Page 20 of Run of Ruin

I scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Of course I do. I’m about to walk into a room full of people who have no idea who I am, except for whatever they saw in a two-minute segment. People who are either cheering for my success or praying for my downfall. Or both.”

Zaffir gave me a small, knowing smile. “I’m sure they already love you. Your story really resonated with them.”

I frowned. “You mean the story you thought was made up?”

He winced, the smirk slipping for just a second. “Okay, not my finest moment.” He paused for a beat, eyes scanning my face with something softer than usual. “You’re not playing a game, Brexlyn. I get that now. You’re just… honest. And that’s rare around here. I wasn’t expecting it.”

I crossed my arms, trying to mask the vulnerability his words stirred. “Doesn’t exactly make for good TV.”

Zaffir chuckled, leaning against a pillar casually. “You’d be surprised. People like the truth. They like to watch someone who doesn’t hide behind a mask, who isn't obviously on a show. That’s why you’ll stick around, because you’re not pretending.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, not sure whether to be annoyed or… grateful. “And you think that’s enough?”

“To win? No, probably not,” he replied, his tone a little more serious now. “But it’ll get you pretty far. If you’re smartenough to learn how to play the game once you're in it, that is."

I snorted, but there was a hint of humor in it. “I thought I was already in it.”

He smirked, his eyes twinkling with humor mixed with sadness. “I guess you are.”

I stared at him for a beat, letting the silence settle heavy between us. “So what now?” I asked. “You gonna give me a tutorial on how to lie to the camera? Sell a story? I’m guessing you’re a seasoned pro.”

Zaffir’s grin curved, sharp and amused. “No,” he said. “My advice? Be honest, don’t lie…show Nexum exactly who you are. Just don’t expect anyone else to be.”

“Be what? Honest?”

“Yeah, you’ll be better off if you just assume everyone is lying,” he added. An unreadable expression crossed his face.

I huffed a short laugh, crossing my arms. “So, then why should I trust you?”

“Because,” he said, without missing a beat, “I’m behind the camera, not in front of it. I’ve got no reason to lie to you.”

“Actually,” I said, tilting my head, “I think that gives you plenty of reason.”

He smirked at that, eyes glinting like he enjoyed the verbal sparring. “I don’t gain anything by feeding you bullshit, Brexlyn. I’m not here to manipulate you, I just document what happens.”

“Isn’t that what producers do? Manipulate?”

His smile didn’t quite falter, but something in it cooled. “Touché.”

There was a pause, just long enough for me to feel the static shift between us. Then he added, “Look, this whole thing, it’s a giant show. You wanna survive? Be real. But don’tlay your cards out for everyone and then expect them to play fair.”

I studied him, unsure if I wanted to take that as wisdom or warning. “You’re awfully invested for someone who’s supposedly neutral.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m tired of watching my Challengers fail every year. Or maybe I just want to see someone who deserves it win for once.”

That hit harder than I expected. My throat tightened, but I didn’t let it show. I rolled my shoulders and forced the mask back into place.

“I’m rooting for you, Brexlyn Hollis.” His eyes latched onto mine. Focused. Pleading.

I raised a brow. “Because you care, or because if I go down, your gig goes with me?”

His gaze flicked over me, serious now. “This has nothing to do with the job.”

There it was again, that flicker of something real behind his careful facade. And just like that, the air between us felt heavier, charged.

I didn’t trust him. Not entirely. But part of me wanted to. “How do I know you’re not lying to me too?”

He pointed to the camera at his side. Off. “Because nobody else is listening.”

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