dropped to his knees, toppling flat on his face. Orion and Flynn rushed to his side, carrying him through the portal, but Tobias kept still, his eyes piercing through the Proctor. He’s going to die because of that man—his eyes panned to Cosima—and that Woman. The Savior. His hands shook at his sides, begging to claw at his skin, to remove Her mark from his body completely.
Fuck The Savior.
Tobias ventured through the portal, traveling up the stairs to the sanctuary above. Bloody footprints lined the steps; Caesar and Beau tromped right through them, muttering about the “fucking Artist,” vitriol he was long since accustomed to. Soon they poured into the sanctuary, where Leila and Pippa stood like statues by the fire pit.
“You’re all wet!” Pippa giggled.
Leila shoved through the mob, ushering Orion, Flynn, and a frail Raphael into her tent. Tobias followed their trail of blood, stopping at the tent’s opening; Raphael was already sprawled across the floor, the others hovering over him.
“What if we—”
“Clear the tent,” Leila said. “I need space.”
“Is there anything—?”
“Just go.”
“We could—”
“Clear the tent,” she spat. “Now.”
Orion and Flynn wavered before obeying, eyeing Tobias as they left. “You heard the woman,” Orion muttered.
Leila hunched over Raphael, her back to Tobias, her hands working madly—dripping with red. His gut clenched, and he turned on his heel.
The keys.
They jingled in his pocket, coaxing him. Her satchel was strewn across the tabletop, spilling with potions, bandages, clay—and a reed. As quietly as he could, he scooped the keys from his pocket, concealing them amid her things. Then he took the reed, scrawling along the bag’s worn inner lining.
Nothing’s changed.
Without a word, he left the tent.
Tobias sipped from his drinking bowl, savoring the taste of nothing. This was his sixth trip to the water barrels, and he tried to prolong each one—whatever it took to keep his distance from Flynn. Today was a day of rest, and while Caesar, Zander, and Kaleo went off to their reward, the others lounged around the sanctuary, forcing Tobias to tolerate the very man he was avoiding. Flynn monopolized their circle of allies, laughing at his own jokes, and Tobias couldn’t help but recount his outburst the other day—the one that had nearly cost him his life.
A man stumbled from one of the tents, his eyes heavy, his ribs wrapped in bandages.
“Raphael.” Tobias started, taken aback. “You look well.”
Raphael snorted. “I do believe I look like shit.”
“You look better than you did,” Tobias said. “To be truthful, I feared you wouldn’t make it through the night.”
“Yes, well, I’m as surprised as you are to be standing here right now.”
“It’s Leila. She has a gift.”
“I suppose she does…” Raphael eyed him sidelong, “…though I imagine if you hadn’t pulled me from that ravine, her skills wouldn’t have mattered much.”
Tension filled the air between them. Raphael leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Let me be clear: I am not Flynn. I will not make false promises of devotion and brotherhood. My intention in this tournament is to survive, and I will do that by any means necessary. But know that what you did wasn’t lost on me. I’m alive because of you and Leila exclusively.” He stared Tobias hard in the eye. “You have my respect. You have my appreciation. But that is all I can give to you.”
“Noted.”
An unbearable discomfort lingered, until another figure waltzed toward them. Leila. She was a vision in her periwinkle dress, and Tobias’s heart thumped, the space around him hot. You’re staring. He turned away, feigning interest in his drinking bowl.
“Raphael,” Leila said. “Come. Let’s look at your stitches.”
Raphael followed Leila before stopping abruptly, eyeing their circle of allies. “Tobias.” He cocked his head in Flynn’s direction. “He envies you.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Good.”
Without another word, he vanished amid the tents with Leila. Lucky bastard.
“Tobias!”
Orion waved him over, and he reluctantly joined him, immersing himself in their card game. He tried to chuckle at Orion’s jokes, to engage with Enzo’s grunts, but when Flynn spoke, Tobias fell quiet.
“Look who’s here,” Flynn said.
Pink, raised scars. Kaleo strutted through the labyrinth, returning from his reward, and Tobias’s blood boiled in response. Caesar tromped at the Beast’s side, an afterthought given Tobias’s silent rage—but Zander was conspicuously missing.
Enzo wrinkled his nose. “Where is Zander?”
“Fuck Zander,” Caesar growled, taking a seat on a nearby bench.
“What happened?” Tobias asked.
Kaleo let out a laugh. “Ignore the Regal. His pride is wounded. You see, at the close of our reward, Her Holiness was to select one of us for some