Day 7

I wake to the buzz of the alarm at 7 AM, my head thick with sleep and something darker. The whiskey sits empty on the nightstand, the glass sweating in the cool morning air. I shower quickly, the water doing little to wake me fully, then dress in the standard black shirt and pants required by the network. The taste in my mouth is bitter – half from the alcohol, half from something I can't quite name.

Breakfast is delivered as always – a protein bar and black coffee. I eat mechanically, staring at the wall as if the concrete could hold answers it doesn't have.

I walk into the dungeon. The girls look up as I enter. Juliette's face is puffy from crying, her blue eyes bloodshot. She shrinks against Harper's protective embrace. Harper's arms tighten instinctively, pulling Juliette closer, her pink hair hanging in her face like a shield.

"Morning, John," Harper says, her words quieter than usual.

Her Irish lilt sounds strained, the words coming out carefully measured. She doesn't look away from me, but her grip on Juliette tightens almost imperceptibly.

The atmosphere in the holding area is suffocating. Sweat and faint traces of the antiseptic wipes they use on everything here. Harper's body presses closer to Juliette's, her smaller frame providing a fragile barrier between the young French girl and me.

“I'd like to respond Good morning, but it's never good in here, isn't it?" I say.

Juliette flinches at my words, her entire body tensing against Harper. Harper's grip shifts subtly, moving from protective to reassuring as she rubs small circles on Juliette's bare arm.

"It's not a fucking vacation, John," Harper says, her tone sharp enough to cut. Her blue eyes flash with something – anger, fear, or both. "Don't pretend this is normal conversation."

I exhale slowly, watching the way Juliette's shoulders shake. She's trying to be brave, but the way her hands clutch at Harper's waist betrays her. The pink-haired girl notices too, because she speaks more gently, murmuring.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. He's just..."

I interrupt her.

"Come over here, you both."

Harper's jaw tightens, but she nudges Juliette forward. The French girl moves reluctantly, her bare feet silent on the concrete floor. As they near me, the acrid smell of fear becomes more pronounced – the sharp tang of adrenaline mixed with sweat and the sterile antiseptic.

Juliette's eyes dart between me and the exit, her small frame quivering.

"Why do you want us to come closer?" she asks, her voice breaking on the last word.

Harper moves to stand beside her, the protector stance never leaving her.

"Just do what he says," Harper whispers.

Her hand finds the small of Juliette's back, a gesture meant to guide rather than push. I wrap my arms around both girls' waists – Harper to my right, Juliette to my left.

Juliette stiffens like a startled rabbit when my arm encircles her waist. She looks up at me with wide, terrified blue eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Harper tenses as well, but her reaction is different – her muscles coil, preparing to react, while Juliette's simply freeze. Juliette's skin is fever-hot against mine, her small breasts pressed against my side. Her breathing is shallow, rapid. Harper shifts, leaning slightly into me – not out of comfort, just instinct matching her stance to mine.

"I don't want to die today," Juliette whispers, the words cracking.

The soft surface is surprisingly cold beneath me as I lower myself to the floor. Harper sits first, then guides Juliette down with surprising gentleness. Harper's body is tense beside me, resigned – like a spring already sprung. Juliette presses so close to me she's nearly in my lap, her small frame shaking against mine.

"There will be no stick drawing today." I say.

Juliette's breath catches audibly, her entire body going rigid against me. Harper's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly in the fabric of my shirt before she exhales through her nose, her shoulders easing slightly.

"What do you mean?" Harper asks, her words quieter now, more controlled.

She shifts to look at me, her blue eyes searching my face for any sign of deception.
Juliette tilts her head back to look up at me, her expression showing both confusion and desperate hope.

"You... you decide today?" she asks softly. "Not... not us?"

"It's been a long six days for you and for me.” I reply. “You got to know and like each other, and I got to know and like you both...but today one of you has to die."

Harper's face goes pale at my words, her hands clenching into fists. Juliette's breathing becomes more rapid, her small fingers digging into my shirt. Both girls lean into me for comfort, their combined weight pressing against my side.

"The machines..." Harper starts, then stops, chewing on her lower lip. "There's... there's only one left we haven't used. The dismemberment one"

Juliette makes a small, broken sound, her body shaking harder against mine.

"You will have to decide between yourselves which one of you gets dismembered and which one has to go free with a fifty million dollar prize.” I pause. “Hardest decision of your lives."

Juliette's breath comes in short, panicked bursts now, her fingers twisting in my shirt. Harper's jaw works silently for a moment before she finally speaks.

"That is... fucked up," she says, raw with emotion. "Beyond fucked up."

She doesn't move away from me though – if anything, she presses closer, her shoulder bumping against mine. Juliette shakes her head, blond strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead.

"I cannot choose this," she whimpers. "I cannot make Harper die, and I cannot... I cannot die myself. "

Her small hands rise to cover her face, but not before I see the tears welling up again.

Harper doesn't answer right away. She exhales slowly, deliberately, as if trying to control the emotions surging through her. When she finally speaks, her words emerge rough with suppressed feeling.

"I... I don't want to die either," she admits, glancing sideways at Juliette. "But I'm older. I've had more time than her. And I'm... not as scared as I was before."

She says this last part with what sounds like genuine surprise at herself. Juliette lowers her hands from her face, fresh tears spilling down her freckled skin. She turns to Harper, her blue eyes wide with desperation.

"I don't want you to die," she breathes, voice wavering. Her small hand reaches out to grasp Harper's, fingers intertwining desperately. "You've done this before... you're... you're stronger than me."

Harper's fingers squeeze back in a silent response. She doesn't deny Juliette's words, just looks down at their joined hands with an unreadable expression.

"I... I could not bear watching it," Juliette continues, her words coming faster now, almost babbling. "Not you, Harper. I cannot do that. I cannot be the one to kill you. I just..."

Her voice cracks and she leans her forehead against Harper's shoulder, her entire body shaking with silent sobs. Harper's free arm moves hesitantly, then wraps around Juliette's shoulders, pulling her close in a sideways embrace.

"I don't... I don't want to die," Harper admits, her words rough with emotion. "But I also don't want to see you suffer, Juliette."

She looks up at me, her face revealing resignation and a desperate kind of understanding.

"You want to live, don't you?" she asks quietly.

Juliette nods frantically against Harper's shoulder, her fingers tightening around Harper's hand.

"Please," she whispers, tears soaking into Harper's hair.

Harper's eyes close briefly as she absorbs Juliette's words, her fingers still intertwined with Juliette's. For a long moment, the only sound is Juliette's quiet sobbing and my own breathing in the small holding area. Harper's free hand drifts up to rest lightly on Juliette's back, rubbing slow circles that do little to stop the shuddering.

"You're a kid," Harper finally says, speaking quietly. "Eighteen. You haven't even really lived yet."

She glances up at me, her face showing the burden of what she's about to say.

"You should go free. You deserve to get out of here."

Juliette gasps against Harper's shoulder, her body tensing with alarm.

My fingers tighten around Juliette's hand as she trembles against me, her small body shaking like a leaf in a storm. Harper's eyes meet mine over Juliette's head, and in them I see something terrible – acceptance. She's already made her choice.

"No," Juliette gasps, pushing back from Harper just enough to look at her. "You cannot – you cannot just decide for me! That's not fair!" Her words crack, raw with emotion. "You do not get to sacrifice yourself for me!"

Harper's mouth twists into something that isn't quite a smile.

"Fair?" Harper gives a broken little laugh, wiping at her damp face with her free hand. "There's nothing fair about this place, Jules." She squeezes my hand tighter, her grip firm and certain. "I'm doing this because I want to. Because I think it's right."

Juliette shakes her head violently, her blonde ponytail whipping behind her.

"No, no, no! You cannot just-" She chokes on a sob, her other hand coming up to clutch at Harper's sleeve. "I will not do it. I can't."

Harper's breath hitches as she looks down at where Juliette's fingers are grabbing her arm.

"No," Harper says quietly, her voice cutting through Juliette's protests like a knife.

She pulls her hand away from my grip, moving to stand between me and the sobbing girl. Her shoulders straighten as she turns to face me fully, her small frame seeming to grow taller with resolve.

"I volunteer."

The words hang in the air like a death sentence, heavy and final. Juliette's sobs cut off abruptly, her face twisting in horror as she realizes what Harper has just chosen.

"Dismemberment is far from easy death, Harper.” My voice is dry and formal. “But that's the only machine left."

Harper's face goes pale when I mention the dismemberment machine, her hands clutching at her hair like she's physically trying to anchor herself to the moment. The memory of the description – both breasts skewered, arms and legs cut off, stomach opened – makes her stomach lurch. But her jaw sets with stubborn resolve as she turns to face me fully.

"You're right," she says, her voice steady despite the tremor in her fingers. "It's not easy. But it's the only way out of this hell for someone."

She looks back at Juliette, whose face has crumpled with horror at the words.

"You."

Harper steps forward, her bare feet padding softly against the concrete as she approaches Juliette, who's curled into herself on the mattress. Her small hand reaches out to brush Juliette's damp cheek with surprising tenderness.

"You're too young to die here, Jules," she murmurs, the words breaking despite her attempt at steadiness. "You're supposed to graduate, to fall in love, to have kids someday. All that stuff."

Juliette shakes her head violently, blonde strands sticking to her wet face.

"Don't say that! Don't act like this is something noble! You are just-" She chokes on a sob, her body shaking. "You are just being selfish!"

Harper steps closer to Juliette, kneeling beside her on the mattress. She doesn't touch her – she knows better – but her body curves toward the younger girl protectively.

"Isla loved you, Jules. She would want you to survive too. She didn't want you to have to-" Harper's voice catches, thick with unshed tears.

Juliette makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, something between a sob and a scream. She wipes her face furiously with the back of her hand, smearing tears and snot across her flushed skin.

"Fuck you both," Juliette whispers, but the curse is weak, drained of its intended venom.

She turns her face into the mattress, her entire body shaking with silent sobs. Harper hesitates for a long moment before reaching out to rub small circles between Juliette's shoulder blades. Her touch is tentative at first, then grows firmer as Juliette doesn't pull away.

"I'm scared too," Harper admits quietly, her words rough with emotion. Her fingers trace the line of Juliette's spine. "It's not like I'm going to some peaceful end or anything. The machines... they all suck."

Juliette makes a muffled noise, something between a laugh and a sob. Harper's fingers continue tracing small circles along Juliette's back as the younger girl's breathing slowly evens out. The sobs become quiet hitches, her shoulders twitching occasionally as she fights to control herself. The air between them thickens with unspoken words and the suffocating pressure of their impossible situation.

"Time to go." I take Harper by the hand and shake Juliette by her shoulder.

Harper's hand feels cold in mine, her skin clammy with sweat and fear. She squeezes my fingers once, a quick, desperate clutch before I disentangle them. Her other hand hovers above Juliette's shoulder, but she doesn't quite make contact. Juliette flinches when I shake her, her whole body tensing like a cornered animal.

"Don't," she whimpers, but she doesn't pull away.

She's too exhausted to resist, her limbs heavy with grief and terror. Her face remains buried in the mattress, her ponytail sticking to her damp face. Harper crouches down, her fingers brush Juliette's bare shoulder, feather-light.

"Come on, Jules," she murmurs, her words quiet and raw. "We have to go."

Juliette shakes her head violently against the mattress, her short blonde hair flopping with the motion. Harper's hand curls around Juliette's arm, gently tugging.

"Please," she adds, breaking slightly.

Juliette finally lifts her head, tears carving tracks down her flushed face. She looks between me and Harper with red-rimmed eyes.

"You will have to carry me," she says hoarsely. Her words crack on the last syllable. "Because I cannot make my legs work now."