"We give them a Hunt, in the same tradition as always. The Book, the ritual, the chase," Rhett says, "but we make it a love story. Colton as a reformed bad boy. His girl a true outsider. If you’re lucky, the first viral wedding of the decade. Ratings, endowments, your precious legacy—all saved."
He looks at me. "And Bam here is our insurance. If anyone gets out of line, he’ll handle it."
The woman with the glasses—Parker, I think—leans in, emboldened by Rhett’s calm. "And the… other matters? The Board deaths, the police? There are still open questions."
Bam's jaw tightens. I feel the muscle bulge under my skin.
"They’ll close," I say. "If anyone asks, the Castillo’s did it. They’re are dead now, or close enough."
Silence.
Rhett says, "The Academy will be the jewel of the region again. You just have to play along. And pay up. You can do that, can’t you, Prentiss?"
The old man stares at me, then at Rhett, then down at the folder. His hand shakes as he flips it open. He sees the numbers, the names. The roadmap for his own survival.
He nods. Once. Like a king surrendering a crown.
The others nod, too. One by one, a chorus of frightened birds.
Rhett closes the meeting with a flourish. "We’ll convene tomorrow. Draft the student letter to our chosen runner. And get ready for orientation. Colton’s Hunt will be the biggest event this school’s ever seen. A new era has dawned. Let’s not fuck it up."
The room empties. Some try to shake my hand. I let them, just to watch their skin go pale as my grip closes on their old, dusty bones.
Rhett is the last to leave. He lingers by the window, tie straight now, suit perfect. The morning light finds his eyes and turns them green as acid.
"You’re enjoying this," I say, not a question.
He shrugs. "It’s nice, for once, to have the biggest dog on my side."
"You’re the brain. I’m just the threat."
"Don’t sell yourself short," he says. "Threats are the only thing this place respects."
He’s right, but I don’t like it.
He smiles again, then leaves, shoes making no sound on the tile. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
I sit there, alone, fingers still pressed to the wood. I think about Colton. I think about the next girl, the next Hunt, the next fight.
I think about Dahlia, somewhere in her garden, waiting for me to come home.
And I know what I have to do.
Break the world, or remake it. No other options.
I stand, chair groaning as I push it back.
There’s a new king in this jungle.
And his rule is just beginning.
The forest eats sound, except for the grit and snap of our boots. Rhett walks beside me, hands deep in his coat pockets, breathing clouds of white into the dark. I don’t need to watch the path, my feet know it better than my own name, but I scan the trees anyway. Old habits.
The woods around the Academy have changed since the Hunt. The trees are still ancient, the ground a rot of needles and moss, but the quiet is different. Used to be you could hear the next predator coming for a mile. Now, nothing hunts. The only monsters left are us.
“Three in the morning,” Rhett says, picking up a branch and swinging it at the brush as we go. “She wanted pickles. But not just pickles. Pickles dipped in chocolate.‘Like Nutella, but withmore salt, Rhett, please, or I’ll die.’” He mimics Issy’s accent, then laughs and shakes his head. “I show up with the goods and she cries because the pickles weren’t crunchy enough.”
He looks at me, expecting a reaction.
