Perhaps. But as I settle into the too-small bed and try to plan damage control for tomorrow's challenges, I find myself thinking less about Jessica's ultimatums and more about Trinity's laugh.
Strategic monitoring,I decide.I need to understand how the other contestants view her, what alliances might be forming, what threats she might face.
Particularly threats like Jonathan and his baseless accusations.
Purely for strategic reasons, of course.
The rationalization feels thin, but it's the best I can manage. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new opportunities for manipulation by the production staff, new tests of whatever this thing is that's developing between Trinity and myself.
I should be planning political maneuvers and alliance building. Instead, I'm wondering if Trinity's laugh sounds the same when she's genuinely happy as it does when she's being polite for cameras.
Definitely weakness,I conclude as sleep finally claims me.
But maybe some weaknesses are worth the risk.
CHAPTER 5
TRINITY
The confessional booth feels like a sauna under the studio lights, but at least it's private. Well, private except for the three cameras recording my every facial expression and the production assistant who keeps adjusting my microphone like it's personally offended her.
"Just talk naturally," the producer behind the camera encourages. "Tell us what you're thinking about the competition so far."
What I'm thinking is that this whole setup is designed to make people say stupid things they'll regret later. But what comes out of my mouth is somehow worse.
"I keep thinking about Korgan."
Smooth, Trinity. Really smooth.
The producer's eyes light up like I've just handed her a winning lottery ticket. "Oh? In what way?"
I fidget with the hem of my sweater, already regretting this honesty. "It's just... he's not what I expected. Like, yesterday during the challenge, he kept doing these small things. Making sure people didn't get hurt, giving quiet advice. And when that contestant Jonathan started spreading rumors about orc tactics,Korgan looked genuinely upset. Not angry-upset, but hurt-upset."
"And how does that make you feel?"
The standard therapy question every reality show loves. I should give them something safe, something that won't make me look like a complete fool when this airs.
Instead, I find myself saying, "Protective, I guess? Which is ridiculous because he's literally twice my size and could probably bench press my entire kitchen. But there's something about the way he tries so hard to fit in with human customs, even when they don't make sense to him. Like he's performing being acceptable instead of just being."
The camera zooms in slightly. I can practically hear the editors already cutting this into a dramatic romance montage.
"Have you thought about pursuing something with him?"
Every waking moment since the flour incident,my brain supplies helpfully.And a few sleeping moments too.
"I don't know," I lie. "It's complicated. He's here to date everyone, not just me. And I'm here for the bakery, not romance."
Another lie. At this point, I'm basically running a small deception industry.
The truth is that I've thought about Korgan constantly since yesterday. The way his amber orbs had softened when he'd helped me with the oven rack. How his voice had dropped to something almost gentle when he'd said my bread smelled honest. The ginger way he'd steadied the ladder, like he was afraid his strength might accidentally hurt someone.
Someone being me, specifically.
"Any plans for connecting with him further?"
I gaze at the camera, then away. "Maybe. I was thinking about making him something. A small thank-you for yesterday."
"What kind of something?"
