I drag a chair across to them, spin it, and drop down. “Trial Two?” I question, shutting them both up.
I read the line in the file again.
Sensory deprivation. Twenty-four hours. Alone in the dark. Your mind is the arena. You can’t run. You can’t scream. You can only face yourself.
I toss the file on the table and lean back.
Marco mutters, “They’re not testing strength now. They want to crack your head open.”
“They won’t,” I say, standing. “Not me.”
Marco shakes his head. “You can’t punch this fight. That rage in you? Locked in with no outlet? It’s a bomb waiting to blow.’”
“I know,” I say.
That’s why I have to win this one.
They’ve tested my strength. Now they want to test my soul.
This is the one they all think I will lose. I have to prove to them I won’t.
“We can simulate some of it,” Marco says.
“And I’ll work on your panic response,” Milo adds. “You need to train your body not to freak out.”
“You both think I’ll break?” I ask, eyes flicking between them, it’s not like them to doubt me, but they know what’s going on in my head too.Her.
“No,” Marco says. “We know you won’t.”
Leo steps into my room with a case.
“You read it?” I nod. “This is the real trial,” Leo says. “No edges to hold. No sounds to ground you. Just time.”
Inside: a blackout hood, tight compression gear, a strip of nutrient tablets. Survival boiled down to nothing.
I lift the hood. The fabric clings to my fingers damp and airless. I squeeze it in my fist, already feeling the itch crawl up the back of my throat.
Leo’s eyes pin mine. “Sunday night. Vault 7. Twenty-four hours. If the enemy catches you, can you stay quiet?”
“We’ll be outside,” Marco says. “Monitoring.”
“And if I start screaming to let me out?”
“You won’t,” Milo says quickly.
Leo leaves, and I lie on my bed, hoping sleep will come to me tonight.
Because right now, my brain won’t shut the fuck up.
Every blink drags her back sweat slick on her collarbone, blade trembling, that defiant little smirk like she knows exactly how dangerous she is to me and doesn't give a damn. That mouth I’ve tasted. Those eyes I’ve drowned in.
I see the way she looks at me when I correct her grip, like I’m the first person who ever told her she can be dangerous if she wants to be.
It should be lust. Quick. Burn and gone.
It isn’t.
It’s becoming an obsession now.
