Page 276 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

“Then prove it. Again,” Scotty urges with a nudge of his chin, gesturing for him and Cooper to continue sparring.

Tate has also been noticeably absent. We do see him training alone or in passing in our Bonded chambers, but he doesn’t interact with us; he’s been understandably harbouring the mood of a thunderstorm since that fateful day in the Training Centre, and seemingly deciding we’ll never be any help in him and Ezla getting together, he’s given up on the idea of training with us, even though it’s to his own detriment.

My bleeding heart aches for him despite the fact he scares the crap out of me.

“Bloody hell, stop doing that! It doesn’t work!”

“It works on Scotty!

“Do I look like your brother to you?!”

“Hmmmm . . .” Tiger pauses to consider the question seriously. “A little bit, yeah—”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Coops, I know what you meant. Calm down—”

“Would you stop calling me tha—”

“Enough!”

All eyes dart to Scotty.

Then—

“He started it!” Tiger accuses vehemently, arm whipping out to point a finger at Cooper.

“I did not—”

Scotty’s head tips back as if praying for patience.

After another minute of Cooper and Tiger squabbling, he loses it.

“SHUT UP!”

My heart leaps into my throat even though his anger isn’t directed at me.

“We have ten days until Game 2. Our Bonded is fuck knows where, and another member of our group has gone AWOL.” He takes a breath and blows it out heavily, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and it no doubt feels like it is. He’s had a natural leader’s role from the moment I first met him, and he’s adopted the same for our Bonded group seamlessly. So, considering how much of a catastrophe that group currently is, I’m not surprised by his frustration. “Now, I’ll accept that because I won’t force Tate to do anything he doesn’t want to, and also because his Score is high enough that I’m confident he’ll be fine throughout Game 2. But you”—he spears a finger in Cooper’s direction—“have chosen to stay with us and train. So I expect you to actually do that without bickering with my brother every chance you get.”

Cooper’s brows dip, but he stays silent.

“What—” My voice comes out too quiet, and I unclog my throat with a short cough. “What about Ezla?”

Silence.

Then, “Ezla will be okay.” Scotty is certain about that, but then, so am I. He knows that wasn’t my real concern.

“It’s just the question of whether we will be,” Cooper drawls sardonically.

Scotty’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t deny it. “Yeah, well, that’s just another reason to train harder. If our Bonded does try to kill us, we at least need to be as prepared as possible for it . . . even if it’s very unlikely we’d survive either way.” His last words are barely more than a whisper, and a tremor I can’t control racks through my body.

We’re not safe yet. In fact, I think things just got a whole lot more deadly.

***

We train, and we keep training.

The day after Game 1—the same day Ezla knocked Tate off his feet . . . and not in the good way—we all noticed a screen on the Training Centre’s wall by the entrance doors which had all our Player numbers on it with our Scores beside them. I’d been filled with a swirl of shock, happiness, relief, and pride to see a 62 beside my 29, as well as the previously lime-green accents on my suit darkening to a more leafy one a fair handful of shades darker.