Page 126 of Kill Feed

People drift toward the opening with curiosity first, then urgency. The moment I cross the threshold, I understand why. The space beyond is nothing like the warehouse. Dark wooden floors stretch beneath chandeliers, stone pillars rising into warm amber glows. It’s like stepping from prison into a luxury estate. Or perhaps into the holding room before an execution.

The centerpiece dominates the room with a massive dining table stretched end to end, buried under food. Steaks, roasted vegetables, fresh bread, chicken, fruit, pastries, and the list goes on. Jugs of water and juice line the edges. It’s more than twenty-five people could ever consume.

The reaction is instant. Contestants surge forward, some nearly running. A woman snatches a jug of water before reaching the table. A man tears into a bread roll like he hasn’t eaten in days.

Lucas moves to join them, and I’m forced to catch the back of his hoodie. Restraining him, again.

He stops. “Come on, man. What now?”

This time Amani apprehends him. “It could be poisoned.”

Lucas blinks, then eases back, “…right.” His appetite vanishes instantly, gaze hardening as if the food itself has betrayed him.

Across the room, the loudmouth and his entourage hold back as well. He’s watching the rest closely, waiting for someone to fall to the floor and start convulsing.

Neither of us wants to be the first rat to die in this experiment.

Minutes tick by as contestants eat, drink, and talk with ease, nothing dire happening. No one collapses face-first into their plate.

Eventually, even the man and his group drift towards the table, filling their plates like the rest.

“You can eat,” I announce, and Lucas doesn’t need telling twice—he’s already moving. Amani practically sprints for the drinks. Within seconds, she’s downing water so fast I wonder if she remembers to breathe. Then cranberry juice. Then more water. Relief floods her face. It’s almost painful to watch.

I stay back a moment longer before my stomach decides for me. Hunger slams into me all at once. I step to the table, grabbing water and a plate. Taking a seat beside Amani and Lucas, I start piling the plate with rice, chicken, and some more rice. Anything with substance. Desserts don’t tempt me, and I pass over the gravies and sauces as well. The food might be free, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be here all night. For all I know, this is the last real meal we’ll get.

I pick at the chicken while studying the room.

Most people are too busy surviving their own panic to notice they’re advertising it.

The girl from the clearing keeps checking the exits. The skinny guy who got laughed at earlier has practically attached himself to another contestant. Two people are already talking strategy while someone else is somehow flirting.

Then there’s the loud one.

He’s tearing through a leg of lamb while his group laughs around him, completely at ease. Or pretending to be.

My gaze drifts toward the cameras mounted in the corners, and I wonder if the hunters are watching too.

Would that mean Dante’s watching me right now?

A strange pressure settles beneath my ribs, sharp and clawing at my insides. A kind of uncomfortable sensation that makes me want to physically remove whatever is causing it.

My grip tightens around the fork, eyes dropping to the bracelet that peeks from under my jacket sleeve.

Every memory immediately surfaces—from the nights spent at his apartment to the morning walks with his dog. Every conversation, every fucking kiss, and every time we fucked. Could it all still have been a lie?

A cold feeling latches onto my body. It’s not the idea of betrayal per se that gets to me. I’ve felt betrayal before.

This… this is something else. Something much worse. And if all of that was fake—if I was just another game to him—then I don’t know what to do with that.

Fuck, I hope I’m wrong.

A chime cuts through the room, pulling everyone’s attention toward the far wall. A section of it slides downward with a mechanical hiss, revealing a massive screen hidden behind it. The display flickers before a list of names appears.

My eyes skim over them automatically until something lower on the screen catches my attention. A few names have been crossed out with thick red lines. No explanation is needed, and the room seems to realize it as well.

The screen changes, and one name expands across the display.

MASON BENNETT