Calum Vargas pulled the black cloth away with a flourish.

The crowd gasped. Some of the women screamed.

Behind the glass sat a Komodo dragon.

He was massive. Six feet of prehistoric muscle and armored skin, thick limbs splayed across the floor of the enclosure. His tongue flickered out, tasting the air. His eyes were flat and yellow and utterly indifferent to the noise around him.

"Meet Titan," Calum announced, grinning wide. "Our first little test. All you have to do is step inside and stay calm for sixty seconds. Easy, right?"

The blonde bridesmaid who'd refused earlier made a small choking sound and backed into the crowd.

Lilith pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh my gosh. Is that safe?"

"Totally safe," Calum said. He didn't sound like he believed it. He sounded like he didn't care. "As long as you don't spook him."

I looked at the dragon. He shifted his weight, claws scraping against the metal floor. The sound was low and deliberate.

Grant stood next to Lilith, champagne glass in hand. He glanced at me once. His expression was tight. Not worried. Embarrassed. Like I was a dinner guest who'd shown up in the wrong outfit.

"Holland," Calum said, turning to me. "You're up."

I checked my phone one last time. Thirteen hours, thirty-eight minutes.

I slipped it into my pocket and walked forward.

The crowd parted. Someone whispered. I didn't catch the words.

Calum opened the enclosure door. It swung wide with a metallic groan. Inside, the air smelled like earth and musk and something older than rooms like this.

I stepped in.

The door clanged shut behind me.

Titan's head swung toward me. His tongue flickered again. Once. Twice.

I stood very still.

The crowd pressed against the glass, phones raised. I could see Grant in my peripheral vision, standing next to Lilith. He wasn't watching me. He was watching the people around him, checking their reactions.

Titan took a step forward.

His claws clicked against the floor. His body moved in that slow, reptilian way — efficient, deliberate, nothing wasted. He was three feet from me now. Then two.

I lowered myself into a crouch, slow and smooth, and extended my hand.

Titan stopped.

His nostrils flared. His tongue tasted the air near my fingers.

Then he pressed his massive head directly into my palm.

The room went silent.

I stroked the ridge above his eye with my thumb, the same way I had two years ago in Bali when he was half this size and bleeding from a poacher's snare. I'd spent two weeks nursing him back to health on my father's conservation expedition. I remembered the way he'd watched me then — wary, hurting, but willing to trust the hands that were careful.

He remembered too.

He leaned into my touch, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. Not a growl. Something closer to a purr.

I scratched behind his jaw. He tilted his head, eyes half-closing.

Behind the glass, no one moved.

I stayed there for the full sixty seconds. Titan stayed pressed against me, content.

When the timer buzzed, Calum's voice cracked over the microphone. "Uh. Okay. Time's up."

I gave Titan one last stroke along his neck and stood. He watched me go, tongue flickering once in what I chose to believe was goodbye.

I stepped out of the enclosure.

The crowd stared.

Calum forced a laugh. It came out too loud, too sharp. "Well. That was... I guess Titan's defective. Must've been sedated or something."

No one laughed with him.

I walked back to my seat, brushed a single dark scale from my sleeve, and sat down.

I didn't smile. I didn't need to.

Across the room, Grant finally looked at me. His face was blank. Not impressed. Not relieved. Just... calculating. Like he was trying to figure out what this meant for him.

Lilith leaned into him, whispering something. He nodded, distracted.

Calum stood at the front of the room, jaw tight, hands clenched. The guests nearest him exchanged glances. Quiet. Uncertain.

He clapped his hands together once, too hard.

"Alright," he said. His grin was back, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Round two."

Staff wheeled in something new. A glass tank. Six feet tall, sealed at the top. A single door on the side with a heavy lock.

Calum gestured to it like a game show host. "This one's simple. You get locked in. Tank fills with water. You find your way out." He paused. "There is a way out. Probably."

Someone in the crowd laughed nervously.

Grant didn't laugh. He sipped his champagne and checked his phone.

I stood.

Calum's grin widened. "Eager. I like that."

Two men in black shirts stepped forward and opened the tank door. I walked over and stepped inside. The floor was slick. The walls were cold.

They closed the door behind me. The lock clicked.

I heard the water start before I saw it. A low rush from somewhere above. It poured in fast, filling the space around my feet, my ankles, my knees.

I looked up. The ceiling was solid glass. No hatch. No air vent.

I looked at the lock.

The water reached my waist.

I took a breath and went under.

The water hit my knees first. Cold. Fast. Rising.

Through the glass I saw the crowd press forward. Phones up. Faces bright with something that wasn't quite concern. More like anticipation. The kind you get watching a car spin out on ice.

The water reached my waist.

I looked up. Solid glass ceiling. No hatch. No vent. Just the steady pour from somewhere I couldn't see.

I looked at the lock.

The water touched my chest.

I took a breath and went under.

The world went quiet. Just the muffled rush of water filling space. My hands found the lock mechanism. I traced it with my fingertips. Standard pin tumbler. Five pins. The kind you could buy at any hardware store if you knew what you were looking for.

I pulled a bobby pin from my hair. Bent it. Slid it into the keyway.

My lungs started to burn.

I felt for the pins. First one. Second. Third. The tension wrench I'd made from the second bobby pin held steady. Fourth pin. Fifth.

The lock gave.

I pushed the door open and stepped out.

Water poured onto the marble floor. I stood there, dripping, and took a breath. Then another. My chest rose and fell evenly. I wrung my hair out with both hands, twisting it like a towel, and wiped my face with the back of my wrist.

The room was silent.

I walked back to my seat. My shoes squelched. I sat down and checked my phone under the table. Seven hours, sixteen minutes.

Calum stood at the front of the room. His jaw worked. He looked at the open tank, then at me, then at the guests who were whispering now, leaning into each other.

I remembered the security consultant. Anton. My father hired him the summer I turned fifteen. Former intelligence operative. Taught me lock-picking in the basement of our estate over the course of three weeks. He had a scar across his knuckles and a way of speaking that made every sentence sound like a test.

*'No room is permanent if you know how it closes,'* he'd said, handing me my first tension wrench. *'People think locks keep them safe. Locks just keep them comfortable.'*

I blinked. The memory dissolved.

Across the ballroom, Grant laughed at something Lilith said. He had his back to me. He hadn't watched me in the tank. Hadn't checked if I was breathing.

I looked at him and felt nothing.

Calum clapped his hands together. The sound cracked through the room.

'Alright,' he said. His voice was too loud. 'Round three. Truth or Dare.'

The crowd murmured. Some of them smiled.

Lilith stepped forward, hands clasped at her chest. 'Oh, this'll be fun. Everyone gets to ask a question. Holland has to answer honestly.' She tilted her head. 'It's tradition.'

No one asked what tradition.

I stood. Walked to the center of the room. The marble was still wet under my feet.

Calum gestured to the crowd. 'Who's first?'

A woman in a red dress raised her hand. She was smiling. 'Have you ever been so desperate you'd do anything for money?'

I looked at her. 'No.'

She blinked. 'That's it?'

'That's the answer.'

Another voice. A man this time. 'Does Grant keep you around because no one else would?'

I turned toward him. 'You'd have to ask Grant.'

Someone laughed. It sounded nervous.

A third question. 'What's the most pathetic thing you've ever done for a man?'

I thought about the watch on the nightstand. The three years of making myself smaller. The mornings I woke up next to someone who checked his phone before he kissed me.

'Stayed,' I said.

The room went quiet.

Lilith stepped forward, eyes wide. 'Oh, Holland. That's so sad.' Her voice dripped sympathy. Fake. Sticky. 'Have you ever hurt someone? Like, really hurt them?'

I looked at her. 'Yes.'

The crowd leaned in.

'Who?' someone called out.

I didn't answer.

Calum moved closer. 'Come on. You have to answer. That's the game.'

'I answered,' I said. 'I said yes.'

Grant's voice cut through the noise. 'Holland. Just answer the question.'

I turned. He was standing next to Lilith now, champagne glass in hand. His face was tight. Not concerned. Annoyed.

'Don't embarrass me,' he said quietly.

I looked at him. At the man I'd loved for three years. The man who forgot our anniversary. Who volunteered me for games designed to break people. Who told me not to embarrass him in front of strangers who were trying to humiliate me for sport.

I checked my phone. Seven hours, two minutes.

'A disabled person,' I said.

The room exploded.

Voices overlapped. Gasps. Someone said, 'Oh my God.' Someone else laughed, sharp and mean.

Grant's face went white. Then red.

Lilith pressed her hands to her mouth. 'Holland. That's... that's awful.'

I didn't explain. Didn't tell them about the snake pit. About my stepmother's assistant, the man who'd thrown me in and broken his leg trying to climb out when my father's security found him. Didn't tell them it was self-defense before I even knew the words.

I just stood there.

Grant walked over. Fast. His hand closed around my wrist.

'What is wrong with you?' he hissed.

I looked down at his hand. Then up at his face.

'Let go,' I said.

He didn't.

The slap came fast. Open palm. Across my cheek.

The room went silent.

My head snapped to the side. I tasted copper. My ear rang.

Grant's voice was low. Shaking. 'You're done. We're done. If you say one more word—'

I checked my phone.

Six hours, fifty-eight minutes.

I looked at him. At his hand still gripping my wrist. At the crowd watching, waiting.

I smiled.

'Okay,' I said softly.

He let go. Stepped back. Turned to Lilith. 'I'm sorry. She's—she's not usually like this.'

Lilith touched his arm. 'It's okay. I understand.'

I walked back to my seat.

I sat down.

I waited.

A woman in a diamond necklace leaned forward. Her smile was sharp. 'Have you ever hurt someone who couldn't defend themselves?'

I went still.

Not tense. Still. The way I learned in the snake pit when I was nine years old. The way you hold your breath underwater. The way you stop being a target by stopping being a thing that moves.

The room leaned in with her.

'Yes,' I said.

The word dropped like a stone.

Someone gasped. Someone else laughed — high and delighted. A man in the back called out, 'Oh, this is good.'

The woman's smile widened. 'Who was it?'

I didn't answer.

Calum stepped closer. 'Come on. You have to tell us. That's the game.'

I looked at him. At the crowd pressing forward with their phones raised. At the faces bright with something that wasn't curiosity. It was hunger.

I thought about my stepmother's assistant. The man who shoved me into the pit and broke his leg trying to climb out when my father's security arrived. The way he screamed. The way I didn't.

I thought about the snake that bit him because he moved too fast.

I thought about the fact that no one in this room would believe me if I told them. Or worse — they'd believe me and still find a way to make it my fault.

'I answered,' I said quietly. 'I said yes.'

The crowd murmured. Disappointed. They wanted details. They wanted blood.

Grant's voice cut through. 'Holland.'

I turned.

He was standing next to Lilith, champagne glass in hand. His jaw was tight. His eyes were hard.

'Just answer the question,' he said.

Not a request. A command.

I looked at him. At the man who told me he loved me three years ago in a coffee shop that smelled like rain. At the man who forgot our anniversary this morning. At the man who was looking at me now like I was a stain on his shirt.

'Don't embarrass me,' he said. Quieter. Like that made it better.

I checked my phone under the table. Six hours, fifty-two minutes.

I could do this. I could stay quiet. I could smile and deflect and let them think whatever they wanted to think.

But I was so tired.

'A disabled person,' I said.

The room exploded.

Voices crashed over each other. Gasps. Laughter. Someone said, 'Oh my God.' Someone else said, 'I knew it.'

Lilith pressed both hands to her mouth. Her eyes went wide. 'Holland. That's... that's horrible.'

Grant's face drained white. Then flushed red.

He crossed the room in three strides.

His hand closed around my wrist. Hard. His fingers dug in.

'What is wrong with you?' he hissed.

I looked down at his hand. Then up at his face.

'Let go,' I said.

He didn't.

The slap came fast.

Open palm. Across my cheek. The sound cracked through the ballroom like a gunshot.

My head snapped to the side. My ear rang. I tasted copper.

The room went silent.

Grant's voice shook. 'You're done. We're done. If you say one more word—'

I touched my cheek. It was hot. My fingers came away clean. No blood. Just the burn.

I looked at him.

His chest was heaving. His face was twisted into something I'd never seen before. Or maybe I had. Maybe I'd just been very good at not looking directly at it.

'Do you understand me?' he said.

I checked my phone. Six hours, forty-nine minutes.

I smiled.

'Okay,' I said softly.

He blinked. Let go of my wrist. Stepped back.

He turned to Lilith. His voice shifted. Smooth again. Apologetic. 'I'm sorry. She's not usually like this.'

Lilith touched his arm. 'It's okay. I understand.'

I walked back to my seat. The crowd parted. No one met my eyes.

I sat down.

A memory surfaced. Sharp and uninvited.

Our second anniversary. I made reservations at the Italian place Grant liked. The one with the candles in wine bottles and the owner who remembered your name. I bought a new dress. I left work early.

Grant called thirty minutes before we were supposed to leave.

'Hey. So. Change of plans. Mike texted about this gallery opening. It's kind of a big deal. Rain check?'

I stood in the kitchen. The table was already set. The pasta was in the pot.

'Okay,' I said.

'You're the best,' he said. He hung up.

I put the food in the refrigerator. I folded the napkins. I blew out the candles.

I sat at the table alone and told myself it was fine.

Another memory. Sharper.

Grant's office building. Marble lobby. Security desk. I met him there once for lunch.

We stepped into the elevator. A colleague got in with us. Pressed a button. Nodded at Grant.

Grant smiled. 'Hey, Tom.'

Tom glanced at me. 'This your—'

'Just a friend,' Grant said quickly. He didn't look at me.

The elevator doors opened. Tom got off.

Grant turned to me. 'You should wait outside next time. Your clothes are... you know. Not quite right for the lobby.'

I looked down at my jeans. My sweater. The coat I'd bought on sale.

'Okay,' I said.

He kissed my forehead. 'Thanks for understanding.'

I blinked. The memory dissolved.

I was back in the ballroom. My cheek still burned. The crowd was talking again. Laughing. Moving on.

Grant stood next to Lilith. He wasn't looking at me.

I checked my phone.

Six hours, forty-three minutes.

I waited.