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His eyes are wildly feral, and a disturbing grin cuts from ear to ear.

“I bet you thought you wouldn’t see me again!” His laughter rolls across the arena, flooding my senses as realization seeps into my bones.

Mason spreads his arms, almost presenting himself to the cameras, and that grin stretches even wider, but the pounding of boots across metal pulls my attention sideways.

An exposed walkway runs along the platform, enclosed behind steel fencing. Movement catches my eye on one side, and the twins emerge from behind the mesh, slowing as they peer into the arena.

Then I hear another set of footsteps, and Dante appears on the opposite side, mask discarded.

The second his eyes find me standing in the arena, his entire posture changes. He reaches the nearest gate and grabs the bars, yanking hard enough to make the metal groan before trying the lock, kicking at it.

I barely have time to register the panic flickering behind his eyes before Mason’s laughter rolls across the space.

“No one’s coming to rescue you now, you little bitch.” He points at me, delighted with himself as he adds, “It’s just us.”

Mason comes for me without warning, and I barely twist aside before his fist tears through the space where my face was, the force behind it making the air snap against my cheek. I stagger two steps, catching my balance as he turns with startling speed.

He’s fucking faster than he should be.

The thought barely forms before he is on me again and I’m unable to block the next strike. Force strikes my cheek, the impact driving me backward. My vision blurs as I catch sight of the graffiti eyes littering the wall, staring down at me before I feel hands on my hoodie, pulling me forward.

My eyes snap to Mason, who looks like a wild dog, foaming at the mouth with rage and fucking rabies by the looks of it. I try to pry him away, sliding my arms under his, and they fall away right in time for me to land a hit across his jaw that he barely fucking feels.

“Miss Whitlock pumped me full of drugs,” he claims, moving his jaw before lunging at me again. “Do your fucking worst, Summers. I don’t feel a thing!”

Fuck.

I do.

Every part of my body trembles with pain, the kind that has settled so deeply into my bones that I’ve almost grown accustomed to it. What I can’t acclimatize to is the exhaustion; it weighs on every muscle, dragging at me until even keeping myself upright feels like work.

His fist catches my ribs. I retaliate immediately, driving my elbow into his jaw, but Mason barely reacts. His head snaps sideways, then swings back toward me with that same rabid grin.

He drives his knee into my abdomen, and the impact folds me in half before sending me crashing to the ground. I struggle to drag in a breath as his shadow falls over me, his boots stopping inches from my face.

I can’t get up. I can’t fucking get up.

I drag myself toward the edge of the platform, inching closer to the water below because distance is the only advantage I have left, but it means nothing. Mason follows at an almost leisurely pace, clearly enjoying the fact that I can barely keep myself moving.

“What a fucking loser you are,” he says, tone almost lazy. His boot comes down against the side of my head, pinning me against the wet flooring. Pressure builds beneath my skull, and I grit my teeth hard enough to make my jaw ache as my vision begins to blur around the edges.

Stars prick across the rain-slicked, neon-lit arena, and I try to blink them away, but my gaze finds Dante instead.

He’s still at the gate, kicking relentlessly at the lock, trying to force his way through to me.

“God, look at you. You’re so fucking weak it’s laughable,” Mason continues.

Weak. There that word is again. It has followed me for as long as I can remember, drilled into me until I learned to hate the sound of it. My father used it like a verdict, something he could stamp across every failure, every hesitation, every part of me he thought needed to be beaten out. I spent years building a life from nothing, stripping away every weakness I could find until there was barely anything left worth breaking.

And somehow, it still found me.

“You’re so weak,” Mason says again, pressing his boot harder against the side of my head. “You couldn’t even protect that bitch who was always at your side.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” I seethe through my teeth as something inside me buckles. Panic floods through my skin, cold and immediate, while his words sink deeper than any of his blows ever could.

Mason keeps talking, but I barely hear him anymore. His words have found every wound that matters and started tearing them the-fuck apart.

Sound crashes through the arena as the lock finally gives with a violent metallic snap, and Dante bursts through the gate, charging toward me with a fury that makes my stomach drop.