And finally-

A brown-skinned Latina with an athlete’s build, dark eyes focused and intense even in a still image. A smile that looks like it belongs on a victory poster

Sofia Calderon. Twenty‑four.

Professional cyclist. Podiums in Tour de Femmes.

Another one who’s talented, beautiful, accomplished.

Jeff’s type.
The audience’s type.
They don’t bring ordinary people. They bring trophies.

Sometimes I wonder if Jeff hand‑picks the ones whose deaths will make the crowd drool the most.

I close the dossier, disgust tightening my jaw.
Young. Brilliant. Strong. Kind. All of them worth knowing, worth keeping alive.

And I’m the one who has to turn them into corpses.