Page 65 of Run of Ruin

I volunteered to stay behind, anchoring the top of the rope until they reached the bottom. It seemed fair since I didn’t actually do anything to contribute to the competition. Bex protested, but thankfully her other admirers talked her down.

She landed fifth. Thorne, sixth. Briar, seventh.

I was alone then. The last of our little group, and I knew I’d have to move slower due to my weight and my lack of an anchor. Every shaky knot I checked twice. By the time Ireached the ground, Devrin Marx had already made it down, claiming eighth.

Which left me with ninth.

Not great.

But considering I was still breathing… not bad either.

The fuel trial was every bit the firestorm I figured it’d be. A classic straight-shot race from one side of an open field to the other, only this field was laced with pressure plates buried under cracked, dry earth, each one wired to barrels of unstable fuel. One wrong step and you’d light up like kindling, taking out anyone dumb enough to be standing nearby.

Bex was the first to speak up when we were brought to the starting line. “Spread out,” she whispered, eyes darting between us. “I don’t want one of us taking the rest down with a single bad step.”

None of us argued. Even though every instinct in me screamed to stay close, to keep them within arm’s reach. Truth was, none of us gave a damn about winning this one. Fuel was valuable, sure, but not worth a body count.

When the horn sounded, most of us hung back, watching as the others crept forward like they were navigating a minefield. Which, technically, they were. For a race, no one moved fast.

Beron Golader, the elected from Wildfold, was the unlucky bastard who made the first mistake. His foot must’ve caught a trigger because one second he was there, and the next a blast of heat and flame shot up from the ground, tossing him like a ragdoll through the smoke. The heat hit us even from a distance, and instinctively we ducked, shielding our faces from the blast. He survived, barely. He’d be down a leg, and half of his face. But I knew they wouldn’t let him quit. They’d patch him up and send him back out for the next trial.

We took it slow after that. Careful steps, measured moves. By the time we crossed the line, we’d placed dead last, well except for Beron who couldn’t even finish. Not a single point for our Collectives. But we still had all our limbs, still had each other.

In the nights between the trials, the five of us would record our talking heads, sometimes solo, but often together per Zaffir’s insistence that the world wanted to see us as a team. We’d sit around the living room, playing games, telling stories. Getting to know each other. Thorne was a cocky sonofabitch, but he had some redeeming qualities too. And I’d be lying if that super computer brain of his didn’t impress the hell out of me.

Briar was magnetic in a way that sneaked up on you. She told stories about the secrets she could pull from a room just by watching those in it. That’s one hell of a skill. I got it, though. I found myself telling her more than I meant to, more than I should have, just because she got me to lower my guard. But my biggest secret? I was still keeping that one locked up tight.

And then there was Zaffir. I was honestly surprised by how not-awkward things were between us. We didn’t talk about it, whatever had happened between us. Not out of shame, I don’t think. It just… didn’t need words. We were letting it unfold on its own terms. I’ve always preferred the company of women, but I’ve never been one to shut the door on what my mind and body wanted, no matter who it came from. And while Praxis-born men were not, and never would be, my type, there was something about Zaffir during those nights, when the camera was off. He was unguarded and real. Maybe it had everything to do with the woman we were all orbiting like moths to flame. Bex had a way of pulling truth and hunger and hope from all of us, without even trying.

Bex.

Around us, she was radiant, like some star we all orbited without even realizing it. Her laugh, light and unexpected, filled up the space between us. Every time she spoke, we all leaned in, caught in some invisible pull. I don’t think she knew the effect she had on the room. Maybe that made it all the more powerful.

I found myself hoping that each trial would be short and simple, just so we could retreat back to our little safe haven. The place where ‘Wildguard,’ as they call us, was starting to feel less like a publicity stunt… and more like something real. Something that might last.

The produce trial was a goddamn death trap. I knew it the second we stepped inside. The stench of rot hanging in the air, the tangled mess of vines and creaking platforms suspended over a pit lined with splintered wood and rusted metal. Produce dangled from ropes and baskets above us like bait. Some of it fresh, most of it questionable. The kind of thing you’d only eat if starving… or stupid.

The goal was simple. Gather as much fresh, edible produce as you could and deliver it to the top platform without falling to your death. Once you arrived at the top platform, they made you take a bite of each piece you collected. So, if you were one of the unlucky ones who couldn’t see the difference between an apple and death, then you were screwed.

Lucky for us, we had Thorne. The bastard had a weirdly encyclopedic knowledge of poisonous plants and spoiled food. “That one’s good,” and “that one’ll kill you in five minutes,” he called out, pointing as we climbed. His voice sharp, confident.

I moved fast, strength was my advantage here. While other Challengers hesitated on weak boards and frayed rope, I pulled myself up with ease, yanking baskets toward us and tossing good fruit down to Bex’s waiting arms below. She was quicktoo, careful but not timid. I could hear her nervous gasps every time one of us slipped or a board snapped nearby. Real fear, not the performative kind. It settled something tight in my chest.

Briar nearly went over the edge at one point, her boot catching on a loose vine as a basket gave out beneath her. She slipped, body pitching sideways toward the pit. Without thinking, I grabbed her wrist, the force of it jolting through my arm as I yanked her back. Her wide, startled eyes met mine for a beat and then she nodded. No words needed.

Beron fell to his death. I knew it was coming. A climbing trial right after he’d lost a leg and nearly his life? He never stood a chance. But even if we knew what his outcome would be, it was still painful hearing his scream and the horrible sound as his body fell to the pit below and was impaled on the metal stakes.

We crossed the finish line in third, fourth, fifth and sixth, one after another. A mess of sweat, dirt, and bruises. And when we ate our share of produce, we were met with delicious tart juices, not painful convulsing death. Not like the chosen from Ember. She took a bite of her pear and within seconds she collapsed onto the platform, foam falling from her mouth which was opened on a silent scream. Her body wracked with seizure-like symptoms, and all we could do was watch until her body stilled, and her lifeless eyes dulled.

I held Bex’s hand while she rested her head on Briar's shoulder and Thorne placed a comforting hand on her shoulder from behind. God help me, I really trusted these people. And it was then that I was hit with an even more striking, and painful realization. If I lost any of them, I wasn’t so sure I wouldn't lose myself too. I felt simultaneously thrilled that I’d found a little family, guilty that I was replacing the one I’d lost, and terrified that I’d lose this one too.

For thenext trial, they marched us out to a stretch of farmland on the far outskirts of the city, close enough to The Wilds that the treeline looked like jagged teeth against the horizon. Each of us were tethered to a single animal, and handed a dagger. I got a sheep, fluffy and clueless, while the others each ended up with calves.

The rules were to keep your livestock alive until morning.

It was easy for the first few hours. Too easy. I knew there had to be a catch coming soon. And sure enough, not long after sundown, the howls started. Low, mournful, then multiplying until the night air was thick with them. A pack of wolves. Hungry ones.

We scrambled fast, corralling our animals into a tight circle, the four of us standing guard as the wolves descended. Thorne and Briar handled themselves like they were born for it, moving with practiced ease, no doubt from their years of hunting experience they’d shared with us. Bex was focused and fierce too, though I could see the panic in her eyes whenever a wolf got too close.

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