Page 77 of They're Watching You

The Gamemaster is about to take charge.

I scan the room, finding Paul, half-obscured behind a pillar, conversing with Dallis like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

A few feet away, Donella gazes up at Annabelle, like she’s ready to head into battle at the call. She would certainly make a formidable Gamemaster. But she stays put.

Behind the silver display table, Annabelle clanks a spoon against a wineglass. “Welcome to the finale of the Gamemaster’s Tournament. Tonight, in a special quadrennial ceremony, we all have the honor of paying homage to our fearless leader and gracious provider.” Spindly legs of terror centipede through my stomach. She means the sacrifice. “Now, to announce the game. Without further ado, I present your Gamemaster.”

Applause echoes through the chamber. I examine the crowd again as my heart yo-yos, falling all the way down and springing up into my throat.

My gaze whips to Jordan, who stands, back pressed against the stone. Suddenly, she flicks her glossy hair back behind her shoulder and steps forward.

Gavin taps my elbow again, another futile attempt to talk to me. When I ignore him, his hand moves, fingers gently gliding down to catch on my wrist.

“Get lost, Gavin,” I say, craning my neck to follow Jordan, my heart hammering in my rib cage.

“Maren, I need you to know,” he whispers, still trying to pull my attention toward him. “I had to do it, for my sister. You understand, right? And I had to make everything fair. There will be a stage that’s exceptionally difficult for you, but I know you. You’ll pull through.” In confusion, I finally look at him, finding his teeth clamped onto his lower lip. Eyes narrowed, fingers still cuffed like a loose bracelet around my wrist. “And you’ll win. I made sure of it.” He nods, like we have this understanding, even though somewhere beneath my desire to help him, I hate Gavin Holt with every ounce of me.

“Do I have to hit you harder?” Remington snarls, stepping between us.

But I wave him off, slowly inching my way back in front of Gavin. “What are you saying?” I ask, his face blurring as I stare so hard it’s like I’m looking through him.

I turn, certain I’ve missed the Gamemaster’s grand approach to the front of the chamber, but Gavin’s words stop spinning and ricocheting off the walls of my mind, finally settling.

Just when it all makes sickening sense, he leans in to kiss me on the forehead and spins around, striding through the clusters of society members to take his place on high.

Thirty

“Thank you, Annabelle,” Gavin says, his voice the same stupid voice from chemistry, his dopey smile the same one he used to get me to cover for his pajama fiasco. My legs go numb, so I can’t even flee this dungeon. I sway, bumping Remington, who tenses at my side as he watches Gavin.

My shoulder finds his chest, and he pulls me in closer. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers into my ear. “Whatever he throws at us, we’ll beat him.”

I’m not so sure about that.

“As Annabelle said, tonight is the tournament finale. I think you’re all going to enjoy this one. I’ve been working on it all year.” He beams at the crowd. “Would our champions please step forth?”

Begrudgingly, we join him at the front. Meanwhile, Dallis—guess Gavin wasn’t lying about being friends with him—passes out the goblets, starting with Remington and me. We stand side by side before the entire society, our ridiculous cloaks matching theirs. I restrain my empty fist as Gavin lifts a glass, toasting “the brethren,” who gaze back at us in reverence. Their champions. What an honor.

Paul’s eyes snag mine, and shame mingles with anger. I was an idiot to think he was the Gamemaster; still, I wish it had been him. I could almost wrap my head around the idea of Paul, this guy I once danced with, being the sadist behind the scenes. At least it wouldn’t have been my nerdy lab partner, the guy I almost kissed in a dark passageway. The guy who actually made me feel bad for kissing someone else.

“And now, brethren, drink. Drink to your chosen champion.” Around the room, each goblet is raised in either Remington’s direction or mine, too swiftly for me to follow, and then the ruby-colored liquid is drained.

In a brazen show of defiance, I lift my goblet to Remington, who, not missing a beat, tilts his at me before downing its contents. I follow suit.

Gavin glares at us momentarily. “Annabelle,” he says, tipping his head toward what I now realize is a vintage film projector on the ground, “if you will.”

Wineglass in hand, Annabelle flits over to turn on the projector, which clicks and casts a gritty picture against the stone wall. The picture plays out, showing Polly, bound and gagged. Her eyes bulge pleadingly, almost like she can see me. Beside her, Jane sits against a stone wall, equally restrained.

Remington’s body flinches against me.

The projector clicks off.

“Our champions will compete a series of challenges in an ode to their initiation, where they both proved worthy of our order. Obtaining the final game piece will result in the victory of one champion”—his eyes lower as he fiddles with the hood of his cloak—“and the imminent death of the other.”

Death of a champion?But Remington and I are the champions. A low tide of murmurs ripples through the chamber; a horrible numbness spreads through me. My goblet turns over, stem barely hanging from my grasp as the dark red dregs drip onto the floor.

“Not to worry,” Gavin says, motioning for the crowd to quiet down. “The loser will experience a fate far better than life. Our devotion and sacrifice bring us all closer to divinity; however, tonight’s offering will achieve completion the instant their soul leaves this world.” This elicits a renewed buzz of elation from the room.

“Now, champions. Allow me to introduce your patrons.” With this, his hands flick to the archway behind him.

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