The Mating Run by Leeka

Foe

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if Zeke’s got it all figured out.

mean, he’s not dumb, that’s for sure. I’ve seen that look in his eyes, that calculating glint when he realizes something. And I can’t shake this feeling that he’s onto something big.

I sit here in the dim light of our makeshift camp, the flickering flames of the fire casting dancing shadows on the trees around us. Zeke is sharpening one of the weapons we were given today, his gaze focused, his hands steady.

It’s moments like these when I can’t help but let my mind wander, let it delve into the tangled web of thoughts that seem to weave themselves around me.

We were given weapons today, not meals. No surprise packages floated down from the sponsors, no tantalizing aroma of a hot, prepared dish. Just weapons. A cruel twist, maybe, or maybe it’s just the pack’s way of telling us that survival is on us now, that we need to fend for ourselves.

It’s like they’re pushing us to rely on our hunting skills, like they’re testing us. And I get it, survival of the fittest and all that. But it’s more than that, I think.

I watch Zeke, the way his brow furrows in concentration, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s figured something out. Something crucial. It’s in the way he glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking, a knowing glint in his eyes. We’ve been playing this game long enough to understand the rules, even if they keep changing

on us.

The thing is, Zeke’s not just my partner in this grim dance of life and death; he’s become my anchor. And I can’t help but wonder if he’s realized the same thing have – that our survival in this forest depends not just on our skills but on the whims of those elusive sponsors. And the key to unlocking their generosity?

Well, it might just be the illusion of a romance between us.

–

1 look down at my hands, calloused and stained with the dirt of this forest. The truth is, I never expected to find myself in this position – strategizing not just about hunting and staying hidden, but about how to manipulate the sponsor’s perception of us. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but in this place, there’s no room for naivety.

It’s not like we’re getting any younger in here, and the Mating Run, it’s not a game of hearts and flowers. It’s about surviving, plain and simple. If Zeke’s worked out that cozying up to me means more gifts, more chances at staying alive, then who am I to argue?

Zeke finishes sharpening the weapon and looks up, meeting my gaze. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, a silent understanding. Maybe he’s thinking the same thoughts, wrestling with the same dilemmas. We’re in this together, after all, bound by circumstance and the shared goal of making it out of here alive.

And now, as the days blur into nights in this treacherous forest, I can’t shake the feeling that Zeke has cracked the code. That he’s realized the power we hold, not just in our skills with weapons or our ability to navigate the terrain, but in the narrative we spin for the sponsors.

It’s a realization that sits heavy in the pit of my stomach.

I watch as Zeke stands and walks over to where I’m sitting. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to me, his gaze fixed on the flames. We’re both lost in our thoughts, navigating the uncharted territory of this twisted game.

“Alina.”

Zeke calls out, his voice breaking the peaceful silence.

I look up, meeting his gaze. Zeke stands there, tall and sturdy, his eyes scanning the forest as if assessing the surroundings for any potential threats.

“Ready to go?” Zeke asks, a half–smile playing on his lips.

I nod, slipping the knife into its sheath. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

Zeke offers his hand, a silent invitation to join him in this dance of survival.

I hesitate for a moment, my fingers hovering in the air. There’s something about the simplicity of the gesture that catches me off guard.

But then my practical side kicks in.

This is the Mating Run, after all.

ever–watchful eye of the sponsors, the hidden cameras that capture our every move. This is not just about hunting for food – it’s about playing to an audience, about putting on a show to earn

deep breath, pushing aside my reservations.

me. For a moment, it’s just the two of us, partners in this deadly dance. But then I catch

at me,

I reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

in the air palpable. The trees cast long shadows, and the rustle of leaves beneath our feet is a

in hand, and as we do, I can’t shake the feeling that this is a dangerous game we’re playing – not just with the other

find myself caught up in

air thickens with the

rhythm of our steps, the way Zeke’s hand

then, in the distance, a camera captures our every move, Turning this private moment into a

stumble, my foot catching on a root that seems to materialize out of nowhere.

fall, exaggerating the stumble for maximum effect. And then, Zeke is

feigning surprise, and he

a playful glint in his eyes. “Real smooth.”

blush, pushing myself upright, “Hey, it’s not my fault

a strand of hair

to

hit his chest.

such a

laughs, leaning in to

as charged. But you’re lucky I’m here to catch

beyond the charade we’re putting on for the cameras. In the midst of this deadly game, there’s a strange comfort in having someone by your side, someone who’s willing to

glances at Zeke. The way the fading sunlight catches the edges of his profile,

forget, even if just for a moment, that we’re

take is

as Zeke and I moved quietly through the dense foliage. We’d been looking

of the run.

eyes scanning the ground for any signs of movement.

of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. Survival in the forest demanded not just skill but a keen awareness of the surroundings, an ability

“Stop.”

few feet away, hidden in the shadows, a small rabbit nibbled on a patch of grass, oblivious to the danger that lurked

felt a surge of

looked at me, his eyes questioning, and I nodded toward the unsuspecting rabbit. We needed this,

murmured, my voice barely

forest seemed

calculating the distance and

his eyes locked on mine, a silent

between us.

commodity, every opportunity to secure food a small triumph. I inched forward, my movements deliberate, my senses

the slightest sound.

twitched, its nose lifting in the air

I slowed my breathing,

froze, its eyes widening

the small creature. As I gripped the knife, its coolness.

forward, the knife cutting through the air with a swift, controlled motion. The blade connected with the rabbit’s throat, and a surge of triumph coursed through me. The small creature struggled for a

rush of the

this, the sustenance that the forest provided, a brief respite from the constant

playing on