“Why are you here?” she says.
I shrug. “Needed to see you.”
She waits, eyes narrowed, weighing every word.
“I didn’t know,” I say.
She nods. “Sure.”
I move closer. She doesn’t back away.
“It’s true. But now that you know, you need to run in the Hunt. You need to let me claim you.”
She smiles, brittle. “Get in line.”
She turns to leave, but I catch her wrist. She flinches, but doesn’t pull away.
“You’re not alone. I… I care about you, Eve, I really do. Please, just… let me claim you at the Hunt, before sunrise. You can run, fight, hurt me, just… let me do what I have to do. Please. To keep you safe,” I say. The words taste foreign, but I mean them. “You have to survive. You understand?”
She searches my face, looking for the lie. There isn’t one.
She yanks her arm free. “I’ve been surviving my whole life.”
I let her go. She walks out, steps even, head high.
I watch until she’s gone, and then I punch the wall, just to feel the pain again.
The Hunt is coming. And this time, I’m not playing by the rules.
Chapter 11: Eve
Thewalkbacktomy dorm takes seven minutes. I count each step, each section of sidewalk, each glare from the students milling about. I keep thinking I’m on a prank show and someone is going to pop up and yell it’s not real.
It’s real.
Oh, it’s so real.
The Board’s words still echo behind my eardrums.
No one ever told me my mother was dead. They never told me she was hunted down for running. They never told me thescholarship was a lie, or that the world’s most rich billionaire is my father, or that the most important thing about me isn’t anything I’ve ever done, but the fact that I exist at all.
At some point I realize I’m not even going the right way. My body’s just circling the quad, lap after lap, like I’m the only runner in the race and the only finish line is when my legs give out.
When I finally get to my building, I fumble the key. My hands are wet. I have no memory of when I started crying.
I wait until the hallway is empty before I open the door. I slip inside, turn the lock, then bolt it for good measure. My back hits the wood, and wait for my heart to slow. It doesn’t.
My chest is restricting as I try suck the oxygen back. I can’t.
My legs give out and I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, knees up, arms wrapped tight around them. I rest my forehead on my shins and count each inhale.
One. Two. Three.
I want to scream, but I can’t even open my mouth.
Everything is heavy and light at the same time. My body is floating, but every part of me is anchored by something sharp and painful. I curl tighter, squeeze my arms so hard the skin goes numb.
The walls are gray. The floors are gray. The ceiling is a shade of off-white that looks like its yellowing. It’s the cheapest room in Westpoint, the last one on the lowest priority list. I always thought I deserved it. That I’d earned this little closet through sheer force of will. Now I know I was never meant to fail.
