Page 17 of Run of Ruin

He wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was on her. Bex. His mouth hung slightly open, that dazed, awestruck look on his face as if he forgot, for just a second, where he was.

A flash of jealousy shot through my chest like a live wire.

“Don’t look at her,” I growled, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

Zaffir’s head turned toward me slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d just won a bet with himself. “It’s my job to,” he said, with a shrug that tried for nonchalance, but I saw the heat still simmering behind his eyes.

“No,” I snapped, voice low and dangerous. “It’s your job to film. Not to stare.”

He cocked his head, lens still trained on me, and his voice dipped into something far more calculated. “Well you certainly were.. Staring, I mean.” He said, pointing to the camera which was still firmly fixed on me.

My fists clenched at my sides. I tried to keep my tone level and firm. Not begging. Threatening. “Don’t use that footage.”

“Why not?” he asked, clearly enjoying himself now. “Too real? Too honest?” His camera didn’t budge.

“Because I don’t need you turning this into something it’s not,” I hissed through clenched teeth, glancing to the side to make sure Nova still had Bex distracted. She was fussing with a stray curl near her shoulder and droning on about how excited she was for the food she was going to scarf down at the welcome party.

Zaffir raised a brow, mocking interest dripping off him. “Oh?” He turned his head back toward Bex, giving her a once-over. “She’s a pretty girl. Can’t say I’d blame you if you were developing feelings.”

I moved before I could stop myself, rising from my seat and stepping in, right to the edge of his precious shot. Myshadow blocked part of his light and the lens tilted slightly upward to compensate.

“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered, venom in every word.

Zaffir didn’t even flinch. If anything, his smile widened like he’d finally struck gold. “Did I hit a nerve?”

His tone was smug, a thread of pride woven through the faux innocence. This was what he wanted. A reaction. A spark. Something to spice up the show between segments of Nexum propaganda and sanitized interviews. And I was giving it to him.

I stared at him and something clicked. Maybe this was how I played the game. By letting him take control.

Let him film the glare, the growl, the tension between us like it was some new subplot for the masses to eat up. Let him shape me into whatever caricature he needed for his little show. Let him make me so interesting that they wanted me to stick around long enough so I could keep her safe.

Let him “produce” me.

“Leave her alone,” I said, stepping back deliberately, just far enough to be sure I was framed cleanly in his lens.

Zaffir’s eyes narrowed like he knew what I was doing. He could feel the shift. “You’re awfully protective of Miss Hollis,” he said, the words practically laced with bait. He was setting the stage, and handing me the script.

“Because if anyone deserves to win the Reclamation Run and return home to their family… it’s her.” The words came out easy. Honest. And that was the worst part, it was the truth. But the slow, satisfied curve of Zaffir’s lips told me I’d just bought myself a spotlight.

The camera’s light blinked off, and he lowered it with a click before stepping in. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Good work,” he said with a hint of praise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied flatly, eyes locking with his.

But he wasn’t fooled. He gave me that smug, knowing smirk. “Sure you don’t.”

Then he glanced past me. I didn’t have to follow his gaze. I could feel her behind me like a beacon. Bex. She didn’t even have to speak for the room to tilt toward her.

“You and I want the same thing,” he said carefully.

Another flicker of jealousy lit through my chest but I bit it back before it burned through.

“I want her to win,” Zaffir went on, voice surprisingly sincere. “I want her to get what she needs for her brother. I want her to make it out.”

I studied him. Hard. The way he said it. The way his eyes softened when they landed on her again. He wasn’t lying. Or if he was, he was a damn convincing actor.

“Since when does Praxis care who wins the trials?” I spat.

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