I smiled at that and sat down beside a surly looking girl who was about a head taller than me and nearly as muscled as Chris. There were about thirty male recruits, and they scattered throughout the arena, taking positions they thought would be most strategic. Some stood on the crates, some staked out items that looked like they could be made into weapons—like the cinder blocks. Eddie based his position on those of the other combatants, selecting a place that gave him space and a good vantage.

“For the next hour,” Chris announced, “your goal is to collect as many of your opponents’ hearts as possible, by any means necessary. Everything in this arena is fair game. Any tactic is fair game—though we do ask that you try not to kill anyone. The six competitors with the most hearts at the end of the hour will advance. If at any time you feel incapable of going on, simply retreat over to that bench”—he pointed at another section of the stands, where a man in a red hat stood—“and place both palms down. That will release you from the challenge, and Bart will give you any first aid needed.”

Bart, in a plaid shirt and ripped-up jeans, didn’t strike me as someone who’d had any official medical training, but maybe appearances were deceiving.

My stomach was in knots as Chris asked if there were any questions and checked to make sure everyone was ready. Sabrina had warned us there’d be some sort of physical competition, but she hadn’t known the specifics. They changed year to year so that no sponsor could warn their recruits in advance. Apparently, the Warriors wanted things to stay fair, which seemed ironic considering the drugged and worn-down state they’d had Sonya in before bringing her to an attempted execution.

Chris held up his hand to mark the start, and a tense silence filled the air. Eddie leaned forward, squarely in his zone, eyes sharp and body ready. “Begin!” yelled Chris, bringing his hand down.

What followed next was chaos.