“I know two of them. Master Angeletti and Master Ortega. They were at the last gathering.”

“Remember, they can’t recognize you.”

I nodded, but seeing those familiar faces set me on edge. I expected at any moment one of them would point in my direction and declare me an enemy, sending all of these wannabe recruits my way.

But the two masters paid me no more attention than they did any of the other recruits. When the third man—the trumpeter—stopped playing, Master Angeletti spoke, his voice still deep and his gray beard still scraggly. “Do you see that?” he asked, raising his hands toward the rising sun. “That is why we are here, what gives us all life. The sun. The light. We were born to the light, born to goodness. It reminds me of one of my favorite psalms:

Humans are born into the light

Shining good, shining bright

Only evil thrives at night

Let us banish them from our sight.

I nearly choked with laughter, hearing poetry I probably could’ve written when I was ten years old. But Master Angeletti’s face was full of rapture as he spoke, and the other Warriors nodded along approvingly, like he was quoting one of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

“That is the natural way of things,” Master Angeletti told us. “Those who thrive in darkness are not part of the divine plan. They are evil and unnatural, and it is the job of our army to eliminate them and save mankind.”

Beside him, Master Ortega took a turn. “All of you are here because you have shown interest in eradicating that darkness and because your sponsors think you may be worthy to join us. But make no mistake: We will be the ones to decide who truly deserves to serve among us. It will not be easy. You will be tested and scrutinized, your very soul examined. If any of you are afraid or know you won’t have the stamina to face what’s to come, I invite you to leave now.”

Silence fell as he looked around expectantly. A few of the other recruits shifted their stances, but no one made any motions to leave.

“Very well then,” boomed Master Ortega. “Let the trials begin!”

If I’d ever wondered about the fundamental difference between the Alchemists and the Warriors, I soon had my answer. Whatever their flaws, the Alchemists were almost always adherents of the think-first-act-later mindset. The Warriors? Not so much.

Once the opening formalities were out of the way, Master Ortega handed things over to the recruiting director—who, to my complete astonishment, turned out to be Chris Juarez: Trey’s cousin. I hadn’t seen him since the Warriors had held Sonya, and Trey didn’t really talk much about his family after they’d disowned him. Trey had humiliated them by dating a dhampir. Chris had apparently walked the straight and narrow, earning this esteemed position. He strutted out in front of us now, dressed simply in jeans and a muscle shirt that showed off his well-built physique.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t interested in ridding the world of evil,” he told us. “And we’ll eventually determine just how interested you are. But before we get to that, we need to see if you can hold your own if it comes down to facing that evil. Are you afraid of pain? Are you afraid of getting dirty? Are you afraid of doing whatever it takes to keep humanity in the light?” His volume grew louder with each shouted question, stirring spectators and recruits alike into a frenzy. Some of the people standing near Eddie and me shouted back answers. One guy simply let out a primal battle scream that earned cheers from those in the stand. Me, I mostly tried to show excitement and interest, as opposed to the actual shock and disgust I felt.

While Chris had been speaking, other Warriors had been setting up the arena with an odd assortment of items: wooden boxes, tin cans, buckets, cinder blocks. I wondered if there was some sort of obstacle course in the works. When they finished that task, they came out to all the recruits and gave us each a wooden heart attached to a cord. My assumed name—Fiona Gray—was written on it. Eddie, going by Fred Gray, also received one.

“This represents your heart—your life,” said Chris. “Right now we need to know who wants this the most—who’s willing to do whatever it takes to be the victor. Ladies, please step aside and take seats over there.” He pointed to a section of the stands. “You guys, go find spots wherever you want.”

I met Eddie’s eyes briefly as we turned to each other before parting. “Good luck,” I said.

“No luck needed with this lot,” he replied.

I smiled at that and sat down beside a surly looking girl who was about a head taller than me and nearly as muscled as Chris. There were about thirty male recruits, and they scattered throughout the arena, taking positions they thought would be most strategic. Some stood on the crates, some staked out items that looked like they could be made into weapons—like the cinder blocks. Eddie based his position on those of the other combatants, selecting a place that gave him space and a good vantage.

“For the next hour,” Chris announced, “your goal is to collect as many of your opponents’ hearts as possible, by any means necessary. Everything in this arena is fair game. Any tactic is fair game—though we do ask that you try not to kill anyone. The six competitors with the most hearts at the end of the hour will advance. If at any time you feel incapable of going on, simply retreat over to that bench”—he pointed at another section of the stands, where a man in a red hat stood—“and place both palms down. That will release you from the challenge, and Bart will give you any first aid needed.”

Bart, in a plaid shirt and ripped-up jeans, didn’t strike me as someone who’d had any official medical training, but maybe appearances were deceiving.

My stomach was in knots as Chris asked if there were any questions and checked to make sure everyone was ready. Sabrina had warned us there’d be some sort of physical competition, but she hadn’t known the specifics. They changed year to year so that no sponsor could warn their recruits in advance. Apparently, the Warriors wanted things to stay fair, which seemed ironic considering the drugged and worn-down state they’d had Sonya in before bringing her to an attempted execution.

Chris held up his hand to mark the start, and a tense silence filled the air. Eddie leaned forward, squarely in his zone, eyes sharp and body ready. “Begin!” yelled Chris, bringing his hand down.

What followed next was chaos.

The guys fell on each other like a pack of dogs fighting for a scrap of meat. Some went for full-on bodily contact, attempting to throw each other to the ground and steal hearts. Other competitors took a more savage approach, hurling cinder blocks and wielding other debris as weapons. Most of my attention stayed on Eddie, who took a calmer approach and waited for people to come after him. His strength wasn’t initially obvious, and many thought he’d be easy prey. Their mistaken beliefs were soon corrected as he dispatched one attacker after another, knocking them out with precision punches and kicks—then collecting their hearts afterward. Losing your heart didn’t mean you were out of the competition. If you could recover your heart—or simply have a majority at the end of the hour—it was all good. Some of those Eddie took hearts from attempted recovery. Others moved on to seemingly easier foes.