5’4”
8.3 stone
Training: Unknown
Primary style: Unique
Majekah: Monster
Not an enforcer. Not a soldier. Quinn’s opponent was one of our monsters.
“The perfect test of free will,” rasped the Westwater announcer.
Morgen’s gaze never left Quinn. “You should have died with Holiday.” Her voice was ice, smooth and surgical. “Instead, you destroyed him. One of us. And now you walk free, tethered to the Architect. Do you think I’ll wait my turn?”
Quinn quaked, her hands trembling. “I never wanted to hurt him. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
Morgen’s lip curled. “You know now.” She took a step forward, a branch sprouting from her hand, sharp as a blade. “You wear men like jewelry. You breathe, and they follow. Let you live, and you will hollow me out next.”
“I wouldn’t—” Quinn’s voice cracked. She covered her face with her hands. “Please. Don’t.”
“Mercy is for fools.” Morgen’s branch hissed through the air. “And I am no fool.”
Morgen lunged. Quinn dove aside, scrambling across the white floor, breath ragged. She was quick, faster than when she’dfirst arrived, but she never struck back. Every dodge looked less like survival and more like retreat.
The Pit roared, drunk on spectacle. Coins clinked. Voices rose, demanding blood. Above, the families sat in their boxes, still, silent. Their judgment pressed heavier than the mob’s frenzy. Every step Quinn took would be read as proof: either free will or the Architect’s leash.
Morgen’s fist hardened into bark and shot forward. A gnarled branch exploded into being, ramming Quinn and flinging her into the bars. Magic sparked, but didn’t burn her; it only kept me out. She slid down the cage and staggered upright, too slow.
Another slash, wood tore leather. A red line split across her back. The Pit howled approval, louder, hungrier, the chant for blood swelling like a tide.
This wasn’t combat. It was theater. A trial. An execution parading as truth.
“Quinn!” I roared, throat raw. “Fight back any way you can. Just live!”
Chapter 37
Quinn
Painsearedacrossmyback. Instead of continuing to stand, I dropped and rolled, colliding with Chancellor Morgen’s feet. The woman shrieked and jumped back, pressing her hands across her body as if I’d hurt her.
I let myself lay there for a second, imagining one of those badass fighter flips, before pushing my ass off the floor like the peasant I was. My back burned, but I braced myself, only to find Morgen frozen, patting her body like I’d poisoned her.
Because I touched her.
The stupidest moment of my life flashed back—drunk outside the bakery, body snatchers attacking, me pointing just as a blastof magic struck. It hadn’t been mine, but I’d believed it was, and that false confidence was all I had to draw on now.
I pointed straight at her, my finger shaking. “The truth doesn’t matter to you, does it?” I willed my Majekah forward. Except nothing happened. The collar still blocked everything, but Chancellor Morgen didn’t know that. Her face paled, her gaze fixed on my finger. A ripple of gasps rolled through The Pit, voices rising, some shouting for me to strike, others calling me cursed. I pulled on my drunk bravado like a costume.
“Truth is what you choose to believe, girl.” Chancellor Morgen spread her arms and grew. Her skin changed from pale to shades of brown and green, while her legs lengthened and tripled in number until they spread out like the roots of a tree. Her black robes tore and fluttered to the floor.
I loved the Ents inLord of the Rings,but never dreamed I’d have to fight one.
‘Move, Quinn,’Ezra’s voice stabbed through my shock. The crowd shrieked with him, half baying for my blood, half demanding the spectacle continue, as Tree Ent Morgen whipped her branches like fan blades.
I dove backward and hit the cage, then used the same move as before to dive low and as far away as I could in the limited space of the ring. Tree Ent Morgen groaned, and jagged stakes shot from her trunk like arrows. Two missed, but the third stabbed into the back of my knee.
Excruciating pain blinded me. The Pit roared approval, stomping, clapping, chanting with every crack of the branches. I was a sitting duck in a meat grinder.
