I can’t do it. Even after this morning, even after he looked at me like I was nothing, like last night was just another transaction in his collection of meaningless fucks—I can’t be the one to destroy him completely.
Maybe that makes me weak. Maybe it makes me a coward.
Or maybe it just makes me human.
My jaw throbs where Jason’s fist caught me, the pain spreading up into my temple. I probe my tender lip with my tongue. Perfect. Yet another injury. Just what I need before a day of training.
Six days. That’s how long I have before I step into the arena with Elijah. Six days to forget about Marco Verus and his dead family and the way he felt beneath my hands. Six days to prepare to kill someone who doesn’t deserve to die.
Six days to figure out how to survive when part of me wants to lie down and let it all end.
The lights flicker on overhead, harsh and unforgiving. Time’s up.
I push myself off the bunk, my body protesting every movement. In the corridor, feet hit concrete as the other men rise.
I need to train. Need to focus. Need to forget everything that happened in that villa and concentrate on staying alive.
But as I head toward the door, Marco’s voice whispers in my head.“It’s you.”
And I know forgetting him is going to be impossible.
Chapter nineteen
Robin: Poseidon's Wrath
My hands won’t stop shaking.
I stand outside the costume room, staring at the door handle like it might bite me. Inside, a woman hums something cheerful that makes my stomach churn. In less than two hours, I’ll be in the arena. In less than two hours, either Elijah or I will be dead.
My throat closes up. I need to move. Need to get this over with.
I push open the door and step inside.
The costume room is another world entirely.
Mirrors line every wall, reflecting endless visions of myself from infinite angles. There’s no escape from the Robin staring back at me, and he looks pale. Hollow-eyed. Scared.
Rails of fabric stretch across the space—silks and satins in every color imaginable, feathers and leather, metal pieces in various sizes. And sparkles. So many sparkles. They coat every surface, drift through the air like snowflakes, coating my skin before I even get through the door.
Matilda, the costume designer, zooms around with the manic energy of someone who’s not had enough sleep. She’s tiny, maybe five feet tall, with paint-stained fingers and fabric scraps stuck in her graying hair.
“Strip,” she commands, not looking up from the rail she’s rifling through.
My fingers fumble with the hem of my shirt, clumsy with nerves. “What exactly am I—”
“Shh, you’re going to be stunning.”
She pulls out something that barely qualifies as clothing, except it’s been bedazzled within an inch of its life. Rainbow scales cover every inch of the stretchy fabric. It’s cut high on the thighs, low on the chest, and covers exactly nothing I want covered.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach, adding to the sick weight already there. “How is this in any way protective armor?”
“Well, it would be pretty hard to swim in armor, wouldn’t it, sweetie?”
My eyes snap to hers. “So I’ll definitely be swimming in this?”
She presses her lips together, possibly realizing she’s revealing too much. “Listen, the match architects just told me to dress you like a merman. That’s all I know.” She holds up the garment, beaming with pride. “But isn’t it gorgeous?”
I stare at the sparkling monstrosity. This ridiculous costume might be the last thing I ever wear.
