Ezra barely managed to twist out of the way, a blade slicing past his cheek, leaving a thin, stinging cut in its wake. He hissed, skidding backward just as the attacker lunged again, their knife flashing in the dim light.
This time, the edge of the blade snipped across his forearm, drawing a thin line of blood.
Ezra gritted his teeth, instincts kicking in as he leaped back—just in time to duck under a second attack. A brutal kick aimed straight for his head missed by inches, the sheer force of it sending a gust of air past his ear.
That one would have knocked him out cold.
He couldn't afford to let any of them land a solid hit.
His boots dug into the muddy forest floor as he regained his footing, eyes scanning the situation.
Four of them.
Two guys. Two girls. None of them familiar.
The two who had attacked him—a brunette girl with high pigtails and a guy with short black hair—were fast. Skilled. Their movements were fluid, controlled. They weren't reckless—they were testing him.
Ezra exhaled, forcing himself to stay calm.
His gaze flickered toward the other two, who hadn't moved yet.
A second girl stood off to the side, posture lazy but sharp, like a coiled viper waiting to strike. Next to her, a taller guy stood still, watching, his hand resting idly against the twin pistols strapped to his thighs.
Guns.
Ezra's stomach twisted.
That changed things.
One wrong move and they wouldn't even have to close the distance.
The rain pelted down harder, soaking through Ezra's clothes as his opponents circled him, their expressions ranging from bored amusement to mild interest.
The black-haired guy who had attacked first, let out a low, amused chuckle. His knife twirled effortlessly in his fingers as he watched Ezra like a cat watching a cornered mouse.
"Not bad," he mused. "You're quicker than I thought."
The girl with pigtails sighed, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, why did we even pick him? He doesn't even have anything useful."
Ezra glanced at himself—mud-covered, drenched, armed with nothing but a single dagger. Yeah, not exactly intimidating.
The black-haired boy laughed, flipping the knife in his hand before pointing it lazily at Ezra.
"Shut up, Ann," he drawled. "Taking out another participant gets us points. Doesn't matter if he's weak."
The taller guy finally let out a sigh, arms crossed. "Kyle, just finish it. Liz and I are tired of your games."
The black-haired boy who he assumed was called kyle scowled, irritation flickering across his face. "Fuck off, Mark. I'll do what I want."
Ezra didn't miss the shift in tension between them, the way Ann flinched slightly at Kyle's outburst—nor the way Liz rolled her eyes in frustration.
Mark and the second girl—Liz—seemed more in sync, more controlled. Kyle, on the other hand, liked being in charge, and Ann? She just followed him around like an obedient shadow.
They weren't a real team.
They were just a group of opportunists who had temporarily aligned for the sake of the Games.
That meant one thing.
Ezra could use it against them.