Over the next one and a half weeks, the mentors trained Eliana nonstop. Dane gave her a mix of stimulants and adrenaline injections to keep her awake, and the mentors took turns drilling her in combat and survival. In her opinion, it was all pointless. She was convinced she would die.
What baffled her most was why they even wanted her to survive. At the beginning, they were openly hostile. Now suddenly they were putting effort into keeping her alive? The only good thing about having been unconscious for over two weeks was that she had missed all of Theo's classes and, consequently, didn't have to hold up her end of their twisted deal. And if she died tomorrow, she'd never have to.
Eliana sat in front of the five men, arms crossed over her chest. She tuned them out completely. Whatever strategy they were trying to talk through didn't matter. She was going to die during the tournament. Who would it be? Killian, who hated her guts? Keith, who had already tried to kill her once? Probably one of them. Her death felt inevitable.
Someone snapped their fingers in front of her face, yanking her out of her spiral. She flinched hard.
"Hey! Are you even listening? We're going over your strategy for tomorrow, so fucking focus," Dane snapped at her.
The calm doctor she had once known seemed long gone. He was sharp-edged now, constantly irritated, snapping at her whenever she didn't push herself enough. He seemed like the most desperate among them to keep her alive, and she didn't understand why.
There were so many things she didn't understand. And soon, she never would. It didn't matter anymore.
"I'm listening," she muttered, her voice flat as she stared at the ceiling.
Cobra stepped in front of her, and she flinched again. Ever since the Keith incident, her body reacted before her brain could. Sudden movements, raised voices, someone stepping too close she froze, flinched, or recoiled like a scared animal. Her trauma made training even harder when her first instinct was to always crawl into a corner and cry like a baby.
Cobra's voice was stern. "The strategy stays the same. You can't win a fight outright, so you'll let them beat on you until they think you're weak enough. Then, when they least expect it, you counter. You did it with Keith. Even if your punch was weak, it worked. Your technique's better now. Use everything you've got to knock them off the mat and stay standing. That's the goal."
Dane crouched in front of her, leveling his intense gaze with hers. "Do you understand, princess? The tournament lasts six hours. Don't be the last place. You need to win a few fights. And you are not allowed to die either in those six hours."
He searched her face for any spark of life, of fight, of hope but there was nothing.
"Okay... I'm going to bed. I want to be well-rested for tomorrow," she said dully and left Isaak's office.
She returned to her room and lay down. Despite having been awake for over a week, sleep wouldn't come. Every time she closed her eyes, Keith's face hovered in her mind. The weight of his body. His fists. The suffocating terror.
All night, she stared at the ceiling, haunted.
---
Back in Isaak's office, Dane was pacing like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair.
"She's totally going to die tomorrow. The girl has no chance. We wasted our time," Damon said as he lazily tossed his blade into the air and caught it again.
"Don't fucking say that. She'll survive," Dane snapped.
"Calm down, lovesick boy," Theo chimed in. For once, his usual smirk was gone. "But Damon's right. She's not in the right headspace. She's traumatized and already convinced she's dead. With that mindset, she's as good as."
Dane scoffed and shook his head. He wasn't lovesick. He just... didn't want her to die. For strategic reasons.
He ignored the part of him that felt physically sick at the thought of losing her.
"What do you think?" Dane asked, turning to Cobra—the most objective among them.
"Right now? It's not looking great. But she's surprised us before. We'll see tomorrow," Cobra replied calmly.
All eyes turned to Isaak. They could deny it all they wanted but Isaak was their leader. He always had the last word and in times of problem all of them always looked up at him for a solution.
Isaak stood from behind his desk, his dark braids tied back, muscles taut against his dark skin. Even he looked tense.
"There's no point in debating it now. Like Cobra said, we'll wait and see. But more importantly—Lucifer and Belial will be here tomorrow. I want all of you on your best behavior. Don't let them provoke you. You know what's at stake."
His tone was commanding, but even Isaak couldn't hide the concern under his steady words. They had survived too much together. Lucifer and his right hand man Belial were just waiting for the first crack to break them. One slip, and it could all unravel.
But they wouldn't give them that chance.
Not yet.
Not until they were ready. Until they had a weapon.
And Dane, deep down, knew that weapon was Eliana.