Ben, on the other hand, seems a little dazed. I can’t blame him. To step out of our brutal world and into this one is beyond disorienting. He walks slowly, almost as though in a trance, and his eyes glance furtively from side to side, trying to take everything in. I realize as he walks that it’s more than just being overwhelmed. It is like how my body could only reveal to me how exhausted it was once I was safe. Ben’s mind, I’m sure, is revealing to him just how much he’s been through: the death of his brother, fighting in the arena, every near-death experience. I can almost see that his mind is preoccupied with thoughts as he sifts through his memories. I have seen people suffer from post-traumatic stress, and his face bears the same look as they’d had. I can’t help but hope that his appearance doesn’t hamper our chances of being accepted here.

Soon, we’re off the main street and walking down some smaller, winding roads that lead through the forests. This time, it’s Charlie who starts hanging back, trudging a little way behind the rest of us. I drop my pace and draw up beside him.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks at me with terrified eyes.

“What if this is a trap?” he says under his breath. “What if they’re taking us to another arena?”

His question makes me wonder whether I’m being too trusting. I think back to the man who stole our supplies when we were on the run from the slaverunners. I’d trusted him and I’d been wrong. But this time it’s different. There’s no way Logan would have directed us toward danger.

I put my arm around Charlie’s shoulder.

“We’re safe now,” I explain. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

But as we go, the canopy thickens above us, blocking out the daylight and making dark shadows crowd in around us. Something about walking this long, dark path reminds me of the arenas, of walking those corridors knowing that a horrible, painful death was all that awaited me. I can feel my heart begin to hammer in my chest.

The sky gets darker and darker as we go. Bree must notice something is wrong, because she snuggles into me.

“You’re sweating,” she says.

“I am?”

I touch my brow and find that I’ve broken out in a cold sweat.

“Are you okay?” Bree adds.

But her voice sounds strange, distorted, like it’s coming from far, far away.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on my arm, and I scream as I see Rose’s black, wizened hand latching onto my arm. I lash out, pushing her away, scratching at her hand with my fingernails.