The most important people in my life, disappearing into the wastelands without me.
He’ll come back. He said he would. He said nothing will stop him from coming back for you.
But what if he doesn’t? What if I’m left here forever wondering what happened to them? If they reached Atrea only to find it completely destroyed, not a soul left alive on our island paradise?
All too soon, the coliseum looms ahead—carved limestone and iron, built to house death and call it entertainment.
I take a deep breath, forcing air into lungs that feel too tight. My ribs still ache where Jason’s bat found purchase, and the knife wound in my thigh pulls with each step. Two weeks of healing, but my body remembers every strike.
It doesn’t matter. I’m alive. And I’m going to win.
I can’t afford to think about anything else right now.
Marco’s hand brushes against mine as we walk, a fleeting touch that steadies me. The guards don’t notice—or pretend not to. We descend the worn stone steps that spiral down into the arena’s belly, torchlight flickering against damp walls.
“One match,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “Just one more.”
“One more match, birdie,” Marco echoes.
We’re almost there. The dungeon. And there are a thousand things I still need to say. “Marco… if I don’t make it—”
“Stop.” He halts mid-step, turning to face me. His hands find mine, calloused fingers interlacing with my own. “You’ll make it.” His dark eyes bore into mine with absolute certainty. “Iknowyou will. Not only because you’re stronger than Harlan, and smarter. But because you have everything to live for.”
Marco takes my hand and presses it flat against his chest. His heart pounds beneath my palm—steady, fierce, alive. The rhythm matches my own pulse, as if our bodies have learned to speak the same language.
“Feel that?” His voice drops to barely a whisper. “That’s yours now. Every beat. And I’m not letting you take it to the grave.”
The warmth of his skin bleeds through the thin fabric of his shirt. For a moment, the world shrinks to just this—his heartbeat under my hand, his breath on my face, the promise in his eyes.
One of the guards clears his throat pointedly.
Marco releases me reluctantly, and we resume walking down the spiraling stone steps. The air grows colder as we descend, tinged with the familiar smell of damp stone. The dungeon waits below like the mouth of some ancient beast.
I can only pray that I won’t run into Harlan before they separate us. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since last week’s match, when we watched Max bash Mikhail’s brains out. Barely looked at me, in fact. Good. It’ll be easier that way—clean, quick, no hesitation. Then back to Marco’s arms, even if it’s only to say goodbye.
The dungeon’s darker than usual. Only one lamp burns in the common area, its weak flame casting a sickly yellow glow across the stone floor.
We pass through the hall slowly, reluctant to return to this grim reality.
The light grows stronger, revealing the stone floors, the edge of the huge dining table, and there, in the center…
It illuminates a body.
Harlan lies sprawled across the dining table, his throat opened in a ragged smile of blood. Dark stains pool beneath him, dripping over the table’s edge to the floor below. A knife juts from his chest, pinning something white to his shirt.
Paper.
My legs somehow carry me closer. The lamplight wavers as I lean down, squinting at the familiar script. Same ink. Same hand. But no numerals this time—no need for them.
Robin vs. Marco
I cannot breathe. I cannot blink. My eyes remain glued to those simple letters that destroy everything.
For a moment, neither of us move. If we don’t acknowledge it, maybe it won’t be real. Maybe Harlan will sit up and laugh, maybe the paper will crumble to ash, maybe—
“No,” Marco says.
“I knew it was too good to be true.” The words slip out, soft and bitter. And I did know, didn’t I? Deep down, beneath all the hope and planning and desperate dreams. Some part of me always knew it would end like this. Robin vs. Marco.
