I drop my hands, staring at the dim light overhead.
A day ago, the answer would have been obvious. Yes. Of course. Get me out of here. Help me escape.
But now?
Now, I’m sitting in a locked room in the belly of theRot, my lips still tingling from a kiss I didn’t fight, my body still humming from hands that held me like I was something worth keeping. And part of me, some small, treacherous, fucked up part, doesn’t want to leave.
Not because it’s safe here. It’s not. Not because I trust them. I don’t. But because out there, I was nothing. No family. No friends. No future. Just the ghost of my father’s failures hanging around my neck like a noose.
Here, I’m something. Or have the potential to be something.
A Runt, yes. But a Runt with protection. A Runt people notice. A Runt who punched a girl in the stomach and lived to tell about it. A Runt who got kissed like she mattered.
I had nothing going for me, which is why I guess I signed on to the Hunt.
The words I said to Sting echo back at me now, sharper than I meant them.
I wasn’t lying. I had a whole lot of nothing.
And maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me. The way he touched me. The way he saidminelike it was a fact, not a question.
Because no one’s ever wanted me like that before. No one’s ever looked at me like I was worth fighting for.
Even if it’s twisted. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s just protection dressed up as possession. It’s still more than I had out there, in the dregs of the fallen town of Rothwell.
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly.
You’re adapting,I think.You’re getting used to this place.
The mask doesn’t bother me anymore. The corridorsdon’t feel as claustrophobic. The constant hum of danger has become background noise. That should terrify me.
It doesn’t.
Andthatterrifies me more than anything else.
A sound outside the door makes me stiffen. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. They stop right outside.
My heart jumps into my throat.
I stare at the door, waiting for the lock to disengage. Waiting for it to swing open. It doesn’t. The footsteps move on, fading down the corridor.
I exhale shakily, my hands curling into fists against my thighs.
The girl.
She’s out there. Watching. Waiting. And I yelled at her. Called her a bitch. Gave her exactly what she wanted.
Sting was right. I failed the test.
But next time, if there is a next time, I won’t. Next time, I’ll be smarter. I’ll wait. I’ll watch. I’ll figure out when she’s vulnerable and where she’s weak. And then I’ll make sure she knows I’m not someone she can fuck with.
The thought should scare me. It doesn’t. It feels good. I lean my head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Two threats. One inside. One outside. The troublemaker who wants to hurt me because I got something she didn’t. The outsider who wants... what? To save me? To use me? To finish what someone else started?
I don’t know.
But I know one thing. I’m not going to sit here and wait for either of them to decide my fate. Tomorrow, I start learning how to survive this place. How to movethrough it. How to be dangerous instead of just reactive. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll figure out who I’m becoming.
Not the girl who lost everything. Not the daughter of a disgraced mayor. Not even the Runt everyone expects me to be.
