DREAM
The copper smell of old blood was a permanent resident of the arena. It clung to the stone walls, swept into the thin straw of our pallets, and settled in the back of your throat until you forget what clean air tastes like.
Jayden and I sat in the shadows of the eastern area of the arena, our backs against the cold, weeping granite, while he bandaged his injured arm from his fight. In the center of the room, twenty other fighters sat in various states of disrepair. Some were sharpening rusted shanks, others were simply staring at the floor, waiting for the bells that signaled the next slaughter. I'd had enough of this. I wanted out.
"They won't listen," Jayden whispered, his voice a low grate, when I brought up my escape plan again. "They're broken. Even if they got out, what kind
