Page 14 of Pyne

As we approach the final stretch, the Saurians and felines are neck-and-neck in front of us, their bickering and posturing reaching a fever pitch. Pyne and I exchange a silent nod, a wordless agreement passing between us.

In a burst of speed, we sprint across the last beam, our tethered forms blurring together as we leap and twist over the final hurdle. The goo bubbles and hisses beneath us, but we barely notice, our gazes locked on the finish line.

With a final, triumphant lunge, Pyne and I cross the threshold hand-in-hand, our chests heaving with exertion and exhilaration. We collapse into each other’s arms, laughingbreathlessly as the Saurians and felines gape at us in stunned disbelief.

“We did it,” I gasp, my face pressed against Pyne’s sweat-slicked chest. “I can’t believe we actually did it.”

He grins down at me, his blue eyes sparkling with pride and something deeper, something that makes my heart flutter. “Never doubted us for a moment, sugarplum. We’re a force to be reckoned with, you and I.”

As Arisha announces our victory and the robotic arm releases our tether, I feel a surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. The challenges may be growing more perilous, and our competitors more ruthless, but with Pyne by my side, I believe we can overcome anything.

And as we exit the stage hand-in-hand, our heads held high and our hearts beating in sync, I realize this partnership, this connection we’re forging through sweat, tears, and cosmic goo, is the real prize—one that no immunity challenge or baking contest can ever take away.

Chapter Eleven

Becca

The moment I step into the baking arena, I’m hit with the aroma of spices and sugary confections. Cinnamon, ginger, and something that smells like peppermint tickles my nose, sparking a little surge of nostalgia. It’s starting to feel a lot like Christmas—even out here, in the depths of space.

Arisha steps onto the stage, glowing in a shimmering green and red gown that shifts colors under the lights like a living Christmas ornament.

“Welcome, bakers… and gladiator, to the Galactic Glingonbread Garrison Challenge!”

A murmur of excitement ripples through the crowd as Arisha continues. “Each team will have four hours to construct anedible fortress using Zorgellian spice cakes, Meeponian sugar mortar, and an assortment of candy adornments. Your creations will be judged on structural integrity, aesthetic appeal, and, of course, taste!”

I turn to Pyne, a grin spreading across my face. “We do something similar on Earth. We call them gingerbread houses.”

His eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Gingerbread houses? Do Earthlings live in them?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No, no. They’re just for decoration… and eating. It’s a holiday tradition.”

As we head to our workstation, I take in the ingredients laid out before us. We’re supplied with many recipes for the spice cakes and mortar. I set the computer pad to English, taste the spices to familiarize myself with them, and combine a few recipes to create spice cakes of my own design. Luckily, though the ingredients are new to me, the flavor profiles are very similar to holiday recipes and flavors from home.

I feel a sudden pang of homesickness, remembering the gingerbread houses my family used to make together every Christmas. The laughter, the sticky fingers, the joy of creation, the competition—it all comes rushing back.

I don’t think of my family and friends often. Not that I don’t love them or miss them. Just the opposite. I discovered shortly after my abduction just how much it hurt to think of them. It wasn’t just emotional pain, it was so wide and deep it made my body ache.

There’s something different today, though. When I think of Mom and Dad, it hurts, but it’s as though the pain has been blunted. My gaze slants to Pyne as I wonder if perhaps having him around, so thoughtful and gentle, has somehow taken the edge off my grief.

He notices my wistful expression and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You okay, sugarplum?”

I nod, blinking back the memories. “Yeah, just thinking about the holidays back home. Let’s make this Galactic Glingonbread Garrison one that would make my family proud.”

As we set to work, I guide Pyne through the process. After we put the bread in the oven, we use the computer pad to sketch our design. I know it has to be something unique and striking for us to win, but all I can think of are the creations I made with my family back on Earth.

Luckily, Pyne’s imagination is on overdrive today. He adds turrets and windows and we decide on a protective moat and drawbridge we’ll construct if we have time.

When the bread’s done baking, we slice it thin and put it back in a low oven so it turns the consistency of graham crackers rather than bread. Then we stack the spice cakes and use the sugar mortar to hold the construction together. Pyne’s strong, steady hands are surprisingly nimble, and soon we’ve got a solid foundation laid out.

I’m decorating the walls with intricate patterns of candy when I catch sight of the team next to us—the pair of hulking Saurianreptilians with scales that glint like polished obsidian. During dinner last night, Pyne mentioned they have a reputation for being as ruthless as they are cunning. I can only wonder how the pair stumbled into a baking competition rather than becoming mercenaries like so many others of their species.

As I watch, one of them, the male who has a jagged scar across his snout, reaches over and deliberately knocks a tray of candy adornments off the workstation of the team on their other side. The delicate spun sugar shapes shatter on the floor, and one of the other team’s bakers, a willowy, iridescent alien, lets out a cry of dismay.

“Oops.” The Saurian’s voice drips with mock sincerity. “How clumsy of me.”

His partner, a female with eyes like molten gold, snickers as they continue working on their own garrison, which is already taking on a menacing, spiked appearance.

Anger surges through me and I turn to Pyne, who also noticed the reptilians’ underhanded tactics. “Pyne, we can’t let them get away with that.”

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