Page 77 of Run of Ruin

I timed her breathing, watching for the faintest rise and fall of her chest. Every second mattered. Then, tightening my grip around her, I dove.

Three lefts. A right.

Each turn, I prayed she’d hold on. I stopped at every air pocket I could find, forcing us both above the water. She gasped in thin, ragged breaths, unconscious but still clinging to life. Every time she took in air, a spark of hope reignited in my chest.

One last stretch.

My muscles screamed in protest. The weight of the pieces shoved into our wetsuits threatened to drag us down. I cursed God. Cursed Praxis. Cursed the Run. But I didn’t stop.

And then, ahead, I saw it. The faint shimmer of light above, the outline of the cage, our way out.

With everything I had left, I kicked hard, breaking the surface with a ragged gasp, Brexlyn clutched in my arms. Water crashed around us. Relief and terror surged through me in equal measure.

I hauled Bex onto the solid ground, my chest heaving, armsshaking from exertion and terror. Water slicked off her body as I laid her flat on her back, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the sight of her still, pale face. My heart thundered in my ears.

“Come on, Hollis,” I whispered, tearing the weighted pieces of the machine from her wetsuit, flinging them aside like they meant nothing, because right now, they didn’t. Not if it meant losing her.

I pressed my palms against her chest, my own hands trembling. “Come on, baby, please. Breath,” I begged, voice cracking like glass under pressure. I leaned down, forcing a desperate breath into her mouth. Then another.

The water still clung to her lips, my tears mixing with it, blurring my vision as I worked. I pressed again, harder. Another breath. Another.

“Come back to me, Hollis,” I pleaded, voice rough and breaking apart at the edges. “We need you.Ineed you.”

There were so many things I hadn’t said. So many things I wanted to ask her, to tell her. Somewhere between those endless trees in the Wilds and this hellish trial, she’d found a way into the deepest, most guarded corners of me and made herself at home there. And it had been so effortless. So natural. I wasn’t ready to lose that. Not now. Not ever.

We weren’t finished. Not even close. We haven’t even started yet.

And then, she coughed. Violent, ragged, water spilling from her lips as her body shuddered back to life. Relief cracked through me, and I fell back on my heels, gasping for breath, the weight in my chest finally breaking.

“Hey,” I croaked, brushing the wet hair from her face as she blinked up at me, dazed and weak, but alive.

Only then did I glance up and spot the camera pointed directly at us.

Zaffir stood behind it. Our Praxis-assignedcameraman. His eyes were glassy, face stricken. I’d seen the way he looked at Bex around the house, how his walls would drop when she laughed. And right now, the raw fear and grief on his face spoke volumes. There was history there. Unspoken things. His world had almost ended in front of him.

Then my gaze snagged on the tank.

The people inside, the ones still bound to those metal poles, were rising, the water creeping higher. Panic clutched at my throat as I locked eyes with Thorne. His face was pressed against the glass top of the tank, desperately clinging to the last few inches of breathable air. Ezra wasn’t far from him, straining against his restraints too.

And then Brexlyn’s voice, ragged and weak, cut through the panic. “Briar…”

I scrambled to her side. “Hey, beautiful,” I murmured, slipping an arm under her shoulders. “We gotta move. Now. We have to get them out of there.”

She groaned, pain flickering across her face.

“I know, baby, fuck, I know.” I helped her sit up. “But Ezra needs you.” Her gaze sharpened when I mentioned his name. And that was all it took.

Her bloodshot eyes locked on mine for a beat. Then she nodded, jaw set despite the tremble in her limbs.

We both started fumbling with the pieces I’d dragged out of her wetsuit, hands shaking as we fit them together. It wasn’t perfect. It was desperate, frantic. But Bex was still sharper than anyone else in this goddamn place even with a head wound.

“This tube,” she rasped, “into this chamber.” Her voice was barely a whisper, whether from exhaustion or fear of being overheard, I didn’t know.

Our fingers brushed as we connected the final pieces on each of our devices. They clicked into place.

“We’ve got it!” I shouted, holding up the makeshift device.

A Praxis guard strode over, taking his sweet time examining our work. Every second felt like a year. I clenched my fists, biting back the scream clawing up my throat. Finally, he grunted his approval and handed us each a key.

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