Page 180 of Reverie

“And I’m guessing no one took the execution route?” This is from Keegan.

“Nope, but that test of allegiance is essentially a fight to the death. Survival of the fittest is one of their core ideologies, so it makes sense.” Marcus shrugs. “They’ve done this before.”

“So let me get this straight,” Patrick says, “all these old asses are gonna go fight gladiator style? Won’t they all just kill each other with one hard push to the hip?”

I chuckle but keep it under my breath.

“You’d think, right?” Marcus says. “But of course they wouldn’t put themselves on the line. Well, not directly. They’ve stolen people to go in as their proxy.”

Marcus delivers this line so simply that it takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying.

“Wait,” I blurt out. “So the people they’ve trafficked are going to Isla Cara to fight to the death in their place? How many people are being tested?”

It takes Marcus several heartbeats to decide to reply.

“From what I could gather, there are at least a fifty Designers who need to prove their loyalty.”

That means they’re bringing in at least as many bodies to hunt as there are Designers. If not more.

“Listen,” Marcus begins, “I’m on my own here. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get doxed pretty soon, so I’m trying to extend my time on this planet a little longer, you feel me?” Marcus says thisas if it’s no big deal. “So I can’t stay with The Legion for long before I go off the radar for good.”

I nod, understanding.

“Do you know when this is happening?” Patrick asks.

Marcus replies, “It’s the climax of this week’s events—The Hunt on steroids. It’ll be bloodier than ever before.”

“Bloodier than before, but there will be more people than before too.”

My brain spins. This could be our chance. If hundreds of Designers will be there, it’s even more likely the higher ups will be on Isla Cara too. Maybe even The Architect.

We could actually take them out.

We could end this.

A sharp ringing from the landline on the desk causes my heart rate to spike. Patrick answers the call, listening for several seconds. I count my heartbeats.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Patrick looks at me. “It’s Misha,” he says, still holding the phone and my gaze.

All of us are silent for several moments.

With dread and acceptance filling my chest, I say, “What do we need to do?”

TWENTY-SIX

WINTER

It’s surprising that I managed to sleep, especially for six hours, seeing as my brain has been running a mile a minute since Marcus Law showed up at the jewelry store.

Marcus-Fucking-Law.

Of all the people I thought would show up, he was the last person I expected or wanted.