Breakfast was a battlefield.No one spoke. The only sounds were the clinking of metal spoons against ceramic bowls and the heavy, terrified breathing of forty actors.
Allison sat at the long steel table. She ate her oatmeal methodically. One spoonful. Chew. Swallow.
She ignored the tension. She fed on it.
Across from her sat the blonde girl from the run. Her name was Tiffany. She looked like she hadn't slept in a week.
"They say Thorne broke three students last year," Tiffany whispered, her voice trembling. "Sent them home in straitjackets."
Allison didn't look up. "Good. It leaves more room for the ones who can handle it."
"You're cold," Tiffany said.
"I'm focused," Allison corrected. "There's a difference."
The doors hissed open.
Vivienne stormed in. Her heels were like hammer strikes on the concrete floor.
"Finish up!" she barked. "You have ten minutes. Then move to the North Theater. The Board is waiting."
"The Board?" Devon asked, wiping his mouth. He looked fresh, annoyingly so. "I thought Thorne was in charge."
"Thorne is the warden," Vivienne sneered. "The Board is the jury. And today, you're on trial."
Allison dropped her spoon into the empty bowl. Clang.
She stood up. Her heart rate spiked. This was it. The first test.
They marched to the North Theater. It was a massive, circular room. The stage was a circle of light in the center. The seats were dark, cavernous shadows.
The atmosphere felt like a tomb.
"Line up!" Vivienne shouted. "When your name is called, you enter the light. You will be given a scenario. You will perform. You will not stop until you hear the gong."
"The gong?" someone asked.
"The sound of your career dying," Vivienne said. "Next!"
The first name was called. A nervous boy named Tim.
He walked into the light. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.
A voice boomed from the darkness. It was Thorne.
"You are holding a gun. It has one bullet. The person you love most in the world is behind that door. They have been bitten by a zombie. What do you do?"
Tim froze. "I... I shoot the door?"
"Wrong," Thorne snapped. "You're boring. You're dead."
DONG!
The gong echoed through the theater. Tim collapsed in tears. Security dragged him out.
The line shifted. Fear was a palpable wave.
Allison stood tall. She breathed deep. She analyzed the game. It wasn't about acting. It was about choices. It was about psychology.
They wanted shock. They wanted guts.
Name after name was called.
One girl was told to seduce a chair. She failed.
Another guy was told to mourn a dead dog. He overacted. DONG.
DONG.
DONG.
The line was shrinking. The tension was skyrocketing.
"Allison Harper," Vivienne called out.
Allison stepped forward. She didn't hesitate. She walked into the circle of light. It was blinding. Hot.
She couldn't see the panel. She could only feel them. Watching. Judging.
"Harper," Thorne's voice rolled through the darkness. "We've heard about you. The angry girl from New York."
"I'm not angry," Allison said, her voice clear and strong. "I'm motivated.
"Let's test that motivation." Thorne paused. "Scenario. You are at a wedding. You see your fiancé kissing your maid of honor."
Allison's stomach tightened. Jack. Lena.
"Action," Thorne commanded.
Allison didn't scream. She didn't cry. She didn't rush forward.
She stood still. She looked at an invisible spot in the distance. A slow, cold smile spread across her face.
She looked at her nails. She picked a piece of lint off her dress.
Then, she looked up at the invisible couple.
"I hope you have a prenup," she said softly.
She walked over to the "cake." She picked up an imaginary knife.
She didn't stab them. That was too cliché.
She cut herself a slice of cake. She took a bite. She chewed slowly.
She swallowed.
"Delicious," she whispered.
She turned to the "groom." She reached out, brushed a crumb off his shoulder.
"You're going to need a good lawyer," she said. "Because I'm going to take everything."
She dropped the plate. It shattered—she mimicked the sound perfectly, her body jerking at the impact.
She stared at the mess. Then she looked back at them.
"Happy wedding," she said. "To me."
She turned her back on them. She walked away. Head high. Shoulders back.
Silence in the theater.
The silence stretched. It was heavy. Suffocating.
Had she gone too far? Had she been too subtle?
Suddenly, a slow clap started.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
It wasn't Thorne. It was someone else.
A figure stood up in the shadows. A man. He walked down the aisle toward the stage.
He was wearing a fitted leather jacket. Jeans that looked like they had been tailored on him. Dark hair that fell over eyes that could see right through her.
He looked familiar. Dangerously familiar.
"Brilliant," the man said. His voice was like whiskey and gravel. "Absolutely ice-cold."
He stepped into the light.
Allison's breath hitched.
She knew that face.
She had seen it on billboards in Times Square. She had seen it on the cover of Rolling Stone.
Lucas Black.
The Academy Award winner. The highest-paid actor in Hollywood. The man known for destroying his co-stars on screen.
What was he doing here?
"Mr. Black," Thorne's voice said, sounding... deferential? "I didn't expect you to observe the first round."
"I like to watch the fresh meat," Lucas said, his eyes locked on Allison. "Usually, it's garbage. Screaming. Crying. Boring."
He stepped onto the stage. He was close now. Too close. She could smell sandalwood and expensive Scotch.
"But you?" He circled her. Like a shark. "You didn't play the victim. You played the winner."
He stopped in front of her. He towered over her. His presence was overwhelming.
Magnetic.
"What was the thought process?" he asked. "Behind the cake?"
Allison met his gaze. She refused to be intimidated. Lucas Black was just a man. A very famous, very handsome man.
But he was still a man.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold," Allison quoted, her voice steady. "But eating cake makes it sweeter."
Lucas stared at her. A slow grin spread across his face. It transformed him from intimidating to devastating.
"I like you," he said.
"He stays," Lucas announced to the shadows.
He leaned in close to Allison. His breath tickled her ear.
"Don't disappoint me, Harper," he whispered. "I hate being bored."
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness.
Allison stood there. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She had passed.
But she had just attracted the attention of the biggest shark in the tank.
"Next!" Vivienne shouted, snapping the moment back to reality.
Allison walked off the stage. Her legs felt like jelly, but she held her head high.
She sat back down next to Devon.
"What happened up there?" Devon asked, his eyes wide. "Lucas Black? He never comes here. Ever."
"I just did the scene," Allison said, her voice shaking slightly. "I didn't know he was watching."
"He stood up for you," Devon said. "Do you know what that means? It means you're marked. You're special."
Allison looked at the stage. The light seemed brighter now. It wasn't just a spotlight.
It was a target.
But for the first time in her life, she didn't want to hide.
She wanted to pull the trigger.
"Let them come," she whispered.
The auditions continued. The room emptied out.
By noon, only ten actors remained.
Allison. Devon. Tiffany. A few others.
Thorne walked onto the stage. The clapping was over. The smile was gone.
"Congratulations," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You survived the morning. You are the survivors."
"But," he raised a finger. "The Olympians don't just want survivors. They want predators."
Vivienne stepped forward holding a clipboard.
"The final exercise," she announced. "We are pairing you up. You will perform a scene from Macbeth. The famous fight scene. Macbeth vs. Macduff."
She looked up. "Allison Harper. You're up against Tiffany."
Allison looked at Tiffany. The blonde girl was pale. Shaking.
"No weapons," Vivienne said. "Just you. Just your bodies. Real fight choreography. Don't hold back. If you break a bone, heal later. If you lose, you go home."
Allison stood up. This was it. The physical test.
She walked onto the stage. Tiffany followed.
Tiffany looked at Allison with wide, fearful eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
Allison tilted her head. "You don't have to worry about hurting me, Tiffany. You just have to worry about losing."
"Fight!" Thorne yelled.
Tiffany lunged. She was wild. Scratching. Pulling hair.
Sloppy.
Allison had taken years of stage combat. She knew how to move. How to use momentum.
She side-stepped Tiffany easily. She grabbed Tiffany's arm. Twisted.
Tiffany shrieked and spun.
Allison didn't hit her. She didn't need to. She used Tiffany's own weight against her.
She swept Tiffany's legs out from under her.
THUD.
Tiffany hit the floor hard. The wind was knocked out of her.
Allison was on her instantly. She pinned Tiffany to the ground. Her forearm against Tiffany's throat.
Just enough pressure to make a point.
Not enough to kill.
"Yield," Allison said. Her voice was low. Dangerous.
Tiffany tapped the floor frantically. "I yield! I yield!"
Allison released her immediately. She stood up and brushed off her hands.
She looked into the darkness. She knew Lucas Black was watching.
She knew the Board was watching.
She had arrived.
"DONG!"
The gong sounded.
Allison froze. She looked at Thorne.
"Disqualified!" Thorne yelled.
"What?" Allison gasped. "I won. She yielded."
"You showed mercy," Thorne spat. "You had her. You could have ended her. You let her live. Mercy is for the weak. Mercy is for the dead!"
Allison's blood boiled. "It was a spar! I didn't need to break her arm!"
"But she would have broken yours!" Thorne roared. "Look at her! She's a snake! She would have bitten you!"
Allison looked at Tiffany. The girl was still on the floor, crying.
No. Thorne was wrong.
Allison turned to leave. She had failed.
"Stop," a voice said from the darkness.
It was Lucas again.
Thorne froze. "Mr. Black, she broke the rules. Mercy is a sin."
"I disagree," Lucas said. He walked onto the stage again. He looked at Allison. Then he looked at Thorne.
"Mercy is power," Lucas said. "Mercy is saying 'I could have killed you, but I chose not to.' That is the ultimate power. That is a Queen."
He looked at Allison. "She passes. With distinction."
The room erupted in gasps.
Thorne's face turned purple. He was furious. But he wouldn't dare argue with Lucas Black.
"Fine," Thorne growled. "She stays. But the rest of you... go to your rooms. Tonight, you write your own eulogies. Tomorrow, we bury who you used to be."
Allison stared at Lucas.
He winked at her. A secret conspiracy shared between two predators.
She walked off the stage.
She had passed the test.
But she realized something terrifying.
The rules didn't apply to her.
And that made her the most dangerous person in the room.
She was no longer just Allison Harper, the dumped actress from New York.
She was a rising force.
And Lucas Black had just handed her the sword.
"Game on," she whispered to the empty air.
The war for Hollywood had officially begun.