Page 27 of Stream & Scream

I rip the comms unit out and toss it into the brush. They’re lucky I don’t take out the satellite feed altogether.

She’s not theirs to watch.

Not anymore.

I circle her camp in silence, steps like breath. Each footfall lands without a whisper, years of training embedded in my muscle memory. My boots kiss the dirt. My shadow kisses hers.

The trees loom tall, branches like crooked fingers stretching toward the stars. The air is thick with damp pine. Every now and then, a leaf flutters down.

There’s a whir above.

One of the drones. I see its faint red blink skimming the treetops. I grit my teeth.

Too close. That fucking buzz will wake her.

Before it can dip lower, I move. One flick of the wrist, and the blade leaves my hand like a sigh. The drone sparks once, then falls, quietly, into the dark.

I retrieve the shell, dismantle the core, and replace it with one of mine. Feed rerouted. Angle locked. Night vision overridden.

The viewers only see what I want them to see.

Her.

Justher.

My little clickbait.

I settle behind a log again, resting my elbows on my knees. I could watch her for hours, cataloging every shift of her hips, every twitch of her lashes.

And maybe I would’ve.

A rustle splits the silence. I go still. Another step—snapping twigs.

My hand wraps around the hilt of my blade. Controlled. Steady.

Then she stumbles into view.

Red-dyed hair tied in a knot that’s already falling loose. Shaved undercut gleaming in the moonlight. Tank top clinging to sweat-slicked skin. Amber eyes too wide, too loud.

“Hello?” she calls out. “Anyone out there?”

My jaw ticks.

Of course it’s her.

Maxine Hart. Contestant Fifteen. Five-foot-five of fake depth wrapped in thrift-core chaos.

A few more steps and she freezes.

Liv stirs.

I stand.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, already moving.

She doesn’t even see me until I’m three feet away.

“Oh—holy shit.” Her eyes go wide. “You scared the hell out of—wait, are you...?”