Bam slams his fist on the table. The bowls rattle. “That’s it. That’s the plan.”
I look at Eve. She’s not scared anymore. Her eyes are dark with adrenaline.
The old power structure is done. What happens next is up to us.
“We have one month before the next Hunt,” Julian says. “That’s how long we have to get proof.”
Dahlia scoffs. “If we don’t have it by then, there will be no one left to save. You boys may be on the outs, but they can rewrite the rules enough to make us all disappear and replace us with whoever will do whatever the fuck they want.”
Rhett folds the napkins into a stack. “I’ll get Caius to run the names.”
Isolde touches her stomach, almost absent-minded. “No one should have to do what we did.”
Eve nods. “Then let’s make sure no one else ever does.”
The plan is set, but no one says the word. It’s not about winning. It’s about survival, and for now, the odds are in our favor.
Eve helps Dahlia and Bam clear the table and the three of them make short work of the dishes while Issy talks my ear off about her newest baking creation. One I will absolutely not try. That is Bam’s department.
After, Bam cracks open a case of beer and we sit in the glow of the afternoon, eating bread and planning how to bring down a dynasty.
Eve leans into my side. Her pulse is slow now, her breath measured. She has stopped shaking.
At the table, I look at the faces around me. Bam with his scars, Rhett with his pretty lies, Isolde with her impossible hope, Dahlia with her cold rage, Julian with his deadly moods and quiet anger.
We don’t even finish the second round before the mood turns. Isolde shifts in her seat, both hands bracing her stomach. She’s quiet about it, but not enough to fool me. I see the way her face goes gray, the way her breath shortens. Rhett’s grip on her arm turns to a vise. I can see the sinews in his hand stand out, as if he could hold the pain in place by force.
Dahlia notices too. She gets up, moves to Isolde’s side, and murmurs something in Italian that sounds like a threat and a blessing rolled together. Isolde shakes her head, forces a smile, but the tension doesn’t leave the room.
Bam and Julian are arguing about whether to hack the Board’s files or just torch the server room, when Rhett’s phone buzzes on the table.
“I’m good, baby, just answer it.” Issy says as the contraction passes. She smiles and shrugs. “Braxton Hicks.” As if I’d know what the fuck that is.
Rhett glances at the screen, then answers without saying a word. His eyes don’t leave Isolde.
He puts it on speaker. Caius’s voice fills the cabin, the sound of their baby screaming in the background while O sings loudly.
“We’ve got a problem,” Caius says.
“Yeah, join the fucking club,” Bam mutters.
Caius ignores him. “A Board legacy student is coming to Westpoint. She arrives in two weeks. The Board has already decided she’ll be the next Hunt runner.”
No one speaks.
Caius keeps going. “It’s Marcus’s daughter. She’s Funded, and the Funders want a spectacle. They’re calling in every camera, every donor, every media outlet. The Board is planning to make it public. Not public like yours, Colt. Public, public.”
Julian’s face does not change, but his fingers start a steady beat against the tabletop. “My father has been pushing for this. Years now. He wants the Hunt to be a global story. Says it’ll keep the poors in line.”
Caius: “If they pull it off, Westpoint becomes untouchable. You know others will adopt the Hunt and it’ll become commonplace. The Board’s power goes viral. No one will ever question them again.”
Bam’s fists clench as he looks at Dahlia who nods. “Fucking hell. They’re consolidating.”
Caius sighs. “We have three weeks, maybe less. We either break them before the Hunt, or it’s over.”
Eve is already writing, hand a blur. I look at her, then down at her hand, then up to meet her eyes. She doesn’t stop.
Rhett’s focus never leaves Isolde, even as he says, “What’s the Board’s angle? Why put a Funder at risk?”
