Page 60 of Run of Ruin

“Go ahead and let them root for her. For the girl with the sick little brother. Let them cheer when she stands her ground, or when her allies bleed for her. We want their hearts invested.” Her lips curved into something too sharp to be a smile. “But make no mistake, what we don’t want, Mr. Stark… is a martyr.”

My throat tightened.

“Now, of course, with favor like hers we’ll do what we can on our end to keep her in the Run for as long as possible. But say she dies in a trial,” she tossed out and I tried to school my expression when imagining that horrible outcome. “We wantthe audience to feel sad, heartbroken. But not betrayed. Her death should make good TV, not spark riots in the streets. If you build her too high, if you turn her into something untouchable… if her fall makes the wrong kind of sound…it won’t be the Collectives who suffer the consequences.”

She tapped a single, lacquered fingernail against the table.Click.

“It’ll be you.” The words hit harder than any shout could’ve. I swallowed hard and gave a stiff, measured nod. “It will be all of Praxis.”

“Understood, Archon.”

“Good,” she murmured, glancing toward the door. She smiled then, though it didn’t touch her eyes. “It would be… in your best interest to remember that. Especially with such volatile pieces on the board this year.”

“And since you have such a clear vision for their story, I’ve relieved the editor for Darkbranch, and you’ll be taking on his duties as well. I assume that’s amendable?”

I nodded. “It is, thank you, Archon.”

“I’m sure we won’t have to have this conversation again.”

I shook my head.

She tapped a slender finger against the table, a signal more than a gesture. The door behind me hissed open, and two guards appeared in the frame.

“Good. See to it that we don’t. You’re dismissed.”

I stood, bowed my head once more, and turned to leave, not too fast, not too slow. Just the right amount of deference.

“Oh, and Mr. Stark?”

I paused in the doorway, turning back to face her.

Archon Veritas clicked a button on the remote, and the screen behind her flickered to life. Winnie Fetter's final moments, the sweet old woman from Steelheart, filled the room. The grainy footage from her camera shook as thewolves descended. Her screams pierced the air again, the wet, snarling sounds of teeth on flesh following close behind.

The first time I saw it, it made my stomach turn. But now, with Veritas watching me like she crafted the ending all on her own, it made something deep in me splinter.

“Your Brexlyn is a lovely girl,” she said, voice smooth as glass. “But you’d do well to remember that you are Praxis. And she is Collective. Wolves and lambs.” As if punctuating her point a wolf snarled as it ripped into Winnie.

“Yes, ma’am.” I tried to school my expression. To hide the way the violence on the screen made me want to scream, or cry, or fight.

I stepped out of the room, feeling Veritas' eyes like a weight between my shoulder blades. I walked away as fast as I could but Winnie’s screams chased after me.

I had a feeling they always would.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Bex

It tookanother three days before the last of the surviving Challengers crossed the finish lines and reentered Praxis city limits. Two innocent lives were claimed during the Transportation Trial. Dominic, the one the Grey siblings had told me about, and Winnie of Steelheart. Poor woman never had a chance. Her age put her at a disadvantage before she even hit the ground, but I still wished her end hadn’t been so brutal. No one deserved to go out like that.

I didn’t watch the coverage. Couldn’t bring myself to. Zaffir kept me updated though, even though he’d been a little standoffish since our return, assuring me that my little makeshift adventuring party had come across surprisingly well. Apparently, people were already calling us the ‘The Wildguard.’ Praxis citizens rooting for the four of us, together.

I didn’t hate the sound of that. Actually…it was kind of nice.

The idea of facing what was ahead as a team felt like abloom of hope. I found my thoughts drifting toward them more than I probably should’ve. The memory of Briar’s careful, steady hands tending to my wound. Thorne’s infuriatingly charming grin and the way he made me laugh when everything else felt like it was crumbling. Ezra’s relentless search for me, the ferocity in his protection when he finally did.

And in the quietest hours of night, when the weight of it all pressed too heavy against my chest and those memories refused to leave me alone, I’d let my hand wander lower, chasing a release that was never quite enough, but dulled the ache for a little while.

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