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Someone laughs behind me. Not nervous. Eager.
I turn and Marcus Vane is already too close, hands in his pockets like he's got all the time in the world. Behind him, three guys in Core Zone badges fan out across the courtyard steps. They're not here to watch. They're here to make sure I know who's offering and who isn't.
"Ivy Gray." Marcus says my name like he's tasting it. "You need a protector. I need a project. Let's make this easy."
Cain is still standing beside me but he doesn't move. Doesn't speak. I can feel his eyes on Marcus, then on me, waiting to see what I do.
I don't step back. "What's the price?"
Marcus grins. "Smart. I like that." He pulls a folded paper from his jacket. The edges are too clean. Pre-printed. He's done this before. "Standard protection contract. Seventy-two hours, I keep you alive, you owe me a favor. Nothing you can't handle."
"Define favor."
"Depends on what I need." He shrugs, all casual, but his eyes don't blink. "Could be you sit with me at dinner. Could be you smile when I tell you to. Could be you tell everyone who kept you breathing."
Someone wolf-whistles from the crowd that's forming. More students are flooding into the courtyard now, pulled by the broadcast and the smell of something about to break. I catch sight of the tall girl from the gate, arms crossed, watching me like she's betting on when I'll crack.
I take the contract from Marcus's hand. He lets me. That's the first tell.
The paper is heavier than it should be. Formal printed header: **Ironridge Academy — Mutual Protection Agreement**. Two signature lines at the bottom. The terms are in the middle, small font, single-spaced. My last life, I never read one of these. I just trusted the boy who smiled and said he'd help.
That boy broke my legs and left me in the woods.
I skim the first paragraph. Standard protection clause. Provider agrees to defend Recipient from bodily harm during the event period. Fine. Second paragraph. Recipient agrees to fulfill one favor as determined by Provider within thirty days of contract completion. Also fine, if vague.
Third paragraph.
I stop.
"Something wrong?" Marcus asks. His voice is light but his posture shifts. He's watching my eyes.
I read it again. Slow.
**In the event that Recipient suffers injury, disfigurement, or death during the protection period, all rights to Recipient's Academy resource allocation, dormitory placement, and posthumous awards transfer to Provider.**
I look up. Marcus is still smiling.
"You get my stuff if I die."
"Insurance," he says. "I'm taking a risk. If you don't make it, I get compensated. Standard."
"Standard for who?"
"Everyone who's signed one." He tilts his head. "You think anyone's going to protect you for free? This isn't charity, Ivy. It's business."
I glance past him. The crowd is bigger now. Fifty, maybe sixty students, forming a loose ring around us. Some are filming. I see the glint of phones, the red recording dots. Whatever I do here is going to be everywhere by tonight.
Cain is still beside me. Silent. I can't tell if he's waiting for me to sign or waiting for me to run.
I fold the contract and tuck it under my arm. "Let me think about it."
Marcus's smile thins. "You've got about five minutes before the first hunters register. After that, you won't have time to think."
"Then I'll use four."
I turn to walk away and he catches my wrist. Not hard. Just enough.
"You don't get it," Marcus says quietly. His voice drops, loses the performance edge. "You're the prey, Ivy. That means every person here is deciding whether you're worth the trouble. If you don't pick someone with weight, you're going to spend seventy-two hours running from kids who want to prove they're not soft. You think that ends well?"
He's not wrong. I can feel the crowd's attention like heat on my skin. There are students here who are calculating. Not how to protect me. How to hunt me. How much status they'd gain from being the one who brings down the Pretty Prey.
I meet Marcus's eyes. "And if I sign?"
"Then you're mine." He says it like it's simple. Like it's fair. "No one touches you without going through me first. You survive. I collect. Everyone wins."
"Except I don't know what you'll collect."
"That's the point." Marcus lets go of my wrist. "Trust is part of the deal."
I almost laugh. Trust. In a school where they broadcast hunting games and print contracts that transfer your corpse's belongings.
But I don't laugh. I pull the contract back out, unfold it, and look at Marcus. "I want to add a clause."
His eyebrows go up. "You want to negotiate?"
"You said it's business. Business negotiates."
For a second I think he's going to say no. Then he grins, wider this time, and pulls a pen from his pocket. "Fine. What do you want?"
I take the pen. I don't hesitate. I write in the margin, right next to the third paragraph, in clear print:
**If Provider fails to prevent injury, disfigurement, or death, all terms are void and Provider forfeits one favor to Recipient's designated proxy.**
I hand the pen back. "If you can't keep me alive, you owe me."
Marcus reads it. His grin falters. "Who's the proxy?"
"I'll decide that if you fail."
"That's not—"
"It's fair," I say. "You get compensated if I die. I get compensated if you're bad at your job. Standard."
Someone in the crowd laughs. It's not kind. Marcus's jaw tightens and I know I've just made this public in a way he didn't plan for. He wanted me to sign fast, look grateful, look owned. Instead I'm making him look like he's bargaining with his own bait.
He takes the contract back, stares at my handwriting, then at me. "You've got guts. I'll give you that."
"Do we have a deal?"
Marcus pulls out his pen again and initials next to my clause. Then he holds the contract up so the crowd can see. "Ivy Gray picks me. Spread the word."
The crowd erupts. Some cheer. Some boo. I hear someone shout, "She's selling out already!" Another voice: "Marcus always gets the pretty ones."
Marcus sets the contract down on the stone ledge beside us, flattens it with one hand, and offers me the pen. "Sign."
I take the pen. I lean over the paper. The signature line is blank, waiting.
And then I see it.
Bottom corner. Small print. So small I almost missed it.
**Recipient agrees that all contract amendments require Provider's counter-signature and Academy witness validation. Unauthorized clauses are void.**
I go still.
Marcus is watching me. He knows I see it.
I look up slowly. "The clause I added isn't valid unless you counter-sign and we get a witness."
"That's right." Marcus's smile is back. "And I'm not counter-signing. So if you sign now, you're agreeing to the original terms. My terms."
My hand tightens on the pen. The crowd is getting louder, pushing closer. Someone shouts, "Just sign it!" Another: "She's stalling!"
I meet Marcus's eyes. He thinks he won. He thinks I'm trapped. Sign and lose, or don't sign and die.
I set the pen down on the contract. Right over the signature line.
Then I lean in close, so only Marcus can hear me.
"If I sign this and you don't counter-sign my clause, that means you're afraid of it. Which means you already know you'll fail. Which means everyone here will know you took a contract you can't fulfill."
Marcus's smile freezes.
I straighten up and say it louder. "Marcus Vane is offering me protection he's not confident he can provide. He won't counter-sign a failure clause because he's already planning to let me get hurt."
The crowd goes quiet. Then someone laughs. Then someone else.
Marcus's face flushes. "That's not—"
"Then counter-sign it," I say. "Prove you can keep me alive."
His hand moves toward the pen. He's going to do it. He has to, or he'll look weak in front of everyone.
He picks up the pen. He leans down. The tip touches the paper next to my clause.
And then another hand slams down on top of his.
The pen skids across the stone.
Cain's voice is quiet. Cold. "She's not signing."
Marcus tries to pull his hand back but Cain doesn't let go. "This isn't your business, Locke."
"She's not anyone's to own," Cain says. "And you're not putting your name on her."
I look at Cain's hand pinning Marcus's wrist to the stone. His knuckles are white. His face is blank but his grip is crushing.
Marcus finally wrenches free, stumbling back. "You don't even have a contract ready. You think you can just walk in and—"
"I don't need a contract," Cain says. He doesn't look at Marcus. He looks at me. "Do I?"
The courtyard is silent now. Everyone is watching. Waiting.
I don't know what Cain wants. I don't know if this is protection or possession. But I know that Marcus's contract was a trap and Cain just broke me out of it.
I pick up the unsigned contract and tear it in half.
Marcus's face goes pale. Then red. "You just made the worst mistake of your life."
"Probably," I say. "But it's mine."
I drop the torn paper and walk past both of them. The crowd parts. No one stops me.
But I can feel Cain following. And I can feel Marcus staring.
And somewhere behind me, I hear the broadcast crackle to life again.
**"First hunter registration: 9. Prey location: main courtyard. Game starts in one hour."**
I don't look back.