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Zaara's fingers were still tangled in mine as we headed back toward the center of the room.
Dinner was served like every other night—trays shoved through the slots in the wall. Protein mush. A few scraps of vegetables. Water tasting faintly of metal.
Neither of us had much appetite.
We sat shoulder to shoulder on one of the bunks, trays balanced on our laps, forcing down bites in silence. Around us, the other contestants kept stealing glances our way, whispering behind their hands.
Theo wandered past, muttering, "Eat up, Lover Boy. Might be your last meal."
I shot him a half-hearted glare, but he just kept walking.
Zaara nudged me lightly. "Ignore him. He's an ass."
"I know," I mumbled, poking at the grayish food.
A few bunks away, Nomi lay propped up on pillows, still pale, eyes half-lidded. Kira hovered protectively nearby, checking her pulse every few minutes.
