Next.

I stop.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

A kid.
A goddamn kid.

The girl in the photo looks sixteen at best – wide‑eyed, tiny, all energy and innocence. The kind of kid who should be playing video games and wrecking friendships over Mario Kart.

But she’s not sixteen.
Juliette Moreau. Eighteen.
Mechanic prodigy, already running her own garage in Lyon.

She shouldn’t be anywhere near this world. She probably still calls her mom when she’s proud of something.

And they brought her here to be butchered for ratings.
I rub my face and keep going before my stomach flips again.