Page 105 of The Wrong Play

I stared at the note, then turned my head slightly to look at the very distant edge of the rooftop.

Then back at the note.

Then at the skyline, stretching out in front of me.

Then back at the note.

I dragged a hand down my face. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“All right, Thatcher,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my shoulders. “You’ve survived worse.”

Which—objectively—was debatable, considering I had neveractuallyhad toblindfold myself and walk a fucking rooftop ledgebefore.

But hey. First time for everything.

You know what would have been much better than this trial? Literally anything else.

What about a cook-off? Who could heat up a corn dog the fastest? Or a milk drinking contest—no ice, obviously. Ooh, what about an obstacle course?

Allof these things would be much more appropriate for a fuckingcollegestudent.

Something else I would leave in my feedback along with my comment about welcoming snacks before trials. A cookie would have been great right about now.

This was the moment, though. The moment where any sane person—hell, even aninsaneperson—would weigh their options.

Option A: I could just walk away. Call their bluff. Refuse to be their trained monkey. This wasn’t exactly a legally binding contract. What were they gonna do, give me a bad Yelp review?

Option B: I could do the dumbass thing. Walk blindfolded across the ledge like I had some kind of death wish, risking aquick splat on the pavement below for the sake of a game I wasn’t even sure Iwantedto play.

It wasn’t a hard choice. Ishouldwalk away. I should turn around, find the exit, and tell them to shove this little hazing ritual up their cryptic, Sphinx-worshipping asses.

But then…

Jagger’s face appeared in my head.

My mystery of an older brother. MySphinx-memberbrother.

If he had done this and survived, there was no way in hell I was backing out now.

Because I knew him. I knew he’d be sitting on his throne of smugness, justwaitingto give me shit for failing the second trial. Even if I died, he would figure out a way to rub it in my face.

And there was no fucking way I was giving him that.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my neck.

“All right,” I muttered. “Jagger lived. I’ll live. Surely they wouldn’t let me die, right?”

Right?

I pulled out my phone and fired off a text to Jagger:

Me: Thanks a lot asshole, for making me probably about to die due to our stupid sibling rivalry that shouldn’t even be a rivalry because I’m obviously superior.

He didn’t answer me.

I grabbed the black cloth that I’d tossed off earlier, feeling the rough, scratchy fabric between my fingers.Cheap bastards.“Blindfolded, huh?” I mused, already tying it around my head. “Could’ve at least gone for silk. Maybe some lace, make it sexy.”

I adjusted the knot, tugged it tight, then exhaled through my nose. And stepped forward.

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