Page 55 of Run of Ruin

Just as I finished tugging on the silk Praxis-issued pants, a soft knock sounded at my door. I didn’t need to ask who it was. There were only three of us in the house, and besides I could always feel Briar coming. It was like some invisible thread stretched between us, tugging gently to let me know she was near. She was a part of me in a way no one else would ever be. Well… maybe someone else could…

I opened the door just in time for her to brush past me,claiming a seat on the edge of my bed without waiting for an invite.

“Yeah, sure,” I drawled sarcastically, closing the door behind her. “Come right in, make yourself at home.”

“Figured we could watch the coverage together,” she said with a shrug, already reaching for the remote like it was her room. Her easy confidence was both infuriating and comforting in its familiarity.

I hadn’t turned on the coverage since we got back. Part of me didn’t even want to see it. Praxis had a way of twisting everything to fit their own narrative.

“Char says your little spat with Ezra got caught in full view on my feed,” Briar added casually, flicking through channels until she found the right one.

I sighed, climbing onto the bed beside her. “Of course it did. Can’t wait to see what kind of villain edit Char cooked up for me. Bet he painted me as the obsessive, girl-stealing asshole.” I tried to keep my tone light, but there was a sharp edge under it I couldn’t quite blunt.

Briar glanced over, reading me like she always did before glancing away. “Char told me Canyon’s camera guy came to him after we found Bex,” she said, keeping her eyes on the screen. “Offered to cut our footage for the rest of the trial.”

I frowned. “Why the hell would he do that?”

Briar shrugged, her expression unreadable. “No idea. Char was just happy to ‘have some time off from the cutting room.’ Could be a setup. Could be nothing. But either way, it’s weird.”

It was more than weird. The idea that another Collective’s operator was holding the strings on our public image made my stomach twist. Brexlyn didn’t need much help from clever editing to win hearts, but what about us?

“It’s starting,” Briar said, pointing to the screen.

We both fell silent as the feed opened with the row of us lined up, blindfolds on, backpacks strapped tight, sitting in the humming belly of the plane. It was surreal, watching it now and seeing it for the first time despite having lived it. I saw Briar lean over to whisper our plan to me, her face grim. Then we were at the door, one after another, and I felt the phantom drop in my stomach just watching us fall.

The coverage cut seamlessly between Challengers, sharp edits of screaming voices and flailing limbs, and when the footage switched to a particularly panicked individual, my breath caught. His panic was raw, his voice high and cracking as his chute tangled, snapping against him uselessly. This was Dominic. The sounds he made were horrible, terrifying. He screamed for help. Screamed for his family. My eyes stung. The only saving grace was that his camera couldn’t catch his face. I knew what was coming and still, I closed my eyes before it happened. Didn’t need to see it. But I heard the impact.

When I opened my eyes again, I heard my own voice call for Briar. They showed our reunion, and to my surprise, the edit was… kind. Heartfelt. The moment played genuine and unfiltered, the way it had actually felt.

Then came the part I braced for, when we found Dominic. Briar and I approached, then when we switched off our camera feeds, instead of cutting away, the footage shifted to his perspective. From his fallen body, we watched ourselves work in quiet, reverent movements, cutting his chute loose, pulling him free from the debris and wreckage, laying him out with care. Didn’t make a spectacle of it. Just let it play out in silence from his ‘eyes’ until we lowered the chute over him, and the screen went dark.

The coverage moved on, showing other landings, other faces, but I barely registered them. I glanced sideways at Briar, catching the same stunned expression mirrored on her face.

“That was…”

“Respectful,” Briar finished quietly.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Not exactly Praxis’ style,” I muttered. “But… I’m glad they showed Dominic’s story like that.”

Briar gave a small nod, the kind of wordless agreement only we could have. No debate, no over-explaining. Just shared understanding.

The footage shifted, and the second Bex appeared on-screen, both of us stilled. There she was, dropped through thick trees and branches, the limbs clawing at her as she fell through them, the kind of landing that could’ve wrecked anyone else. But not Bex. She moved like her instinct was as attuned to the woods as ours, pulling herself free, finding cover, and checking her gear with practiced, shaking hands.

The audio stayed close, catching every quick, shallow breath and the soft grunts of pain and effort as she fought through it. And with every strained sound, something in my chest tightened. It wasn’t pity. It was… respect. Pure and sharp, building like a quiet storm inside me.

The footage carried on, and Briar and I watched in heavy silence as the other Challengers battled their way through The Wilds. Devrin Marx from Saltspire moved like a machine, all determination and stubborn resolve. He barely stopped to sleep, never lingered to tend wounds. Just pushed forward with that dead-eyed intensity Saltspire was famous for.

Then there were the Horizon Challengers, the elected and the chosen, who managed to find each other on the second day. From then on, they moved together, a tight alliance, navigating the woods with focus. Their pace was relentless. No doubt they had intentions to win.

And then came Winnie.

The camera cut to feed from the chosen SteelheartChallenger, an elderly woman whose age alone should’ve disqualified her. She’d landed hard, shattering her leg. The footage lingered as she tried to crawl, dragging herself through the dirt. She called out again and again, voice cracking and wild with desperation.

Her camera tilted up to catch the open sky as she lay back, exhausted and broken. She kept trying to move, to sit up, to call out for someone, anyone. But her voice faded over the hours as the sun set and the darkness blanketed her. And when the snarls began in the distance, thick and low like some nightmare thing, she panicked.

Briar, without a word, grabbed the remote and muted it. We both turned our heads, looking away from the screen, away from the inevitable end neither of us needed to watch.

The room felt heavier for it, the air thicker.

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