Page 73 of Run of Ruin

Around the room, more cries of anguish erupted.

Gasps. Curses. Shouts. Someone punched at the tank with no luck. Someone else sank to their knees.

There were five others like the boy, faces I didn’t recognize, people who weren’t Challengers. A middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair. A young man, barely older than me, his hand gripping the chain so tightly his knuckles had gone bone white. A father. A mother. A child. A wife.

They’d plucked them from their Collectives to fill empty slots. Collateral. Leverage. A message.

This is what happens when you fail. This is what you risk.

The air thickened with grief and fury. Tears shimmered in the eyes of hardened competitors. Rage simmered beneath trembling hands. I felt it too, a storm rising in my chest, sharp and bitter.

But through the horror, a single, selfish relief clawed its way to the surface…It wasn’t Jax. My brother wasn’t in that tank.

I let myself have that one breath, one quiet, desperate thank you to whatever force of chance had spared him thistime. I lifted my gaze, locking eyes with Ezra once more. He was still watching me, his expression unreadable through the fogged glass and swirling water, but his eyes were unwavering. I clung to that look, let it steady me.

This was too far. Too much. The tiny spark of unrest that had been growing in my chest flamed to life.

Around us, Praxis guards moved in, shoving the other Challengers back into formation with rough, unflinching hands. Boots thudded against the grated metal catwalk we stood upon, a caged floor suspended high above a rushing channel of water. The current below snarled like a living thing, violent and relentless.

Annalese’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers again, unnervingly cheerful against the charged, frantic air. “You must retrieve the pieces of the water filtration system and return them here. Only then can you release your partner from the tank.”

I felt my pulse surge, my fingers twitching at my sides.

“You have…” she began, but her voice was drowned out by a massive, metallic groan. A thick, rusted pipe leading to the tank lurched open, and water burst forth with a deafening roar. It gushed into the chamber, cascading in fat, cold streams as the tank began to fill. Annalese’s voice barely cut through it.

“...until they drown. Go!”

Before I could move, the floor beneath my feet split open.

I barely had time to suck in a startled gasp before the ground vanished and frigid water swallowed me whole. It hit like a fist, stealing the warmth from my limbs and leaving my skin prickling and numb. I kicked hard, breaking the surface long enough to snatch a long thick breath before diving under again.

There was no time. No margin for hesitation.

Ezra was counting on me.

I propelled myself through the submerged tunnel, cold water biting at my skin, my lungs already aching from the shock of the drop. The walls of the narrow shaft scraped against my shoulders as I swam, and each twist in the passage forced me deeper into a maze of submerged corridors.

It wasn’t a straight shot.

These canals were winding, disorienting, a labyrinth designed to waste time we didn’t have. There were sharp turns and dead ends, narrow channels barely wide enough for me to squeeze through. And nowhere… nowhere… to breathe.

My chest burned, pressure building as my lungs begged for air. I fought against the rising panic clawing at the edges of my mind. Not yet. Not yet.

I spotted an offshoot just off to the left.

Kicking hard off the nearest wall, I headed toward it and burst into a tiny, domed chamber where a pocket of stale air waited like a blessing. I gasped, the air tasting sour and metallic, but it filled my lungs just the same. I coughed, clinging to the rough stone wall as my body trembled with adrenaline. I spied on the peak of the dome a camera, pointed down at me. I wanted to look away from it. Not make eye contact with the people watching and waiting for me to fail.

Something caught my eye at the bottom of the chamber, a glint of metal or hardened plastic.

I dove without thinking, hands outstretched, fingers closing around a cold, cylindrical object. It was heavy and slick, but I clutched it tight and surged back toward the pocket of air, breaking the surface with a sharp gasp.

I turned the object over in my hand, water streaming down my wrist. Recognition struck fast.

This was one of the tubes from Zaffir’s diagram. I could see it clear as day in my mind, thanks to the picture he provided me with this morning.

I needed to thank him for that if I made it out of here alive.

No. Not if.

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