Day Four on Jaguar Ridge broke with a tension that was palpable even through the humidity.
The drone didn't buzz this morning. Instead, a flare shot up from the beach, painting a streak of red smoke across the pale blue sky.
"It's time," Aria said, zip-tying her boots. She looked like a soldier preparing for deployment, her face devoid of makeup, her rose-gold hair braided tight against her scalp.
Leo was bouncing on his heels, fueled by nervous energy and the lingering protein of the chicken leg Aria had smuggled him. Lucas sat on his log, staring at his hands. He looked broken. The realization that he wasn't the hero of this story had settled deep in his bones, right next to the hunger pangs.
Bella was the last to stand. She looked feral. Her eyes were sunken, her lips chapped, but there was a manic glint in her gaze. She had nothing left to lose. Her "Saintess" image was in tatters; winning was her only path to redemption.
