Page 72 of Run of Ruin

“But you must be careful,” she added, voice dipped in a mock warning. “Some of the pieces are decoys. Grab too many, and you’ll be weighed down. Grab the wrong ones, and… well.” A pause. “You might run out of time.”

I turned toward Ezra, reading the storm already brewing behind his eyes.

“Now,” Annalese’s voice chimed back in, “for those of you lucky enough to still have two Challengers left, it’s decision time. One of you will dive. The other will be bound in the filtration chamber. Putting your life in your partner's hands. For those Collectives where only one Challenger remains, you will be diving. Make your decisions now.”

I barely had time to register the words before Ezra stepped forward.

“I’ll swim,” he said quickly, his voice tight but steady. “I’m fast. I can carry more, even if I don’t know what’s what. Let me do this. I swear, Bex, I swear I’ll keep you safe.”

His eyes were pleading. I could see it, could feel it.

I glanced toward Zaffir in the corner, his camera trained on us. But for a fleeting second, his expression softened, and he gave me the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

I inhaled sharply.

“No.” My voice was firmer than I expected. I turned my full gaze back to Ezra. “I’ve seen a water filtration system before.” Just this morning, actually, but I wasn’t going to say that. “I know what to look for. I can do this.”

He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but stopped. Maybe it was the finality in my voice. Or maybe the fact that deep down, he knew this was the smarter call.

I gave him a small, grim smile. “I can do this.”

“I know you can,” he said, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear and letting his hand rest on my cheek.

“You just stay alive for me, okay?” he asked.

“You too,” I whispered, and to hell with the cameras. I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to Ezra’s lips. For a moment, the world outside of us disappeared, no trials, no fans, no cameras. Just the warmth of his hands settling around my waist and the familiar press of his forehead against mine when we parted.

He held me there for one precious, stolen moment, both of us knowing it very well could be our last.

“Please send out the Challenger who will be staying behind,” Annalese’s voice echoed once more, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Ezra drew in a steadying breath, his thumb brushing once against my hip. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised, voice low andrough with emotion, then turned and disappeared through the unexplored door at the front of the room.

I was left alone in the quiet, every second stretching unbearably long. My palms itched. My pulse hammered. I tried to stay still, to keep my nerves invisible, but my fingers betrayed me, fidgeting with the seam of my wetsuit as minutes crawled past.

Finally, the speaker crackled again. “Challengers, please enter the room.”

I swallowed hard, squared my shoulders, and moved toward the door Ezra had vanished through.

The room on the other side was massive, its walls made of smooth, cold concrete. A single, enormous tank dominated the center of the chamber, easily ten feet tall, maybe more. It was a simple hulking cylinder of reinforced glass. The whole room curved around it like an arena, with walkways leading up to it and overhead rigging clinging to the high ceiling.

And inside the tank were ten figures.

Each one was chained by their wrists to thick metal poles bolted to the tank floor. My breath hitched when I found Ezra, his emerald eyes cutting through the haze to find me instantly. His expression was fierce, burning with a kind of protective anger, but also filled with something softer, something meant just for me.

I dragged my gaze around the tank, scanning the others. Thorne stood a few places down from Ezra, his lips curling into that intoxicatingly smug grin even now. It felt grotesquely out of place, but in a strange way, I was grateful for it. The fear hadn’t claimed him yet. Or if it had he wouldn’t let the cameras see it.

I searched for Briar next, heart pounding, but before I could spot her, a piercing scream ripped through the room.

“No!”

It was Dani Cale of Steelheart. She bolted toward the tank, her hands slapping hard against the glass. “No, please! Not my son!” Her voice cracked like a whip in the tense chamber.

My stomach lurched as my eyes snapped to the figure she was staring at. A boy. No older than thirteen, maybe younger. His face pale, eyes rimmed red and wide with terror as he clung to the chain around his wrists. His gaze never left Dani, silently begging, sobbing without sound.

A horrible understanding settled over me like a lead blanket.

Dani’s Collective partner, Winnie, was dead. And in her place, Praxis had dragged someone Dani loved into this, a son who’d never been chosen, who shouldn’t have even been here.

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