Chapter 2

For the sweetest of seconds it's like the entire world has been paused.

The forest with its rustling leaves and foreign sounds. The horse with its rider, completely disguised in black and bronze. Even his swinging arm, leather ropes carrying that ball seems to have stilled.

There's nothing.

Somewhere deep inside of me, my mind tells me to flee. To turn around and run as far away as I can. But my pride, my aversion toward anything that is related to the Pinault family name, keeps me grounded to grass and sand. To tree roots that feel like living entities as they appear out of nowhere, meandering organisms that wrap themselves around my ankles.

I can't move.

The thought brings a grimace onto my lips. Of course you can move, I tell myself, but my own voice is nothing but a metallic resonance inside my mind. It's weird. They're fucking with your head.

White pill.

I think of that song by Jefferson Airplane, a band my mom used to love.

One pill makes you larger

And one pill makes you small

And the ones that mother gives you

Don"t do anything at all

Go ask Alice

When she"s ten feet tall

She'd sit in her workshop, kneeling in front of countless canvasses, with her paint and brushes, and she would cradle her body to the rhythm of the song. Like that, looking disheveled in a big dress with splashes of colourful stains on the fabric, her long hair pulled into a loose braid and those freckles that decorated her cheeks and nose, she'll stay branded in my memory forever.

Precious. And gone somewhere far away.

"Mom?" I call out, but there's no reply in the darkness.

That's when the world is put back to "play."

The horse's hops quickly morph into gallops as it dives off from its spot in the shadows. It can't be further than fifteen meters away from me, and I let myself slide down and crawl even closer against the shelter of the tree.

The horse appears at alarming speed, its hooves crushing fallen leaves and churning patches of grass. The rider swings his ropes smoothly around his shoulder, as if it's the most normal thing to do in the middle of the fucking night in the woods. The horn is blown one more time, it's sound full and velvety, though equally menacing. If it's not the rider playing the instrument, then who is? And where does it come from?

It makes my ears buzz.

It's in your mind.

And then, suddenly, the horse halts, the reins pulled tight. Waiting.

Fuck me, I hope he hasn't seen me. I turn my face slightly to catch a glance of the animal and its bronze rider. They keep in the shades, silently. The silence is deathly, and a sudden snapping sound close to me makes me jump out of my skin and my blood runs cold.

There's someone else out there. I can feel it from the way the leaves bristle. From the way the air tenses. But mostly, from the way my skin crawls.

Then, a cry, further down the trail. Its raw sound rattles my ribcage. Shifting my aching backside and head as carefully as possible toward the sound, I can't help but shiver when I see him. The participant from before. The one who was afraid.

I don't know why, but it feels like everything's being put in perspective as I gaze up at him. From my position lurking in the shadows, he can't see me. Although I wonder if he would look at me in the first place. He's too busy freaking out. He's mumbling to himself, hugging his school jacket close to his slender frame, head bent as if he's counting his own toes. Then suddenly his head shoots back up, and he stares toward me. His dark mask has slid off ever so slightly, and even those loose, blonde curls that frame his cheeks and forehead like a bouquet of flowers, can't conceal his identity.

My heart starts hammering. I know that guy. Flicking through my mind, I try to remember where I met him before. It's not like I socialize a lot with these stuck-up kids, but there was that one guy…

My eyes widen. Yeah, that's him. Orlane, or Olivier, or something like that. Has a job in the library.

He's one of the nice ones.

What on earth is a guy like him doing here? He's a geek, always his nose in his books. He shouldn't be out here at midnight, running from some asshole on a horse. Yet here he is. He—we all are.

Because…why? Because we believed this promise to change our lives? What does a guy like him need to change? He's from a powerful family, if the rumours are true.

On the trail, Olivier starts running. His loose jacket flutters around his frail shoulders like a cape. But instead of running away, he"s…

"Mais putain, qu"est-ce que tu fais?" I hiss under my breath. He"s coming my way.

Ignoring my itching flesh and whoever is too close for comfort, I flick my gaze toward the road instead. Has he not perceived the danger that"s heading his way?

"Come on then, just do it!" I hear him cry out, his limbs becoming more unhinged with each step he approaches as if he's a wooden doll steered by his master.

The horse whinnies as it stamps its hooves. And then the rider clacks his tongue, the sound sharp like a razor in the thick air of the forest.

"Allez, allez!" Bronze Mask lets out a high hoot, and then they start moving forward in one smooth motion, heading toward the sand trail.

Heading my way.

Something flashes inside me, sharp like an electric wire. My skin prickles with awareness, limbs and nervous system compensating for my faltering mind that shakes and shatters.

I shouldn't do this.The words echo through my mind, but my body doesn't catch up. Instead I scramble up, using the tree truck for leverage as I get back onto both feet. Once I'm standing up right, I notice the buzzing in my ears has increased. Ignoring that for now, I eye the approaching horse, then push myself from the tree and get ready to run.

"Don't!" An arm pulls me by my shoulder and roughly pulls me back onto the ground. "Don't interrupt his little mindfuckery." My head spins when my knees hit the rough forest ground of grass, sand and the occasional stone. My arms reach out to protect the rest of my body, but they're too slow, feeling like two uncoordinated antennas.

"Ouch. Watch it, man!" I snap, breathing heavily as I pant the stinging pain away. Someone reaches for my hand, yanking me back up. Before I know what's happening, he's got me pulled behind the tree.

"Yeah yeah, you can thank me later. I'm B, by the way."

"You were at the other side of the tree trunk all along?" I ask, finally taking him in. No wonder I'd felt him so close.

B nods. He's a participant like me, and the sight of his school uniform makes me feel relieved. Puts things back into perspective. Right now, that's all we are. Ordinary students of Saint-Laurent.

"The other guy will be eliminated. Don't save him. It's the game," he says. His voice rings in my mind, and it takes me an awfully long time to respond.

"But that guy on his horse…" I whisper urgently.

"I know. Just be happy that you're not competing against him." He hesitates a beat, then, "Who are you competing against?"

"Copper mask." I give him a sluggish shrug. "Haven't seen him around here yet." Behind us, at the other side of the tree, the horse passes by with thundering speed. They would have found me easily. I wince at the thought, then flinch from the heartbreaking cry coming from down the road.

B sniggers. "Poor bastard really is scared. It's a game man, albeit a nasty one. But you know what they say, right? Work hard, play hard."

I frown. "What does that have to do with this?" Behind us, the rider lets out another high howl over the clopping sound of the horse's gallop.

"That you need to prove yourself in order to be part of this group, dumb ass." He gives me a nudge, and I lose my balance, falling sideways in the sand. My palm reaches out, grounding me right in time.

B eyes me warily. "What happened to you then?"

"What do you mean?" I snap. This guy's already getting on my nerves. Newsflash, people always do.

He squints his eyes from behind his dark mask and I lift my other hand, only half surprised when I feel the soft silk caressing my own cheeks and forehead. I'd forgotten that I was wearing it.

"Looks like you've been smoking, is all." Getting onto his knees, he carefully leans sideways from the tree and glances toward the sand trail. "They're gone," he hums, then leans over his shoulder to eye me. "That leaves three of us."

"Three of us," I repeat and my voice resonates in my chest. "Three of us," I try again, then giggle. The sound vibrates through my ribcage, and it's a funny feeling.

"You really are a weirdo," B decides. "But I don't think I know you?"

"No, I don't think you do. I'm not one to make loads of friends. You?" I let out another cackle at the internal reverberation, a sound that becomes louder when B rolls his eyes at me.

"God, you really are a crazy cookie. Okay, listen, this was fun and all, but I've gotta go." He gets up and straightens his uniform.

"Who's your opponent?" I ask.

Still bent forward, he looks up through his blond hair. "The guy with the knife."

Golden Mask.

"That sucks," I mumble.

"Yeah, well…we'll see how this ends. Even if I get eliminated, I still get to be fucked by one of the elite." He gives me a half-hearted shrug. "Surely that counts for something? Good luck to you. I guess I'll see you around." He turns around before I can react. My brain feels foggy and I roll my lips, frowning.

What do you mean? The question rattles through my mind like trembling ground. Like unchartered territory.

I watch B leave on a suspiciously smooth skip as he practically bounces through the dense bushes. And he thinks that I'm the weird one? The thought makes me snort, but my amusement's cut short when I realize that the slightest of sounds makes my body tremble peculiarly. So I got drugged after all. I wonder what the fuck that white pill was. I've smoked my fair share of marihuana in my life, but I've never been into taking heavier stuff.

In an attempt to calm myself down, I rationalize these foreign sensations. So my flesh is littered with goosebumps and my mind is slowly catching up. What does that mean?

Am I cold? No.

Am I afraid? Yes, but that's not strange, given the circumstances.

This game only lasts for two hours, then it's over.

"Take out your phone and check the time," I command myself. I obey, but my hand trembles so badly that it takes me a few tries before I manage to keep hold of the damn thing. It's a little after half past twelve. That's—

"C'est pas mal," I choke out. Not bad at all. "Only ninety more minutes." My voice quivers with trepidation. Fuck me, that is bad. That's ninety minutes too long.

I want to go home.

No, you don't.

I'm afraid.

No, you aren't.

Right now, I need to feel what's real.

I'm going to stay here, and sit my time out. Voilà, that's it. My head lolls to one side in reply. Not from fatigue, but from something else.

"Keep it together, Robin," I tell myself. Closing my eyes, I imagine telling Dad that I've made it into their precious little men's club. Hah! Look at that!

But right now, the thought doesn't make my heart swell with pride. Right now, I'm feeling miserable. So I do the only thing I guess is right. I scramble up once more and sweep a hand over my pants. It's too early to surrender. Drugged or not, I will survive the next hour and a half.