do you have anyone back home?”

He exhaled through his nose and stared off over my shoulder, his voice turning flat. “Not anyone who’s rooting for my return.”

I winced. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, but didn’t look back at me. Just drank.

The silence hung between us again, heavier this time. Then, after a beat, he spoke. “You can ask, you know.”

I glanced at him. “Ask what?”

“What I did. Why I’m here. What I was convicted of.”

My heart thudded. My fingers tightened around the glass. I could ask and finally know what the whole Collective had been clamoring about. Finally discover if any of the wild rumors held any truth. Find out what danger I might really be in by trusting him during the Run.

But a part of me didn’t want to. Didn’t want to take the trust I already somehow felt for him and ruin it with something that was in the past and frankly didn’t matter.

Not tonight. Not ever.

“I know,” I said softly. “But I don’t want to.”

His brow arched slightly, clearly surprised. “You’re not even a little curious?”

“Curious?” I nodded. “Of course. But I don’t need to know. If we’re going to make it through this, I just need to know one thing.” I looked up at him, holding his gaze. “Will you have my back in there?”

He studied me for a long moment. His eyes scanned my face, then flicked, just for a breath, down to my lips before meeting mine again. Something shifted in his expression. A softening.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I’ve got your back, Bex.”

“That’s all I needed to know.” I smiled, and lifted my glass. We clinked, then I downed the rest and pushed myself away from the bar.

“I should probably try to sleep,” I said, turning to go.

“Bex?”

I stopped and turned over my shoulder.

Ezra had stepped out from behind the bar and was already closing the distance between us. He came to a stop right in front of me. Close. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, smell the whiskey on his breath, sweet and sharp. Goosebumps rose along my arms and my nipples pebbled, hardening to painful peaks.

He looked at me, his gaze dipping down, not to leer, but to notice. And then, gently, his hands came up and drew the sides of my cardigan closed over my thin nightdress, shielding me from view.

My breath caught in my throat. My cheeks burned. Had he just seen my body’s reaction to him?

His touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to, then he stepped back.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

And then he turned and disappeared down the aisle, leaving me standing there with my pulse thudding in my ears.