She’d bled in that forest too. She’d run until her lungs caught fire and her feet split open and the rain dissolved every shred of dignity she carried through those gates. But standing here now, polished and dressed in another man’s fortune, she felt less like a survivor and more like a traitor.
And yet — amid the wreckage — laughter. Two tributes near the bar clutched each other, cackling at something private, their faces blazing with exhaustion and what Daisy could only name as savage, uncut joy. Not the polished, performative kind of laughter that tinkled through the banquet, but a raw, almost feral sound that spoke of shared secrets and deeper bonds.
They were conquerors sheathed in the evidence of what they’d survived.
Daisy searched the crowd for Maggie, her throat thickening when she didn’t spot her friend.
She gripped Jack’s arm as they crossed the final stretch of marble, her satin flats soundless among the grit of soiled cocktail napkins strewn across the floor like confetti among the glitter of broken glass. Not a single tribute approached her. And why would they?
She hadn’t had the courage to form alliances like the rest of them. She ran and hid, thinking her strategy was wise. But now, she felt like the biggest coward in the room.
Despite the reality of this fever-dream place, the glitz and glamour only disguised the fake. She might be Jack’s obsession of the moment, but that too would fade when the revelry passed, and reality relentlessly returned.
Staring out over the hollowed-out extravagance, she recalled the closing line of The Great Gatsby, wishing she could remember the exact words. Something about beating on like boats against a current, ceaselessly born back into the past.
It was exactly how she felt in that moment, as some inferior part of her clung to Fitzgerald’s fading words.
Even this, in all of its extravagant impressiveness, was temporary. She was nothing more than Jack Thorne’s fleeting fascination. She would stay, as long as he wanted her there, but life’s opposing currents would eventually pull him away.
The moment Daisy and Jack reached the ballroom floor, crystal chimed, sharp and deliberate, slicing through the din like a blade through silk.
Every head turned toward the landing.
Aunt Vanessa stood at the top of the staircase in a midnight-blue gown that pooled at her feet, her strawberry-blonde hair swept over one shoulder in an elegant cascade. She held a champagne flute aloft, its rim still vibrating from the strike of her ring against the glass. A regal icon overlooking the scattered remnants of a feast.
Her gaze swept the room, cataloging the damage with the practiced calm of a general surveying the field after battle. Daisy followed her gaze as her eyes found Jack.
Aunt Vanessa’s lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, then her gaze traveled to Daisy. She gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement.
Tension tightened in Daisy’s shoulders, and her chest constricted. She’d been seen.
Aunt V was the sort of woman who noticed subtleties others easily overlooked. She also knew exactly who Jack was while everyone else mistook him for just another hunter.
She chimed her glass again, turning her attention back to the room. Silence settled over the hall with the sudden, reverent hush of a congregation rising to its feet.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Aunt V’s voice rang across the marble, warm and unwavering. “Thank you for another successful Feast, another extraordinary display of courage from every soul in this room.”
She paused for a breath. “While many of you feasted, and many were fallen, today marks the moment we rise.” Her gaze moved slowly across the crowd. “What you accomplished tonight is a testament to the human spirit. Your resilience has been tested and tried, pushed beyond ordinary limits, proving once more that you have an extraordinary fortitude to survive.”
The silence deepened.
“As I look into the eyes of so many strong tributes, my heart fills with pride. Today is the first day of the rest of your lives. I do not say that lightly. Your worlds will never look the same. The person who walked through those gates last night no longer exists. They served their purpose and brought you here, but now it’s time to reap your reward.” Vanessa lifted her glass. “This is where you leave the struggle behind.”
The room erupted.
Applause crashed through the hall like a wave breaking against a seawall. Raw, thunderous, shaking loose every last thread of restraint the evening still held. Tributes threw their arms around each other, sobbing and laughing in the same breath. Hunters clapped with genuine fervor, their earlier arrogance dissolved into something that looked almost like respect. The sound bounced off the vaulted ceilings and filled the cavernous space until Daisy felt it vibrating in her sternum.
“Whatever your goals,” Aunt Vanessa shouted over their exhilarating cheers. “Whatever your fears. Whatever you’re running toward or running from.” Her voice swelled, resonant and sure. “May fortune forever favor you.”
More applause erupted.
Daisy wiped the corner of her eye as something fundamental shifted inside of her.
The hierarchy that governed the evening dissolved. No more tributes and hunters. No more numbers and masks. Just people, battered and changed, standing on the other side of something they would carry for the rest of their lives.
Aunt Vanessa’s voice cut through the ovations again, “Limousines are waiting at the front entrance to deliver you safely to your respective destinations. Please begin making your way forward, and know that you leave this place with my deepest admiration.”
Hunters and tributes moved together, the distinction between them erased by shared exhaustion and mutual survival. A man in a ruined tuxedo offered his arm to a limping tribute without a word. She took it without hesitation. Another hunter passed his jacket to a woman shivering in the remnants of her lingerie, draping it over her shoulders as casually as ancient friends.
