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“Let’s go catch a Santa,” he says with finality before heading into the ballroom for the last competition.

There’s just one missing piece to this plan. I pull out my phone and message my boss on an encrypted thread.

Then I hope for a Christmas miracle.

Encrypted Text Thread with Special Agent in Charge Frank Bowman

Agent Scarlett Payne | 11:36 p.m.

It’s time for the counterpunch.

You’ve set this message to disappear in three minutes

Chapter 38

NATHAN

24 minutes until midnight

Freshly baked cookies scent the air. On the platter in front of me are a variety: chocolate chip, red and green M&M oatmeal, gingerbread, pinwheels, linzer, crinkle, snickerdoodle, and Neapolitan. A single glass of milk sits off to the side. Santa needs fuel, and what’s better than a sugar high to power you through the night?

“This is the one time I’ll ever tell you not to save me any cookies,” Scarlett says, her voice low in my earpiece as Nelly and Todd introduce the competition.

Sitting on the end next to Holly Winter is Ron—no, Arnold. The same person who was seconds away from shooting me dead on New Year’s Eve. If he was willing to do that, no doubt he’d be capable of being Sadistic Santa. Of doing something as elaborate as this.

Still, he gives no indication that he’s up to anything nefarious. He smiles and claps along to the Christmas music playing, fitting right into the objectively festive ballroom. Decorated trees brighten up each corner. Snowflakes dangle on fishing wire from the ceiling. Every square inch of the room is either glittery or reflective. It’s an explosion—nope, terrible word choice—a… burst of sparkle and shine.

“Santas, your five minutes begin…” A horn blasts. The clock starts ticking down. “Now!”

My strategy is simple: pace myself. Stuff too many into my mouth at once and I risk choking. Eat too fast and I risk it all coming right back out. I eat one cookie in two bites, then take a sip of milk. I do that again. And again. Just like the ornament roll, the key here is steady momentum.

And if you make it to the end, you just might stay alive, the invite had said. Is my participation in the finale enough to stop the bomb?

The number of cookies we each eat is projected onto the screen behind us. Surprisingly, I’m ahead of the others. I take a sip of milk and reach for a linzer. I hope the jam helps the cookie go down faster. We have ten seconds left, but then—

There’s movement in the back of the ballroom. Five people in raid jackets power walk down the aisle toward the stage. The audience looks on in curiosity, filming the scene with their phones.

I meet Scarlett’s gaze. She looks eager, keeping one eye on Arnold. He’s halfway out of his seat, watching, careful not to make any sudden movements.

Her plan is in action. We’re about to cause a scene. And I’m about to get arrested for everyone to see. We’re going to give Sadistic Santa exactly what he wants. It’s one hell of a way to go out.

I set down the linzer as the agents march up the steps and head directly toward me. I resist enough for this to look believable. There’s a satisfied smirk on Arnold’s face when my wrists are cuffed and I’m escorted off the stage.

The audience’s chatter dies down when the doors close behind us right as the horn blasts, signaling the end of the competition. Playing her role, Scarlett waves her arms and throws a fit at this misunderstanding, all the way until we’re outside the ballroom, through the lobby, and into the van waiting outside.

We slide onto the bench in the back seat. When the van door slides shut, Scarlett turns to me and lets out a sigh of relief. “Meyers and Bird are watching Arnold,” she says. “Teams are standing by to see what he does, but he got what he wanted. He wins.” She puts this last part in finger quotes.

The passenger door opens. Scarlett’s boss, Frank Bowman, gets in.

“Sir, that was perfect timing,” Scarlett says to him. “I’m honestly kind of surprised you listened but thank you. I wasn’t even sure if you got my text, but—”

“Text?” Bowman asks. “What text?”

Scarlett’s eyebrows pinch together. “The one about this whole plan”—she gestures toward my handcuffed wrists—“to trick Sadistic Santa… You didn’t get my text?” Her eyes flick from her boss to me. “We’re no longer in front of the cameras. Can you please uncuff him now?” she asks the agent beside me.

“Nathan Lambros, you’re under arrest,” Bowman says. He tells me I have the right to remain silent, that anything I say can be used against me in court, that I have the right to an attorney. I know these words by heart, have even said them to people a few times myself. It’s serious business to be read Miranda rights. Bowman wouldn’t be saying this to me for show. Which means this is for real, and I’m in deep shit.

“That’s not funny,” Scarlett says to Bowman. “Uncuff him.”