Page 24 of Sinful Obsession
I stared ahead, heart in my throat.
Misha stepped forward from the raised platform, expression unreadable.
“Listen closely,” he called out. “Here are the rules. There are three phases before the fire. Each tests your speed and control.”
He pointed. “Phase one: a sprint across a ten-meter track—too slow, and the flames at the edge will catch you. Phase two: a narrow beam over a pit of coals—too fast, and you’ll slip, burning alive. Phase three: the jump through the ring itself—mistime it, and you’re ash. Precision is survival. Hesitation is death.”
My pulse hammered, the rules a labyrinth of peril.
He turned. “Den of Serpents—step forward.”
A tall, wiry guy in a red uniform stepped up, early twenties, his face a mask of forced bravado, though his hands shook as he flexed them. He positioned himself at the track’s edge, sweat glistening on his brow.
His teammates watched him like he was already dead.
“At the sound of the shot, you begin,” Misha said.
A gunshot cracked from the shadows—one of the snipers, ever watchful—and he bolted.
His sprint was lightning, feet pounding the track as flames flared at his heels, urging him faster.
He reached the beam, slowing to a careful stride, arms outstretched, balancing over the glowing coals below.
The heat warped the air, his face contorting with focus.
He made it across, reaching the ring. He crouched, muscles tensing, and leapt—high, almost perfect. But the flames surged, a sudden inferno swallowing him mid-air.
His scream tore through the hall, raw, mixing with the fire’s roar as he landed on the other side, engulfed. His body collapsed, a charred husk, ashes scattering like snow.
A collective breath shuddered through the candidates.
Horror gripped me, nausea surging again.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, hiding the tremor, the queasiness threatening to betray me.
If he—tall, strong, confident—could burn, what chance did I have?
My teammates’ eyes bored into me, Silas and Sebastian’s smirks taunting, King’s face unusually grim, his usual calm replaced by dread.
“Den of Vipers—step forward,” Misha commanded.
My heart plummeted. “What the hell...” I whispered.
It’s our turn already?
The flames roared, mocking my fear. I wasn’t sure I could jump that high, my small frame a curse in this moment.
A gunshot rang out, and time collapsed.
I sprinted, the track blurring beneath my boots, the flames at the edge licking closer, heat searing my calves.
Phase one. I dodged left, then right, heart pounding. The fire chased me like it had a will of its own, but I didn’t stop.
I reached the beam.
Phase two. A narrow plank swayed above a pit of burning coals. I jumped—landed hard. Pain spiked through my ankle, but I kept moving, arms out, body trembling. One wrong step and I’d fall straight into the fire.
Then came the ramp.
