A/N: Hello everyone, and happy Easter (if you celebrate)! So JJ is in ruin, Gail has some revelations to parse, Sheng's grandmother has passed, and Max has fled the palace. Quite a lot for our poor, intrepid princess to chew on. How will she handle the pressure? Not as well as you might think...

This is one of my favourite chapters so far just for the sheer drama of it, so I hope you enjoy, and I'm excited to see your thoughts!

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

Max has escaped the palace.

It takes another second for the ethereal sensations inside me to swirl into something tangible. Max is gone, no trace of him left behind. I know exactly how he's gone, and where – to his garage – but I feel knife-sharp hurt that he didn't say goodbye.

But why would he? The minute he found out that JJ was compromised, he must've known he was next, and through the hurt comes a flutter of relief. He can't be arrested – or worse, banished to the streets.

But now he's a fugitive. Now he's on the run from the law and the rebels.

There aren't many places to hide from both.

Every part of me feels on fire. Before I know it, my vision is blurry. Max has fled, but what about his safety? The palace walls were the only thing standing between him and his diabolical family, from his grandfather Alaric and brother Caspian, and their criminal empire. Now that he's back in the world, outside of our protection, there will be a neon target on his back, a louder cry than a cannonade and fifty vuvuzelas.

Panic scrapes a burning claw down my skin, but the tears are a cool contrast. I wipe them away hastily. I can't cry. Not now. Not when I have to find Max and make sure he's safe.

"Rest assured, he'll be found," Roy asserts. He sits upright at his desk, knuckles blanched with tension. "I have resources on him now. He cannot have gone far in a few hours. I'm sorry, Gail. I know you liked him."

"Liked him? I—" I gulp down my words. This is it. I have to reveal this vital piece of information, or risk Max's life. "No. No, you don't understand. You have to call off the search. He's innocent."

"What? Did you miss the part where I said he was a rebel getaway driver—?"

"I know. I know he was a getaway driver for the rebels. He— he had to be. His family were going to kill him—"

"You—" Roy stands, fast. "You knew?"

"Yes, I knew. His real name's Nathaniel Washington, of some— some big crime family from the east coast!" Another wave of tears careen down my cheeks. "Please, Roy, if the rebels know he's been found out—"

"You knew."

I wipe my eyes again. In the clarity, I see the flames raging in Roy's eyes. No. Not this again.

"Yes, I—"

"How many other things are you keeping from us, Gail?" Roy advances towards me, his entire body taut with fury. "How many times must I feel betrayed by you and your utter inability to see reason?"

"He was going to be killed! That is reason!"

"No, that's putting us in danger. That's complete disregard for our entire family! You let that—that criminal in walking distance of Tay! The servants! Us! He is a rebel, Gail, and he'd do anything to make you think otherwise!"

"You don't know him! He wanted to tell everything! But he—"

"Was terrified for his own life? So terrified he continued to hurt innocents along the way?" Roy's laugh scathes. "Is that the sort of man you want to spend the rest of your life with?"

I hesitate. Too many words leap into my brain. He had no choice. It's not his fault. Meek impulses give way to an entirely different feeling that wars in my chest, in my heart – spitfire, determination. I'd do anything to keep Max safe.

"Call. Off. The search."

"No. Maximus Wellington is a fugitive, and he will pay for his crimes." His expression smooths, all anger vanishing. Instead what is left is cold, cruel, something foreign on Roy's familiar face. "Once again, I am struck with just how naïve you are, Gail."

The word cuts deep. Naïve.

"You're clearly not ready to handle any responsibility whatsoever. Why did I think you were ready for a Selection when you can't even see the wood for the trees?" He shakes his head. "No. I am going to have to handle things from here on out. I'm putting your Selection on hold."

"On—" I can't even process it. "What—?"

"The Elite will be sent home by tomorrow, and I will have a press release organised—"

"You can't—"

"I can!" he yells. "I make the decisions here. You have proven time and time again that you cannot be trusted. The Selection ends. Today." He walks back around to his desk and sits. "I'll have the arrangements organised. You are dismissed."

Last time I argued. Last time I fought tooth and nail to keep my secret hockey life. This time I have no soul left in me. The Selection… it wasn't perfect, but just like hockey it introduced me to a whole new world of possibilities and joy. Now Roy has taken that too.

The only thing left for me is my title.

I slink out of the office. The hallway is blurry beneath unshed tears. So are the faces of my insufferable shadow guards, who hone in on me as soon as I stumble my way down to the wing exit. What am I supposed to do now? What can I do, when I am trapped in my room, barred from leaving, forbidden from even having my Selected as company?

"Gail?"

Sheng comes towards me, hands out as if to take me into his arms. He smells of chocolate, of the last whispers of cologne, of salty tears. The sight of him sends another shoot of agony through me. I haven't forgotten what we were on the cusp of talking about, only ten minutes ago.

"What's wrong—?"

"The Selection is over." I try in vain to use my gossamer dress sleeves to wipe my face. It comes away black and pink with mascara and eyeshadow. "My brother is cancelling it."

Sheng's confusion is written all over. "I… I don't understand."

I wish I didn't. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Tell me," he asks gently.

"You'll find out soon enough," I say again, this time with edge. "This is a decision of the king."

"But— he can't cancel your Selection. Only you can do that."

"He can do whatever he wants," I snap. "It's his palace."

Sheng takes my hand, arresting me. His face his resolute.

"No. We'll go to him, together. We'll convince him that this Selection is worth—"

I snatch my hand back. "There you go again, talking about worth."

"I—" He becomes subdued. "Yes."

That's it? "Don't you have anything else to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Gail?"

"How about the fact that you're in love with me now, during the Selection, when I was in love with you before, when the Selection was just the name for my family's tradition? How about the fact that you becoming a 'gentleman of high society' was supposedly all it took to see yourself as worthy to date me?"

His eyes widen a fraction. "That… that's not…"

"Isn't it?" I challenge. "Weren't those the very words you used to justify why you broke up with me in the first place?"

"I'm a different person now, Gail," he says, swallowing so hard his Adam's apple rolls bulgingly against his throat. "Maybe… maybe before… I didn't see clearly—"

"Didn't see clearly? I was dating you. I was happy! We both were!"

"I was. Incandescently." The words are a spear in my chest. "And I was stupid to think otherwise, but the Selection gave me an opportunity to… to be more true to myself, and my feelings."

I bark a laugh. "You were chosen by luck. Sheer, dumb luck. What if your name didn't come out of the bowl, Sheng? Then what?"

His face strains. "I-I would've accepted—"

"No, you wouldn't. Don't even kid yourself."

"It's in the past," he says instead, an edge of desperation to his voice. "You decided to have a Selection—"

"Because of you!" I shrill so loudly it echoes off the walls. "The only reason I had a stupid Selection was to make you jealous!"

It's irrational of me to admit this, I know, but in this small fragment of time, seeing the shock in his face is as delicious as a blueberry tart.

"O-Okay," he murmurs, "but then I was chosen—"

"And I wanted to eliminate you immediately, but you know what stopped me? Your grandmother. I knew this money would help her, and your dad begged me to keep you for her sake!" My fists clench, but tears are streaming down my face, and they won't stop. "I didn't keep you because I wanted a second chance. I didn't keep you to try again. I kept you for your family's sake. No money nor title will ever make you worthy, Sheng, not when you were too selfish to realise you had me and you lost me."

The silence that follows is agonising.

Sheng is so still, so unwavering, that he might not have heard the words at all. Then I see it – pain, hurt, betrayal, all emotions I've seen in other faces recently, that clouds his eyes like nightfall.

"I-I see," he chokes out. Swallows loudly. "I… I'm a fool, then."

I don't answer.

Instead he bows his head. Speaks robotically. "Thank you for your… candidness, Your Highness. I'll be back to work by evening."

Something pinches me in the stomach. I should not feel regret for this. He deserves to hear how badly he hurt me when we broke up, deserves to feel it, puncturing him whole like he did me. But my foolish heart clenches until the pinching is all over my body.

I do feel regret. Worse, I feel… mean.

Too late, Sheng turns on his heel and leaves, with strides that unfurl the distance between us. I wasn't obligated to show him a speck of kindness after our break-up, and yet… at the time his reasoning was spoken from truth. He didn't feel worthy. Maybe he does now. And maybe I've just shattered whatever courage and self-love he's built for himself over these past few months.

"Wow."

My head flies up. Silas and Tay come around the corner, the cart wheeling in front of them empty of cake. Tay's face is torn, on the verge of tears.

And Silas looks… angry.

"So this whole Selection was just a set-up, huh?"

Oh no. I swallow. "N-Not anymore—"

"So you brought us here as what, window-dressing? Make this whole sham look like the real thing?"

"It was— is the real thing to me—"

"Now it is." Silas regards me beneath cutting brows. "When did it become real for you? Two weeks in? Two months? Because it was real to me the moment I got the call. I was always trying to get to know you better as a person."

"Silas, please—"

"No, you don't get to play that innocent card with me." He takes a step towards me. "I trusted you. I may have felt— confused about you, like I didn't quite know you, but I liked you as a person. I liked being your friend if nothing else. But this?" He laughs. "Nah. I don't like the idea of giving myself wholly to someone who shits on other people and holds Selections because out of spite. Sorry for swearing, Tay." He glances back at him, but Tay doesn't respond. "I just knew you and Sheng were a thing before, but this wasn't the way to deal with it, and if it's true that the Selection's been cancelled, get me the first flight out of here. Thanks for your time, Your Highness."

His bow condescends and he doesn't bother fully rising before he's turned around, halfway down the hallway before I fully process what happened. Tay comes closer, hesitant – it breaks my heart.

"G-Gail…"

I crouch, then open my arms. Tay comes slower into my reach, and I hold him close as he sniffles into my shoulder.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Tay."

"Are you mad at Mr Sheng and Mr Silas?"

It takes me a moment to think. "Yes and no." I hold him back, thumb away the tears beading at the tips of his eyelashes. "I… I'm mad at myself, too."

He nods. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be okay."

Tay stares at me with open eyes. Then he reaches forwards and thumbs my cheek, wiping the errant tears that have frozen.

"Feel better, Gail. Please."

I almost burst into tears again, but I collect myself to leave Tay with Omma. She, too, has question in her eyes, but I don't give her anything. Instead I run back to my room and fling myself onto my bed. My clenching hold on myself withers, and tears come, thick and fast, until I'm full-on sobbing into my pillow.

It seems like hours until there's an insistent, firm knock on my door, but I know it can only be minutes. I raise myself, eyes readjusting to the light. Black smudges my pillowcase.

"Who is it?"

"Kingsley, Your Highness."

Oh gosh. Another Selected. I wipe the snot and make-up and tears from my chin. "I… I'm not seeing anyone at the moment."

A pause. Then, "Please can we talk?"

Stubbornness erupts inside me, and I kick off my heels and fling open the door. Kingsley baulks, but I steel myself. "What about?"

"Inside?"

I don't really want to, but Kingsley butts his way into the room anyway, and I shut the door on the curious faces of my guards.

"I wanted to enquire about whether it was true?" he asks, expression unusually unreadable as he takes in the details of me with screwed up eyes. "About the Selection cancellation?"

"Yes, it's true."

"And—" he hesitates. "Sheng?"

I turn to my window. The sun is lowering in the sky. Nearly time for the game against the Sacramento Scorpions. The thought sends another painful scrap down my chest. I wish I was there, not here.

"Yes, Sheng and I were a thing before the Selection."

"I thought so."

I huff. "So everyone knew then?"

Kingsley chuckles darkly. "No, I think Silas and I were the only ones. I figured it out during the nerf game, actually." I hear him smart. "Silas, I imagine, realised it later. He's clever, but not as clever as me."

"Yet not clever enough to realise I started this whole process to find a rebound?"

He smirks. "I can't have all the answers to life."

I crack open the balcony door and head outside, shivering beneath the sharp cut of wind. The gardens sprawl around me. After a moment, Kingsley comes to my side.

"I don't quite understand why you would feel the need to make him jealous," he says quietly. "You're immensely superior to him in every way."

I bark a laugh. "That doesn't make me feel better."

He hums and leans against the railing, mirroring me. "It's… weird."

"What is? That Sheng and I dated?"

"That you've given up so easily." He angles his body towards me. "You were… very eager for the Selection. Invested. At least, that's the impression I got."

"I'm invested now," I mumble. "I wasn't then."

"Then you should fight for it."

"What's the point? If you know about Sheng and me, then Silas must've told the rest of the Elite too. Even if I restart the Selection right now, who's going to want to come back?"

Kingsley laughs – this time a genuine, deep boom that comes from his chest. "I think you've vastly underestimated how whipped half these boys are, Your Highness. Soren alone pines after you like a lost kitten. Ben too. Ply them with some apologies and they'll come back. Max would come at a dog whistle, though I suppose not so much now…" He clears his throat. "And I would most certainly return, of course."

Jitters consume my hands, and I clutch the railing tightly.

"Even so," he continues, "a very audacious princess told me, not so long ago, that you shouldn't look into your past and feel regret. What will happen to you if you don't fight for what you want?"

I think of the Angeles All-Stars. I think of them preparing for the final. I think of Zelda and me amongst them, strategising, warming up, giggling and laughing with the other girls on the team, hyping each other up, chanting our little mantra. When all else fails, we rely on our sisters to lead us to victory. Everything around me has fallen apart, and my last escape is in reach. My last escape is with them.

What am I doing? I should be out there, playing hockey, doing what I enjoy, what I love. Not suffering trapped in here.

I belong at the rink.

And I'll break all the rules to be there.

"Thank… thank you, Kingsley." I turn to him. "Thank you. I needed that."

"I'll see you tomorrow for the restart of the Selection. But, ah, if I don't happen to get the chance," he grins wickedly, "would you tell Mr Rudy hello from Dick Danger for me?"

I frown. "Dick Danger? Who's Dick Danger?"

"He'll know."

I shut the door behind him when he leaves and return to the balcony. I noticed it before, yesterday when we went for the walk in the greenhouse gardens, that the area below isn't patrolled frequently. Why would it, when I never mentioned how I was escaping the palace in the early days of the All-Stars before Aderyn and Naomi knew? Why would it, when I never told Roy I was literally climbing the walls to be free?

My eyes drift upwards, to the stone that is my refuge and my cage, and streaks lash the surface from past rainfall. Roy may have three guards on me, but a lot can happen in an hour. I can certainly escape this place in that amount of time.

But I'll need help to do it.

My mind is already made up, my body tight with anticipation. I head back into my room and snatch my duffle bag from my closet. It still has my costume tucked inside: the wig, the glasses, contacts, everything. I shove some extra clothes inside, then go to the bathroom and scrub my face clean and change into sweatpants. It's nearly four o'clock, so when I'm ready I flop onto my bed and turn on my television.

On cue, a knock comes.

"Yes, still here."

The door opens. The guard – don't know her name – peers in. "Doin' okay?"

"If you stop following me, maybe the answer will be different."

She makes a gruff noise and shuts the door.

Then I move.

Keeping the television volume on high, I snatch my duffle bag and open my dresser drawer. Sports tape. I wrap it around my hands as Cami once showed me, before I tuck it back into my dresser and head outside, gently clicking shut the door. The air is salty, as if glossed by the sea, and I quickly scan the area before hoisting myself up onto the railing. Adrenaline shoots up my spine – once upon a time, I was doing this for excitement, for fun, but now nothing but pure willpower fuels my limbs as I grip onto the wall and shimmy along, careful to watch my footing. I easily make it to the balcony along and down, and land crouched on the threshold. The door peels open.

I follow my usual route. Into the hallway, through the sitting room, down the secret passage, around the building. Zelda's window is shut tight, her curtains drawn. I press an ear to the glass – no deep voices – and knock gently. Nothing. I knock again.

The curtain flings open. Zelda then regards me with wide eyes, and cracks open the frame. "Gail! What the actual hell—?"

"I'm going to the game. Are you in?"

"Are— are you out of your damn mind?" She glances at her bedroom door, then back at me. "I can't— my ass is so grounded Rudy would've chopped my legs off if it was legal—"

"Zelda," I press. "I'm tired of living by rules invented by other people to dictate my life. I'm a hockey player in my heart, and I'm going to chase it. I don't care about the consequences anymore. I'd rather risk my life out there than stay safe but trapped in here." I take a deep breath. "You're either with me or you're not. So are you coming?"

"Of course I'm freakin' coming along," she mutters. "It's just… it's not safe."

"No." And the thought of the Rebel Resurgence slips seamlessly back into my head. "No, it's not."

She curses under her breath. "I can't let you risk your ass alone. What kind of best friend would I be?" She grins, and I grin – I missed her. "Give me a few moments to change and pack."

"Don't be long. I only have until the end of the hour before the guards realise I'm missing."

Zelda does the same as me – turning up the volume on heavy metal Youtube videos – and climbs out in jeans and a black hoodie, the hood hiding her clumpy mane of blonde wig. We head to the parking lot via the bushes.

"You know just because we're there, they might not let you play, right? You did… quit, after all."

It's hard to hear, but I nod. "I know. Even if they won't let me play, just being there… that would be good enough."

Once we make it to the parking lot, we find her beat-up car and throw our stuff inside.

"You're going to have to get in the back," she says, popping open the trunk. "The guards are on strict watch for you, and I don't think any amount of money's gonna' convince them to risk Uncle Roy's wrath."

It's an uncomfortable few minutes, but Zelda takes it slowly until we're out into public main roads. Then she pulls over, allowing me into the backseat to quickly affix my hair and make-up. Night time spools over the horizon, but I do my best with the options I have. The contacts I don't seal to my eyes until the car putters into the fairly empty lot of Glendale Ice Rink. The last time I was here the place was rammed, but it wasn't the match that drew onlookers – it was me.

Zelda adjusts her make-up and checks her phone. "The game started a few minutes ago."

"Okay." I take a deep breath. "Let's do this."

"Gail," Zelda says suddenly, going quiet. "Are you sure this isn't a bad idea? We should have a game plan if… if things go wrong. I mean, if Mariam—"

"She's locked up," I scoff.

"… What?" But Zelda's eyes widen. "Holy shit, Gail, they really told you nothing? I thought you knew."

Sweat collects in the small of my back, and I've hardly moved. At my silence, Zelda grimaces.

"She hasn't been caught. In fact, when they had police raid her apartment, Mariam wasn't there. Her parents are missing. That's all I've heard from Joseph."

The wind is knocked from me. So Mariam— she's still out there?

"What about Rose?"

"Missing too. I haven't heard anything. Only that she's quit the All-Stars, like us."

This is bad. Really bad.

I still have no idea if anything about me during that meeting with her and Rose's family gave myself away. I knew, almost instantly, that Mariam was the Voice. Did she know I was Princess Gail?

At the same time… should this paralyse me with fear? Haven't I done enough running and hiding?

Zelda swears. "Do you want to go back—?"

"No." I reach for the door. "No, this changes nothing. We're still going to the match."

"I know… you're hurting—"

"Yes, I am," I snap. "And I'm angry, too. So… angry. I hate feeling this much pain and fury, Zelda. For once, let me do this stupid thing. Please."

Zelda's frown is pronounced, even in the low light, but she follows me into the arena, where the crowds in the lobby are sparse. Startlingly members of the local press meander between here and the halls, passes swinging on their lanyards and cameras tightly clutched in their hands. I guess it's a monumental thing for the Angeles All-Stars to be in for the shot of winning anything, even if they are only the second team. We cross the barriers and head into the player area, which is empty. I spot my usual space, unused amongst the bags and loose clothes. So is Rose's.

Out in the bench area, the substitutes are on their feet, cheering, yelling, egging the team on. I glance at the score. 5-2, to the Scorpions. It's only the first period, and anything can change, but the Scorpions are as striking and lethal as their names suggest. Their black uniforms with scar-like purple accents make me shiver with anticipation.

"Baby Su? Linkle?"

Janet spots us, then all of the subs are glancing our way. Recognition lights them up – with joy, I notice. They're nothing but happy to see us. Janet lumbers over in her heavy gear.

"It is you! What the hell are you both doing here? I thought you quit?"

"We did," Zelda explains, "but it wasn't… by choice."

"We came to watch," I say, injecting some cheer into my voice.

The modest crowd jeers; the Scorpions score again. Janet curses.

"I hate to say it," she lowers her voice, "but it's lookin' to be a clean sweep. They're kicking our asses."

"We're only four points down," says Zelda.

"Well, that's a cute way to look at things," Janet mutters.

The game continues. I spot Felice on the rink, sweat like tiny pebbles on her face, her breath coming out in short bursts. She whacks the puck to Beverly who passes back to her. Then it goes to Jocelyn, Madison, back to Jocelyn, Felice again. Scorpions swoop in between, nimble and swift, but Felice keeps the puck close and shoots.

The goaltender blocks. The puck rebounds. Felice is too slow on the offset, and the puck goes back into Scorpion control, barrelling towards Willow in goal.

"Vivases?"

Bellona comes from the other side, her expression hard and angry. My haunches rise, but then I remember everything she said before, to me, to Gail, at the meet-up last week. She buried her disdain for me in whatever capacity she could, and now I have no reason to disrespect her. Still, I fear the look on her face. The displeasure and surprise mingled into one.

Zelda clears her throat. "Hi, Miss Strike—"

"What do you call this? Showing up at the rink after you quit right before the final?" She crosses her arms. "It's incredibly unprofessional of you."

Zelda turns sheepish, but I stand my ground.

"We came back to… to see the final out." I won't tell her it wasn't our choice. I don't want her thinking we have no agency in our lives. "We can leave to the crowd area if you like—"

"No." Her dark eyes bore into mine. "No, stay. Neither of you are on this team anymore," she makes that very clear with emphasis that could drill through concrete, "but if you're willing to cheer your former sisters on the side lines, I think it would be a better way to say goodbye than how you left us before. The team would appreciate your support."

I take a step forwards. "Let me play. Please."

Her eyebrow arches. "The audacity of such a request is duly noted, Vivas, but you're no longer a member."

I swallow the bite in her words. It's as I expected… but it still hurts.

"However."

It ignites hope.

Bellona turns to the rink. The Scorpions score, again, moments before the klaxon goes. "Right now, we have nothing to lose."

The team retreats back to the changing room, defeated but for the surprise in their faces when they see Zelda and me. Beverly gives us the squishiest hug. Willow literally screams. Wendy and Jocelyn dance around us, chanting "Vivas! Vivas!", and Madison almost starts crying.

"It's so rough out there," she sobs.

"About to get rough in here, too," grouses Felice, when her eyes settle on us. Me. "What the hell? Why did you quit?"

Zelda and I exchange a glance, so I say, "We can't tell you—"

"Not good enough," Felice cuts across. "You go through this whole tournament with us only to bail at the last second, when we need you most? That's the shittiest thing you could've done."

"It's not right," I agree. "But… but things happened, and it forced our hand."

"Then are you playing?"

I glance at Bellona, who has leant against the wall in contemplation of the scene.

"That depends." She looks at Madison. "The truth is, right now, we need high risk, high reward play."

Madison shakes her head. "I only ever wanted to be a substitute." She gives me a smile. "I wouldn't mind Susanetta taking my place."

"If anyone can bring us back from the brink, it's Baby Su," says Janet with a grin.

"Baby Su! Baby Su!" the rest chant. I go red.

"And," Felice sighs, glances at Zelda, "if anyone can pave the way to success, it's Linkle."

"Thinkle like Linkle," says Janet, laughing.

Zelda baulks. "What?"

"It's a phrase we coined when you left," she explains to nods. "Trying to think of ideas to destroy the Scorpions? Thinkle like Linkle."

"You have a sharp mind, Linkle," Bellona adds with a firm nod. "We could use that now."

Zelda goes as red as a cherry, but launches towards the whiteboard and uncaps the pen. "Hell yeah, okay. Let's think of a way to kick Scorpion a— butt."

"And Susanetta," Bellona says, "get changed."

I slide into the uniform as quick as I can, listening intently to Zelda's changes to Bellona's strategy. The high risk, high reward approach is taken to the next level where I'm slotted into the team in Madison's place. Felice is ordered to go for longer shots, plays that when executed properly will work entirely in our favour. All thought of home, Roy, the rebels, leaves my head so swiftly, I barely acknowledge the quiet from my phone. I turned it off before I left so I couldn't be tracked, and the silence is beautiful, if not eerie.

They're bound to know by now.

Guards strapped around my elbows, knees and shins, I head into the arena behind Felice. The crowd is cheering, eager for action to return. Bellona has gone to inform the right people about the substitution. Felice turns to me suddenly. Her gaze is assessing, darting back and forth along my face.

She grabs my hockey stick suddenly. Then she grins wickedly.

"You got this, Susanetta."

I nod. "I got this."

The MC's voice hails the arena. "Madison Opeyemi of the Angeles All-Stars is being substituted with Susanetta Vivas!"

I give a little wave to the home crowd, who devour the gesture. It's… comforting to know I am loved in some way, some capacity. That people, though strangers, appreciate me for my skills and hard work. For what I bring to the team, not something I happened to be born with. We might not be the first team, but our influence is not naught.

The Scorpions, however, don't seem impressed or intimidated. They're all huge, hulking beings, as sinister as their namesakes, dark blots of ink on the ice. I turn my trepidation, my fear of letting down the side into a burning soul, ready to fight for what I want.

Because this is what I want.

The klaxon goes. The Scorpions are fast and aggressive, spiralling into our territory after only a few seconds. How is this the second team? They miss the goal, shooting to Felice, who shoots to me. I rocket off, skating past the bad guys and pivoting around another who tries to steal possession. It's a long gap, but I shoot for the goal.

The goaltender blocks. I anticipate right. I'm correct – the puck bounces away to my right, and I'm already halfway there before the Scorpion has caught on. Too late, I've used my momentum and batted the puck back towards the goal.

It goes in. 7-3.

"Amazing work on that rebound!" calls the MC. I grin.

Willow does her best to keep up with the might of the Scorpions, but lets in more than we'd like. It drives me harder, faster, to compete. Rose isn't here right now. I don't know where she is. She might not even like me anymore, for what I did to her sister, to her family. But I score and score again for her. I push myself to make her proud. If she were here, an All-Star as the rest of us are, she would want a win for the team regardless.

I'm fast on my skates, and I use that to my advantage. Soon we're 7-5 down, then 7-6 down, then 8-7 down. I'm so happy I can't help the grin on my face. I want to win, but somehow, even if we lose, I'll be okay.

I have the puck again. Ice churns beneath me as I speed towards the goal. Scorpions are on my left and right. Felice flickers between them, yelling at me to pass.

Then she disappears. Okay. I'm near the goal. I can score myself—

"Hey!" an unfamiliar voice calls to my right. "What the hell is going on?"

Boos erupt from the crowd. At once I think I've done something wrong, accidentally fouled someone, but then one of the Scorpions is roughly shoved to the ice by another Scorpion— no, not another player. They're not even in skates, but hard boots with teeth in the bottom to get traction on the slippery surface.

I turn, but there's a whole group of them, pushing the players away. Three come crunching towards me. Masks hide their faces but don't disguise the intensity in their eyes.

Oh no.

Rebels.

I push away to the wall, but the rebels grab me before long, forcing me upright towards the centre of the rink. I struggle against their grasps, but there's too many of them, and panic glazes all over the pain. In the centre stands an all-too-familiar figure, a knife glistening in her hand.

"There she is," she says, her eyes flashing with sick delight.

"No, you can't—"

A camera is shoved into my face. Suddenly the screens are replaced with a close-up of me. The Second's voice explodes around the arena.

"Welcome, Illéa, to an exposé of the century. Who you see before you is Susanetta Diane Vivas, a mysterious hockey player for the Angeles All-Stars women's second team. Mysterious for many reasons. Very little is known about her. She doesn't have any social media, any online presence, not even her own damn passport… but she does have a lover."

The crowd is electric in its anticipation. I squirm, but another hand comes around my arm, ripping off my arm guards. My shin pads go next. No, no, no. Terror like I've never felt before scores every part of my body.

"This lover, you ask? You may recognise him."

The photos splatter across the screens. Max and I in the car together. A double-whammy of a condemnation. There are so many of them, taken of us together in the car and out, when Caspian Washington held us by the scruffs of our necks. They cycle through them as one screen changes back to my stricken features, barely moving, barely able to process what's happening.

"That's right, Sir Maximus Wellington, of Selection fame," she spits his name with disgust. "You might not know it, but Max works for the Rebel Resurgence, and he's been seeing this pathetic whelp during the Selection at the same time he was courting the attentions of Princess Gail."

I squeeze my last fraying nerves. She doesn't know. They don't know.

"If you're seeing this, Max, I hope you panic as you watch your beloved suffer in our clutches. I hope agony envelops you." Her eyes fixate on me, bloodthirsty. "Let's start with the face, shall we?"

"No, no!" I scream, but the Second yanks off my helmet, revealing my wealth of fake black hair. If she pulls off my wig, I am done for. My eyes search the stands desperately – people are screaming, fleeing, and I can't see a single face I trust.

"Let go of her!"

Felice barrels into my captors, giving me a moment of freedom I need. I take off, but then a sharp pain punches into my calf and I collapse, hard, onto the ice. It feels full, thick. Something foreign and wrong. I glance down. The Second's knife is stuck through the fabric, in my skin. Barely more than the tip, but it's enough to speckle my pant leg with crimson. I barely withhold a scream.

"Stupid girl," she snaps, but she's talking to Felice, who is now wrestling three rebels at once.

I'm hauled up by the shoulders. The Second wrenches her knife free – my throat goes raw from screaming – and places the bloodied tip to my face.

"If I carve you up, your boyfriend will have to come and save you. That's how it works, isn't it?"

"H-He won't—" I force myself to steady, but half of my mind is taken with pain. "He won't come for me."

"I think you vastly underestimate how much he's in love with you."

I struggle, trying to push away my captors. This time, all the hockey girls hurl themselves towards me. Felice yells, "No!" as she tackles one, as Janet scratches the eyes of another, as Beverly and Willow punch their assailants, as the others whack hockey sticks to rebel knees to make them lose balance. The ones holding me wobble, shaking me, and one of them grabs my head.

I tumble to the ice. Something cracks. Stars burst into my eyes, pain whistles up my injured leg to my head, but when I rise, a brown tendril obscures half the rink.

Not a brown tendril. Hair. My real hair.

A gasp lodges in my throat. The cracking noise was not ice, but my fake glasses, shattered in front of me, the pieces almost invisible against the rink. I whip around. The rebels far outnumber the hockey team and have pressed them all down to the ice, apprehended. My captors have regained footing. One of them holds my black wig.

There is a heavy pause in the arena. The few people left to witness have gone totally, utterly silent. I've never heard such emptiness before in my life. It carves me worse than the Second's knife ever will.

She stares at me, with the unsure stillness of a predator, but even with half her face covered, her bewildered expression is easy to read.

Bewilderment soon turns into a loud, mocking laugh.

"What a twist in the story." Her head tips down in mock greeting. "Looks like Princess Gail has been keeping some secrets of her own."

NTT: "I look forward to carving you up first. Then I'll take the rest of your family."