34 #2
We’re in a pitch-black box. The only lights are the green and red Avri on Players’ suits and bows and arrows and a few strips on the ceilings and walls to allow us to see by. But those are dim, just enough light for us to not be completely blind.
I can’t see anything but me and my brother right now because we’re behind one of the tall obsidian taalk walls standing sporadically throughout the construction; they’re of varying heights, some reaching the miles-high ceiling, while others only meet my hips, and I know the remaining twenty-six Players must be in similar positions to us right now.
There’s also those freaky invisible cameras somewhere so the audience in the stands outside, along with the rest of the world, can see inside, otherwise they’d only be able to see a huge opaque rectangle in the middle of The Dome.
The Showmaster—Peter, the butt crack—announced the start of Game 3 just moments ago, and I’m not gonna lie, I’m close to shitting myself here.
“Easy, Tiger,” Scotty whispers, placing a hand on my shoulder. His Avri bow is in the other, the green of it like a beacon with its size and glow, even as he keeps it between his body and the wall, as hidden as possible.
Whoosh!
“Fuck!”
We both go still as that curse splits apart the silent air in a hiss that’s far too loud for this Game . . . and far too close.
It’s a female’s voice next, hers just as low. But again, too loud when there’s no other sounds. “Move! That almost hit your fucking heart!”
“I can’t even see who the fuck shot me! How the hell are we meant to do anything in here?!”
The voices get closer, and I turn oh-shit eyes on my brother, who yanks me backwards in the next second. I hardly manage to muffle my shriek of surprise as he drags me around to the other side of the wall.
Then we back up slowly, all our senses open, aware of everything: every little whisper . . . every brush of air, as if we’re only wearing our skin and not thick protective suits . . . every slight difference in scent—something flowery, then something citrusy, as the Bonded pair passes by the wall.
I let out a breath of relief when their whispers fade away.
We could’ve killed them. They had no idea we were here. It would have been easy. Too easy.
But we’re not those types of people.
I still haven’t recovered from my first kill, even though I know without a doubt I would do it again to be with my brother and the rest of my Bonded group. Me and Scotty prefer to do only what’s necessary to survive, and killing when we’re not under direct attack isn’t.
I turn around—
And freeze.
Heart pounding like a drum, my unblinking gaze is glued to an Evot illuminated by his dark green Avri on the other side of the room, his skin so deep he’d otherwise be perfectly camouflaged in the dark.
And I’m looking right into the eyes of death with the tip of his luminous arrow staring right at me.
Specifically, my heart.
“Scotty,” I rasp, unable to move anything but my lips to get me out of this situation.
In an instant, my brother’s in front of me, shielding me.
That snaps me out of my daze.
I yank him back angrily. “Why would you do that?”
“Not now, Tiger—”
Scowling, I look back up at the man on the high platform . . . just as he slowly lowers his bow, giving us a meaningful look before turning away, his buzzed head momentarily highlighted by the dim emerald light above him before he disappears from view.
My lips part in shock.
I think that was . . . Iggy? Alby has mentioned him before, and he told us the other Evot was a good guy. Now I can see that for myself.
But we need to be more careful—we shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place, with us so out in the open and a Player with a clear shot at us. Most of the surviving Evots and Exots aren’t like him.
A male shout of pain rips through the air before a deafening silence envelopes us again, and my brother quickly drags us behind another low wall, our backs pressing to the taalk.
“Player 27: Eliminated.”
My breath catches. Oh no . . . that was someone from Alby’s school.
Scotty’s mouth forms a thin line, but he focuses on the task at hand, narrowed gaze scanning our surroundings.
Ezla’s lithe form springs out form absolutely nowhere then, and I gape in astonishment as she lets out a battle cry that has goosebumps scattering all over my skin and flips through the air high above our heads while she shoots three arrows mid-air, the assault met with a chorus of screams of fear and agony.
“Player 43: Eliminated.”
“Player 77: Eliminated.”
“Christ,” Scotty mutters as our eyes track our Bonded until she disappears, landing somewhere in the darkness above without a sound.
Blinking myself out of the spell she’d put me under, I shift my focus around warily. “Where’s Alby?”
“I don’t know, but I trust Ezla to have that handled. She wouldn’t leave him unprotected,” my brother replies with so much surety that it seeps into my own being.
No. She wouldn’t. I don’t know how I know that—especially when she’s threatened to murder us plenty of times—but I do. She wouldn’t leave Alby in danger.