Page 7 of Run of Ruin

“Nova’s not wrong. You’re gorgeous,” he said, tone matter-of-fact, but it made warmth bloom in my cheeks. “You could lean into that, be flirtatious, mysterious, magnetic. Give the audience someone to obsess over. Make them want more of you.”

A shocked laugh burst out of me, sharp and breathless. “You’re not serious.”

His expression didn’t shift. “Dead serious.”

The laugh died in my throat, and suddenly I felt the weight of what he was really suggesting. Of what I had to do. I shook my head, trying to process.

“No, I… I can’t do that. I mean, I don’t… I’ve never…” The words stumbled out, each one more awkward than the last. My cheeks burned. “I’m not… desirable. Not like that.”

There was a pause, just long enough to make me regret saying anything at all.

His eyes flicked over me, a glance so quick I could’ve convinced myself I imagined it. But the heat that followed in its wake, lingering and sharp like the brush of a flame, was impossible to ignore. It curled against my skin, startling and oddly comforting.

“I beg to differ,” he said, voice low and certain.

This time, I didn’t have to imagine the heat in his gaze. It was real. Intense. Unapologetic.

I suddenly felt too bare beneath it. Too seen. So I dropped my eyes to the floor, hoping the flush in my face didn’t give away just how much his words had shaken me.

“I can’t,” I replied.

He nodded like he’d expected it. “Okay. So, sob story it is, then?”

There was no judgment in his voice, but the question still hit hard. I hated that those were my choices. I hated that I was even considering them.

I looked away, pressing my lips together. Part of me wanted to scream. The other part, the part that needed to make it to the medical trial for Jax, was already doing the math.

And it made me feel sick.

“I don’t want them to feel like I’m using them to get attention,” I whispered, the fear in my chest finally finding shape.

“Who?” Zaffir asked softly.

“My best friend,” I said. “And my brother, Jax.” I swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears at bay, but my voice was already trembling. “He’s six.”

Zaffir leaned in just slightly, his expression gentle. “Tell me about them.”

I tried not to look at the blinking red light perched on top of the camera. Tried not to think about how every word I said was being recorded, analyzed, broadcast. Instead, I focused on him, the strange, steady presence of the man sitting just a breath away. He didn’t seem like Praxis. Not like the others. Not like Nova. He felt… quieter. Calmer. More human. I wanted to believe that.

“Ava, she lost her leg when we were younger. And then a few years later,” I swallowed the lump in my throat, “she lost her brother.” I didn’t dare say that Praxis was the reason behind it. “I just hate that I had to leave her, too.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s already lost enough,” I answered, feeling tears sting my eyes.

“What makes you think she’ll lose you?”

‘Because we always lose’, was on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. “It’s a dangerous game.” Was all I said.

“Tell me about your brother,” Zaffir prompted.

I narrowed my eyes at him, anger mixing with my sadness.

“My brother is the light of my life,” I began, the words brittle in my throat. An undercurrent of fury at this red head’s insinuation beneath each word. “My best friend. My person. You know that person who makes you feel like the world still has good in it?” I paused, blinking back the pressure behind my eyes. “That’s him.”

Zaffir reached out and took my hand, warm, gentle. His thumb brushed across the back of it like he was urging me forward without words. And I found comfort in it.

“He was born with a muscle disorder. At first, it was small things, he'd fall a lot, couldn’t keep up with other kids. Now... he can barely walk some days. His muscles are wasting away, and there’s nothing in our Collective to stop it. We don’t have the medicine. The machines. Or the people who know how to help him.” My throat closed again, but I forced myself to push through it.

---