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The horn blasts at dawn and I'm already running.
No countdown. No starting line. Just that bone-deep sound ripping through the dead training grounds and every instinct I have screaming move.
I didn't sign Marcus's contract. Left him standing there in the dining hall with that pretty paper and his pretty promises while everyone watched. So now I'm fair game.
The grounds are a maze of crumbling concrete and rust. Old combat rings. Broken weapon racks. Steel beams jutting out of the dirt like ribs. They used to train the first Ironridge students here before the facility got condemned. Now it's just a hunting ground.
I hear boots behind me. Not close yet. But coming.
My phone buzzes. I don't look. I already know what it says. Every hunter gets the same alert when Pretty Prey starts: Target location, last known direction, estimated survival time. I'm the dot on everyone's map.
I duck under a collapsed archway and press my back to the concrete. My breath's too loud. I count to ten and make myself slow it down.
Think.
Last time I ran until someone faster caught me. Hid until someone smarter found me. Fought until someone stronger pinned me down. And then Lila's crew held me while the boys decided what a pretty face was worth.
This time I'm not running away.
I'm running toward.
Footsteps crunch through gravel to my left. One person. Moving careful but not quiet enough. I catch a glimpse through the gap in the concrete: tall, lean, wearing Ironridge combat blacks. Not Marcus. Not Cain.
Good.
I step out into the open.
He sees me and grins. "Guess you're dumber than you look."
I don't answer. Just stand there and let him close the distance. He's got a training blade, the kind that won't kill you but'll hurt like hell. Regulation weapon for the trial. My hands are empty.
He circles me. Slow. Enjoying it.
"You know the rules, right?" His grin gets wider. "I tag you, I get points. I make you bleed, I get more. I make you beg..." He trails off. Lets me imagine.
I watch his feet. His weight.
"Marcus was stupid not to lock you down," he says. "But I'm not complaining."
He lunges.
I don't dodge. I step in.
His eyes go wide. He didn't expect that. Nobody expects prey to charge.
I grab his wrist with both hands and twist hard to the left. He's stronger but I'm already inside his guard and momentum doesn't care about muscle. The blade clatters to the dirt.
He tries to pull back. I don't let go. I drive my knee up into his stomach and feel the air punch out of his lungs.
He doubles over. I grab the blade.
"Wait—" he chokes out.
I slam the pommel into his temple. He drops.
I stand there. Breathing hard. Knife in my hand. The metal's warm from his grip.
My phone buzzes again.
I look this time.
Pretty Prey Trial: First blood to Ivy Gray. New standing: Hunter.
Something cold slides through my chest. Not fear. Something sharper.
I just moved from prey to predator and it took ten seconds.
I should feel sick. Guilty. Something.
I don't.
I keep the blade and keep moving. The grounds stretch out in every direction: broken walls, empty watchtowers, the skeletal frame of the old training dome. I can hear fighting in the distance. Shouts. The crack of impact. The trial's not just about me. There are other targets. Other games running parallel.
But I'm the main event.
I find the leaderboard posted on a rusted metal board near what used to be the main gate. It's updated live, synced to everyone's phones. Top hunters. Current targets. Point values.
My name's near the top of the target list.
Pretty Prey (Primary): Ivy Gray - 500 points base, 1000 for capture, 2000 for surrender.
Surrender. That's new.
I scan down the hunter rankings. Marcus is on there. Fifth place. Lila's name shows up too. Tenth. She's hunting someone else. Smart. She doesn't need to get her hands dirty with me when she can let the boys do it.
Then I see the note at the bottom.
Special Contract: Cain Locke.
My heart stops.
I tap the screen. The note expands.
Special kill contract assigned to Cain Locke. Target: Ivy Gray. Condition: Kill must be executed personally. No substitutions. No assistance. Failure penalty: Expulsion.
I read it twice.
They assigned him to kill me.
Not tag. Not capture.
Kill.
My hands are shaking. I make them stop.
This isn't random. The trial's rigged but not like this. Special contracts are rare. Reserved for personal grudges or academy politics. Someone requested this.
Someone wants Cain to put a blade in me himself.
I think about the way he looked at me in the hallway. The warning. The tension in his shoulders like he was holding something back.
He knew.
Footsteps again. Multiple this time. Closer.
I shove my phone in my pocket and move. The blade's still in my hand. It feels heavier now.
I cut through a gap in the fence and come out near the old combat rings. Three of them in a row, raised platforms with chain link borders. They used to run exhibition matches here.
Someone's standing in the center ring.
Cain.
He's not hunting. He's waiting.
I stop at the edge. Twenty feet between us. The chain link rattles in the wind.
"You didn't run far," he says. His voice is level. Calm. Like we're discussing the weather.
"Didn't see the point."
His eyes drop to the blade in my hand. "You tagged someone already."
"He volunteered."
Something flickers across his face. Not quite a smile. "That's not how this is supposed to go."
"Nothing about this is supposed to go," I say. "You have a special contract. Kill order. Personal execution required."
He goes still.
"Who requested it?" I ask.
He doesn't answer.
I step closer to the ring. "Was it you?"
"No." The word comes out hard. Fast. Like he needs me to believe it.
"Then who?"
"Does it matter?" He moves to the edge of the platform. We're only ten feet apart now. "You think I'm going to tell you before I kill you?"
"I think you don't want to kill me at all."
His jaw tightens.
"Last time," I say. Keep my voice low. Steady. "You warned me. Told me to stay away from the north hall. That's where it happened, wasn't it? Where I died."
His expression doesn't change but his breathing does.
"You're reborn too," I say.
The wind picks up. The chain link shrieks.
"Yeah," he says finally. "I am."
"And you killed me."
He closes his eyes. Just for a second. "Yeah."
I should be angry. Scared. Ready to fight.
But all I feel is cold.
"Why?" I ask.
He opens his eyes. Looks at me like he's seeing someone else. "Because I thought I had to."
"And now?"
"Now I know better."
My phone buzzes. His does too. Both at the same time.
I don't look. Neither does he.
"They're coming," he says. "Marcus. Lila's crew. Everyone who wants a piece of you. They tracked you here."
"Let them."
"You can't fight them all."
"I don't have to. I just have to make it cost more than I'm worth."
He stares at me. Then he does something I don't expect.
He laughs.
It's not a nice sound. It's sharp and bitter and tired.
"You really are different this time," he says.
I hear voices now. Boots. Multiple hunters moving in.
Cain glances over his shoulder. Then back at me.
"Contract says I have to kill you myself," he says. "No help. No substitutions."
"I know."
"Failure penalty is expulsion."
"I know that too."
He reaches for his belt. Pulls out his blade. Academy standard. Longer than mine. Sharper.
I raise my weapon.
The voices get louder.
Cain steps off the platform. Lands in the dirt between us.
"Then I guess we better make this look real," he says.
And he charges.