Page 17 of Sinful Obsession

“Can we ask questions?” a voice blurted from the ranks, desperate and foolish.

Misha froze. Before I could blink, a gunshot cracked through the hall, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.

A collective gasp rippled through us, but I didn’t just gasp.

I froze.

My lungs locked. My knees buckled just enough to scare me. I gripped the hem of my shirt to stop my hands from shaking.

The boy’s body lay two rows over—arms twisted beneath him, blood slowly creeping across the floor like it had all the time in the world. Eyes wide. Lifeless.

I nearly screamed. Bit it back so hard my teeth ached.

I had never seen someone die before. Not like this. Not inches away. Not mid-sentence, with the echo of their voice still lingering in the air.

My palms turned clammy. I couldn’t tear my gaze from the crimson slick pooling beneath the dead boy’s skull.

Then silence reclaimed the room, heavier than before.

My eyes darted upward. Snipers. Four—no, five of them, maybe more, stationed like wraiths above us. Rifles poised. Watching. Waiting.

Day one, and we were already down to thirty-nine.

“You don’t yet grasp where you are,” Misha said, his voice a cold blade as he pointed to the dead boy on the floor. “If you cannot obey simple rules, you’ll die in the first week, like him.”

He returned to his place beside Dmitri, his movements deliberate.

Then Cassian stepped forward, his presence a force that seemed to warp the air itself. His blue eyes swept the room, and when they landed on me, my heart stuttered, that déjà vu flaring again, sharp and disorienting.

“You... you... and you,” he said, his voice a low, commanding rumble, each word a decree that brooked no defiance.

His finger pointed at three of us, landing on me last. “Run forward.”

I sprinted, my life hinging on every stride, my boots pounding the iron floor.

The other two jogged behind me like they still hadn’t processed the danger, their hesitation a fatal error.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed as they reached the podium, late. “When I say run, you run,” he said, his voice a quiet storm, lethal in its calm.

He gestured for me to step aside, and I obeyed instantly, my pulse hammering.

“Your names?” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to cut.

“Thiago, sir,” the first said, his voice steady but tight.

“Bruno... sir,” the second mumbled, fear creeping into his words.

Cassian motioned to a table lined with razor-sharp blades, their edges glinting like promises of death under the chandeliers. “Run over there and pick up a knife.”

They bolted this time, grabbing knives and returning to their positions, their breaths ragged.

Cassian’s lips curled into a faint, cruel smile, his eyes gleaming with a dark hunger. “You have sixty seconds to kill your opponent. Time starts now.”

A gasp echoed through the hall. Even the air recoiled.

What?

Thiago and Bruno froze, their eyes wide, as if the command was a nightmare they couldn’t wake from.