She sits.

Dimitri’s smile does not reach his eyes. “The Dthrip will be released from its cage.”

She closes her eyes. The Dthrip crawls onto her knee. Then her stomach. Then her neck. Its filaments find her jaw—clenched like granite. It hums. In her mind, she hears: you’re alone, you’re dirty, you’re a fraud, your mother never loved you—

The arena is not the usual raised platform with stars and Bushtucker trials. It’s a circular pit sunk into the earth, lined with white marble shards. In the center: a single bronze chair. And above the chair, suspended from a wooden crane, a small, dark, wicker cage.