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“Small packages sometimes make the biggest difference,” I say, looking at her in our reflection.

She has changed over this past year, just like I have. She’s wearing battle leathers. Not a dress. She doesn’t hope to be a cook and to hide in the shadows while working for scraps. Not anymore.

Now she’s ready to survive with her mate and come out on the other end of this alive.

She smiles at me. “You look so badass,” she whispers, which makes me chuckle.

I don’t feel very badass, but I do look different. My long, dark hair drapes around my shoulders, a bit more unruly than it used to be, and my tight-fitting garb hugs my lean frame. I’ve somehow managed to put on some muscle after everything I’ve endured.

A shriek of the train’s whistle interrupts our little moment, and both of us jerk. One of the royal hybrid hosts bursts in a moment later, addressing all of the candidates crammed into the car.

“Better get comfortable, ladies. It’ll take a few hours to get to the Deadlands, and then another three before the games actually begin. You’ll want to be rested.” He clicks a button on the wall, and the door opens behind him. Servants bring trays of food, and they keep coming, arranging them on all of the tables until it’s the most impressive feast I’ve seen since the pack trials. “Eat up.”

Sofia and I exchange glances. We wait for some of the others to start eating first. They do sniff-test the food and don’t find any evidence of poisons. It wouldn’t make sense to poison the candidates anyway.

We’re about to run for our lives, and that’ll be a much more interesting show, I’m sure.

I raise a brow when Arwan filters into the room after I’ve eaten half my plate. He gives Sofia a nod. “Renalt said he’ll be in to check on you soon. The king is giving him a hard time that he didn’t team up with any other sponsors for you, so be mindful of strays. I suspect there a few bets on your life in the first hundred feet or so.”

Sofia blanches but nods her appreciation for the tip.

“They’re betting on us?” I whisper as Arwan leads me to the back of the car. He fiddles with the lock until it melts, then he glances around before shoving us through and sealing the door behind him.

“There are always bets,” he says absently as he guides me through three storage cars filled with wide boxes.

It takes me a minute to realize they’re empty coffins.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask as we continue to head toward the rear cars. They can’t all be storage.

“Prisoner car,” he informs me as he uses his shadows on a larger lock. He hisses when it sparks, then he curses when it fails to open.

I roll my eyes and withdraw my destruction potion from my invisible belt. I take off the cork, then ever so carefully guide a single drop onto the lock.

It disintegrates, and Arwan gives me a raised brow. “That could have blown up in your face.”

With a shrug, I place my potion back into its holster and open the door for him. “I’ve had practice destroying locks. My brother was always trying to keep me out of places he didn’t want me snooping around.”

My heart does a weird little twist at mentioning my brother. He was evil. I hated him. But now that he’s dead, I’m not sure how to feel. A part of me looked up to him in a way a little sister does. He was more of a father figure to me than Duke Rinhold. He taught me the ways of the world, as dark as they were. He was all I really had.

Arwan watches me but doesn’t say anything. He motions his dark hand at the doorway. “Ladies first.”

I nod, then venture into the darkness. It only takes a moment for my night vision to kick in. After so much time with my sponsors, all the mate-bond gifts have been coming on pretty strong.

Maybe that’s why they’ve been spending so much time in bed with me, which is practical but makes me wonder how much of it is a desire to bond me and how much is survival.

The sight of Ze’ev behind bars shoves all my insecurity aside as I run to him. “What the hell?” I curse as I grip the ice-cold metal. It’s several degrees colder than metal should be, and Ze’ev is inside, shivering, with frost on his eyelashes.

Arwan sighs. “King Njord is going to give all of us a penalty. Maybe a few for Ze’ev,” he says as he weaves his shadows around the bars, but they dissipate before they can creep inside.

Ze’ev growls, then stands and pushes his arms through the bars. His grip on me is freezing and has me pinching my brow with concern, but he doesn’t pull me toward him. Instead, he places my hand on Arwan’s wrist.

Then he pushes us away.

“You’re not going to just suffer in there alone,” I chide him.

Digging into my vials, I pull out the sparkling purple vial that Ze’ev had given me what feels like an eternity ago now. I shove it through the bars and hold it out, ignoring how ice travels up my arm and makes my bones ache.

“Take it,” I hiss at him. “It’ll help you deal with whatever King Njord throws at you.”