Screams—raw, broken, soaked in agony—rip through the night, slipping beneath your door and clawing their way into your dreams. You jolt awake with a sharp gasp, heart hammering in your chest. Your body is already exhausted, limbs heavy from only having returned from Loot a few hours ago, yet adrenaline floods you instantly, washing the fatigue away.

Another cry echoes through the halls.

Your breath catches.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, the cool stone floor biting at your bare feet. Moving on instinct, you cross the room and pull the door open just enough to peer into the dim hallway beyond. Shadows stretch long and crooked along the walls, broken only by the faint glow of distant torches. The doors of the other contestants line the corridor like silent witnesses, closed, unmoving—no one else stirring. No one else coming.

Then it comes again.

His voice.

You freeze, every muscle locking in place as recognition settles in your gut like a stone. There’s no mistaking it.

For a moment, you hesitate, mind racing—should you wake someone? Should you turn back?—but the sound that follows is worse, frayed and desperate, and it pushes you forward before doubt can root itself any deeper.

You move quietly down the hall, careful with every step, until you’re standing outside his private chambers. Your hand closes around the door handle. You pause there, fingers tightening, heart pounding loud enough that you’re sure it might give you away.

Then you push the door open and slip inside, shutting it softly behind you.

The room is cloaked in darkness, heavy and suffocating. As your eyes slowly adjust, the outline of the bed comes into focus—and the figure sprawled atop it. You approach cautiously, each step measured, until the faint torchlight reveals more of him.

Kai’s chest is bare, slick with sweat, rising and falling in uneven, frantic breaths. His muscles are pulled tight, as if bracing against something unseen. His head is thrown back against the pillow, black strands of hair plastered to his forehead, his face twisted with strain.

Whatever dragged him from sleep has not let go.

His lips move, shaping words you can’t quite understand—broken murmurs, half-formed pleas—and a chill crawls up your spine. You don’t want to imagine the nightmare gripping him so tightly. What could be so horrifying that even a prince, trained to fight and endure, is left defenseless against it?

“Kai?” you whisper, your voice barely cutting through the silence.

Nothing.

“Kai,” you try again, louder this time, reaching out to shake his shoulder.

The moment your hand makes contact, he cries out—a sharp, ragged sound that sends panic flaring through you. Acting without thinking, you climb onto the edge of the bed, gripping his shoulders, your hands slipping against his sweat-slick skin as you plead for him to wake, to see you, to come back.

Then his eyes snap open.

In an instant, everything changes.

Strong hands seize your waist, yanking you forward and flipping you beneath him. The mattress dips violently under your combined weight as he pins you down, his grip crushing your wrists against the bed. Your breath leaves you in a gasp as his body presses into yours, solid and unyielding.

“Kai—!” you start, but the word dies in your throat.

His movements are fast, precise—trained. One hand releases you only long enough to reach beneath the pillow. When he pulls it free, moonlight glints off something silver.

Something sharp.

Cold steel presses against your neck.

The dagger rests at your throat, steady and lethal, just enough pressure to promise what would happen if you moved.

His eyes are wild, unfocused, still half-lost to the nightmare—and in that moment, you realize he doesn’t see {{user}} at all.

Not yet.