I never wanted the crown. I wanted my sister safe.

Now, standing in the golden antechamber beneath chandeliers made of frozen tears, I feel the weight of the silver circlet digging into my skull. The other eleven maidens surround me—some trembling, some smirking. We’re dressed in white silk, each with a single red rose pinned over the heart. Symbolic, they say. Purity stained by desire.

The first trial begins in ten minutes. We’ll cross the Skybridge blindfolded, balancing on a narrow ribbon of glass above the hound pit. Only six may pass.

A hand brushes mine. Mira, the silent girl from District Nine, points to her eyes, then to the ceiling beams. She’s seen something. A trapdoor? An escape?

Or a warning?

The announcer calls our names in alphabetical order. I’m seventh. That means I’ll cross after the first few have fallen. I’ll see what kills them before it comes for me.

But hesitation means death.

Do I wait and watch? Do I run first and risk the unknown? Or do I make sure someone else goes before me—by any means necessary?