Page 43 of Beautiful Prey

“I’ve noticed.”

He huffs something that might have been another laugh, then winces as he shifts beneath the trunk. “I admire the commitment. Really seeing the bargain through to the bitter end.”

“This has nothing to do with your bargain.”

“No?”

“No.” I crouch beside him and shove my shoulder into the trunk to test its weight. It doesn’t budge. “This has everything to do with getting out of this storm alive.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“I’ll survive.”

“I meant for me.”

I glare at him. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Another gust drives sand across us. The tree groans.

“Can you get an arm around me?” I ask.

“Careful. That almost sounded like an invitation.”

“Good. Then help me get you up.”

“You’re acting like we’re in this together.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

For the first time since the tree came down, he doesn’t answer immediately.

“...All right.”

Together, we lever the trunk just far enough for him to drag his chest clear. The moment the weight settles back into place, his knees give way. I catch him under the arm before he hits the ground again. He’s heavier than I expected, solid muscle and soaked clothes, and almost all of his weight ends up leaning against me.

He sucks in a sharp breath and straightens as much as he can. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m walking because I decided to.”

I snort despite myself. “Sure.”

He points into the storm. “We go that way. There’s a cave cut into the ridge at two hundred meters, maybe less.” Shifting more of his weight onto me, he grimaces. “Keep us above the runoff. If we drop into the valley, the flood will finish what the tree started.”

Tightening my grip around his waist before the next gust knocks us both sideways, I say, “Fine. But if you pass out, I’m leaving you.”

A rough laugh escapes him, followed immediately by a cough.

“Liar.”

We limp through a forest that’s barely a forest anymore. Sand races between the trunks in dense sheets, swallowing every trail beneath it. Abandoned packs lie split open where candidates dropped them to run faster, their clothes and ration wrappers whipping in the air. Far below, a body lies half-buried against a fallen log while three others fight over the rucksack still strapped to his shoulders.

Nobody looks at us. Nobody has time. Every candidate left standing is running for shelter as the storm tears the Hunt apart around them, branches snapping overhead, trees bending under the wind's weight until the whole mountain sounds alive.

“There.” The Adjudicator lifts a hand toward a narrow crack in the rock, almost hidden behind a curtain of roots. I shoulder him through the opening, waiting until he disappears into the darkness before following him inside.

The shelter is smaller than it looked from the outside.

It’s not quite a cave, more a hollow beneath the roots of a fallen giant, the earth torn open until the root plate rises above us like a wall.