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.

The guys fell on each other like a pack of dogs fighting for a scrap of meat. Some went for full-on bodily contact, attempting to throw each other to the ground and steal hearts. Other competitors took a more savage approach, hurling cinder blocks and wielding other debris as weapons. Most of my attention stayed on Eddie, who took a calmer approach and waited for people to come after him. His strength wasn’t initially obvious, and many thought he’d be easy prey. Their mistaken beliefs were soon corrected as he dispatched one attacker after another, knocking them out with precision punches and kicks—then collecting their hearts afterward. Losing your heart didn’t mean you were out of the competition. If you could recover your heart—or simply have a majority at the end of the hour—it was all good. Some of those Eddie took hearts from attempted recovery. Others moved on to seemingly easier foes.

My real heart—the one in my chest—thudded as I watched Eddie. I needed him to stay in the competition. I needed us both to. So far, there didn’t seem to be any cause to worry. He was clearly faster and stronger than most people out there, plus he had the seasoning and experience to make use of his gifts. Others, though strong, had no real skills and simply relied on brute force—which proved effective in some cases. I saw one guy slam a wooden plank into another’s knee, causing the victim to crumple in pain and scream as he fell. His attacker snatched away the victory heart, ignoring his opponent’s pleas for help in getting to Bart and first aid. Eddie happened to be passing by at the time and paused to help the fallen guy get to the bench.

Another guy—the one who’d let out the earlier primal scream—was also making pretty short work of his competition. His muscles bulged grotesquely, making me wonder if he took steroids or simply lived in a gym. He apparently had some fans in the audience, because they shouted his name each time he captured a heart. “Caleb! Caleb! Go, Caleb!”

Caleb flashed a malicious grin at his fans as he stormed through the arena, looking for new prey. Although his own strength was powerful unaided, he still sometimes utilized a cinder block as an asset. I wasn’t alone in gasping when he slammed it into some guy’s head, instantly knocking the guy to the ground. Caleb swept up the three hearts his victim wore and went on his way. Bart himself came out to drag the fallen back to the safety of the stands, and I didn’t really start breathing again until I saw the poor guy limply move an arm.

Two other guys had arrived together, like Eddie and me, and were teaming up to take out foes and split the hearts between them. It was a smart strategy, and I wished Eddie and I could’ve utilized it. The Warriors had some outdated hang-ups about men and women, and although there were female competitors, Sabrina had explained that girls in the Warriors were often kept out of the line of danger and relegated to milder roles. I wasn’t sure if I should applaud the Warriors for showing some sign of consideration or be offended that they didn’t think women could keep up with men in bloodthirsty brutality.

As the hour wound down, about half of the competitors were gone from the fray, off getting whatever medical attention Bart could administer. A few guys were clearly dominant: notably Eddie, Caleb, and the twosome. Those remaining were trying to pick off each other or go after one of the leaders. Chris shouted a five-minute warning, and one guy, desperately realizing he was nearly out of the running, made a frantic charge at Caleb in the hopes of securing a massive stash of hearts. Caleb knocked him away like he was a fly, then kicked him when he was down on the ground, despite the guy’s pleas to stop. “Just take them! Just take them!” The guy on the ground frantically tried to pull the hearts off his head and hand them over while Caleb just kept kicking. The nausea in my stomach reared up again until Caleb finally left the guy in peace. He stalked off, his gaze falling on Eddie, but thankfully, Chris called time just then. Everyone leaned forward, eager to find out the results.

Unsurprisingly, Caleb and Eddie had the most, followed by three other guys I hadn’t paid much attention to. The two who’d worked together were tied for the sixth-place spot. I wondered if the Warriors would accept seven victors, but after deliberating with the masters, Chris selected only one as the winner. He congratulated the other, encouraging him to try again next year. I hadn’t noticed the guy who’d won—Wayne—doing anything particularly different from his friend in fighting. Wayne was, however, much bigger and better built. Something told me the Warriors put a lot of emphasis on physical appearances, probably assuming that he who looked the strongest would be the strongest.

That didn’t bode well for me, because when the girls were called up—thirteen of us—it was clear I was the smallest and least buff-looking of them all. Things worsened when Chris announced that only two girls would advance and that they would be determined based on whoever had the most hearts at the end of the hour. Eddie and I exchanged brief glances across the arena at that. Two girls? That wasn’t much of a safety net, especially when it was imperative that I, more than Eddie, stick around to search out information about Jill’s whereabouts. He gave me a tight smile and nodded encouragingly, seeming to say, “Well, then, just make sure you’ve got the most hearts.”