Sonya's eager stare burned into me even from the short distance. I shivered at the vile intention behind her glare as she crept from behind the brush surrounding the thick trunk of a tree.

I took note of her lack of protective gear or weaponry and used the moment to my advantage by taking the blade from my cuff to grip in my fist.

I imagined the blade leaving my grip and traveling through the dank air to land in the center of Sonya's chest but being so cutthroat and cruel had never been in my DNA.

Her chest heaved as her breaths became intense, and I took the moment to not only teach her a lesson but also Ms. Holle. If they wanted to secretly give Sonya steroids to help quickly heal her sprained ankle, they should make sure their plan was indeed covert.

I matched Sonya's energy and approached the open door. A silent drone appeared from the tops of the trees behind her to capture all the adrenaline inducing excitement for the audience. Its warped shadow eerily cast on the ground before us.

As I lifted my eyes to bring attention to the hovering aerial vehicle. Sonya took the bait and raised her head to follow my gaze. And I locked in on my target, flinging the blade and watching it silently whip through the air to brutally impale the top of her foot through the shoe.

The injured foot.

Her howls of pain made me flinch due to the volume.

"You bitch!" she cried, bending to grab the blade but before her hand got anywhere near, I swiveled and yanked my cuffed arm. The force of the blade exiting the wound to return to me, flipped her off her feet and she dropped back on the roots just as the clank of metal on metal sounded around us.

With my fist raised and the blade attached, I watched as she writhed on the ground in pain.

"You fucking bitch," she cried out. "I'll kill you."

The immense power of successfully nailing my target surged through me and for a split second I allowed satisfaction to paint my face in a grin, but it didn't last long.

Dylan rushed to the door, pushing me aside. "You gotta finish her!" he called out and in a shocking move, he gripped her blade by the handle and yanked it from the door jamb. It had been embedded in the wood since she threw it, barely missing Spencer's head. But instead of pocketing it, Dylan propelled it at her.

The blade swiveled through the air and instead of piercing her as he had intended, the sharp end jammed in the mossy ground beside her.

She palmed it without a beat lost.

Spencer yanked Dylan back by his arm. "What the hell, Dylan?"

"We gotta take her down," Dylan insisted. "This is our chance, bro."

But his impulsive plan backfired. It was too late. She got up and limped away behind the thick trees and brush, leaving a trail of blood behind.

"You should've aimed for her head," Spencer sneered. "Her foot? What would that do? Are you even trying to win?"

I wish I could explain what I discovered behind the scenes in the medical area, and how they were assisting Sonya with steroids, but to reveal that would expose me to the production team and would probably make things worse for me.

Plus, I had to do what Millie suggested the entire time and not trust anyone. I'm sure if Dylan had the chance, he would've aimed for my head too.

"Why would you do that, huh?" Spencer nudged his shoulder. "What happened to being strategic?"

"Bro, she almost killed you!" He pushed him back, causing Spencer to stumble to keep his balance. "She threw that knife inches from your skull and you just let her get away to try it again next time. At least I was doing something to try and stop her."

Spencer huffed, accepting his brother's explanation. "I get it, man."

"Yeah, big bro. I'm looking out for you." Dylan shrugged. "For us."

Spencer nodded and pulled him in by the shoulder. Their hug was uncomfortably brief but also a silent understanding between them. They indeed had each other's backs.

I lifted an eyebrow, sensing their strong bond. Millie and I had that before. My heart ached at the thought of never having that again.

I just wanted my sister to be okay.

The quiet drone moved overhead. The artificial moonlight gleamed from the body of it and caught my attention. We all watched it silently make its way to the other side of the forest.

Curiously I stepped foot outside the safe zone only to be stopped by the glowing light of the TV screen.

The host appeared on the flatscreen TV. His voice seeped through the speakers in the forest as he introduced a new game. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you in the upcoming game. It's time for a personalized challenge, a game tailored just for our devious contestant, Kam. We'll see how well she handles the consequences of deceit. Get ready for a spine-tingling experience!"

I cocked my head in confusion. "Devious?"

"Personalized?" Spencer scratched his temple. "What's going on?"

"Is there gonna be personalized challenges for all of us?" Dylan's eyes didn't move from the screen, but his question was answered with another ear-piercing siren.

I covered my ears with my palms and watched as the brothers quickly glanced at each other before running out of the small hut.

I wasn't surprised they were already on it, sprinting toward the bright lights on the other side of the forest in the direction the drone had traveled.

Before stepping out and following them, I eyed the images of the next game on the screen. If they were broadcasting it even to the contestants, it must've been important. But I also knew time was limited. I probably had approximately thirty seconds to get to the game arena, but I needed to take in whatever information they were giving.

The cameras swept over a large platform that had a pool of liquid of some sort beneath three large wooden planks. I couldn't stay longer, as the sirens drowned out any audio the TV produced.

I rushed out of the safe zone and toward the lights off in the distance. I sprinted through the dense forest, each step sinking into the soft, damp ground. The remnants of disorientating fog curled around the twisted exposed roots of the trees like ghostly fingers. The distant wails of sirens pierced the eerie stillness of the enchanted woods, beckoning me towards the pulsating lights of the set.

As I raced forward, the tangled undergrowth clawed at my shoes, and the cold mist clung to me like a shroud.

Finally, I approached the painted wall that gave the illusion that more red apple forest was ahead. I followed the wall to the ornate framed opening that represented the fictional wicked Queen Grimhilde's magic mirror and slipped through and into the massive warehouse filled with piles of straw.

The last time I was here I met the Wolfman. This time fear and caution slowed my steps as I made my way around the towering beds of golden straw lit by warm yellow lights gleaming from the scaffolding. Further ahead was a stage, lit with massive lights and resembled what had been broadcasted on screen.

However, the entire elevated stage and pit of liquid beneath it was surrounded by a tall and sturdy chain linked fence that seemed to stretch endlessly into the fog-laden distance. As soon as I entered the gate the siren stopped, and the door slammed closed behind me.

In the heart of the ominous Grimm Games set, a raised platform emerged. On the grand stage, three figures stood, their identities concealed beneath eerie, shroud-like tarps that resembled burlap sack potatoes were collected in. Only the lower halves of their bodies were exposed, revealing their bound legs that had been anchored to the wooden plank behind them.

The first figure to the left resembled an average sized man, whose only notable features were his exposed hands that appeared fair-skinned. Beside him, in the middle, stood a second figure. Their brown hands and arms peeked from under the tarp and suggested a slim person of color. The third, a slender dark skinned person, completed the mysterious trio.

Each person stood on an individual wooden platform, and feet below them was a pool of dark liquid, its murky depths adding an element of dread to the already ominous scene. The flickering lights overhead cast eerie shadows on the figures, creating a haunting spectacle that bespoke the sinister nature of the game.

"Good evening, Grimm Games enthusiasts!" A large screen blazed to life behind the figures showcasing Chuck Gillian who stood on a stage next to a massive screen before the wild crowd of hundreds of people.

"Now, who among you has something to say about Kamila Wendall's performance so far? Step up to the microphone and let your voices be heard! Is she a contender or merely a lost cause in the twisted labyrinth of Grimm Games?"

Why was I being singled out? Did it have something to do with deception as they described? Could they mean the fact that Millie signed up under my identity? Was this their way of punishing us for that?

I stared at the thin dark skinned figure to the right under the tarp. Interestingly, the person's pants resembled a black Grimm Games jumpsuit, and the others were in plain everyday clothes.

Millie?

"Well, I get that it's a game, but lying about who you are? That's a bold move." A person from the audience found the standing mic and expressed their opinion while I looked around for the Jeffrey brothers, spotting them standing within a chain link enclosure maybe forty feet away. The only people missing were the Torres siblings and Millie.

I used the five steps to climb up onto the platform.

"I mean, it adds a layer of mystery, but is it worth the risk? They're playing with fire, and who knows what's in store for them now. It's like they're creating their own plot twists, and I can't decide if that's brilliant or just plain reckless. But hey, it's entertaining, that's for sure. Can't wait to see how this unfolds."

I ignored the screen, the opinions, and took note of the three planks that led from where I stood on the edge of the stage to each of the figures. Below the planks was the foul stench of whatever dark liquid gurgled beneath.

I tested the strength of the wooden beam with my weight, and it held. So, I made my way to the thin figure in the black challenger jumpsuit. The noise of the opinionated audience howled through the stale air, so I gently gripped the person's exposed hand to let them know I was there and willing to help.

My touch startled them, and their hand clenched into a defensive fist.

"Millie?" I called. Then their hands went crazy trying to detach from their restraints. "Millie, is that you?" I tried pulling at the tarp, but its weight made it difficult to budge. When I examined the top of the fabric, I spotted a cable attached to it for what I imagined would be a grand reveal.

Then the others began to squirm but neither made a sound. I looked to the left where in the center of the two figures was the one with the darker complexion. "Millie, I'll get you out of here. Just hold on."

I made my way back over the plank, careful not to fall into the churning liquid below. My mind raced with the possibilities of what this game could entail. But if I could help any of the people, I would try.

It was obvious their lives would soon be in my hands.

Back to the edge of the stage, I detoured to warily make my way down the middle plank toward the figure. Successfully balancing over the pool of liquid beneath.

The last figure on the left didn't resemble Tobias. Their physiques didn't match, and the person's hands were riddled with callouses and sun damage as if belonging to someone much older.

But something in my heart told me that the delicate, dainty hands of the person in the middle belonged to someone I've touched before. My heart sank and the dreadful realization hit when I reached out to grip the pretty bronze hand and it squeezed mine twice.