Free BRINK: Book 1 - The Passing by Arienna Rivers Black

what battle he thinks he's winning.
    “The gentlemen closest in number to 176 are, in reverse order, Zachary Slatesan, 243...”
    A lanky gentleman in a three-piece suit stands and starts walking toward the stage. Had I been less depressed, I might have rolled my eyes.
    “...Alexander Ott, 182...”
    Fancy-pants is joined by a dark-skinned guy who's been to the stage once already.
    “...and Eli Palmer...176.”
    There is a moment of absolute silence as everyone absorbs the enormity of the judge's words. 176. Perfect match. Direct hit. Boom goes the dynamite. The crowd hums like a downed electrical wire, and my throat closes up tight. A sweet-looking guy with mousy brown hair has risen to his feet, but seems unable to move forward until someone nudges him from behind. Then he makes his way to the stage, a dazed expression on his round, flushed face.
    “Why, how very fortunate for you,” says the judge, the false congratulations in his voice grating on my nerves like bones crunching under tire tread. “A perfect match. Please proceed to the room of blessing.”
    I spin so fast the end of my ponytail whacks me in the face. “Wait!" I exclaim, panic nudging my voice up a half-octave. "Don't I get a choice?”
    Judge Crawler gives me a look like I am causing him physical pain. Like he would rather drape himself in raw chicken and play tag with a starving wolverine than address the question I just proffered. Like if I were to suddenly transform into the chalk-eating child of a woman who consumed nothing but opiates, alcohol, lead paint, and canned tuna for the duration of her pregnancy, he would consider our chances for intelligent conversation much improved. But he sighs, long and arduous, and curls his upper lip.
    “In a hundred years of research, there have been only two other perfect matches,” he explains. “Both couples wisely chose to be united, and all four spouses remained fully functioning members of society well past their hundredth birthdays. However, if you believe yourself to be a better judge of compatibility than the algorithm and would prefer to make another selection, you are free to decide, provided you can do so within the next sixty seconds. After that, we shall choose for you.”
    I want to hit him as hard as I can, right in the middle of his now-let's-be-adults-about-this face. But if he really wanted to, he could lock me in a closet, unmarried, until tomorrow morning, when the curse would carry me off into nonexistence. Or when a government agent would feed me a lethal dose of some untraceable substance that would cause my brain to shut itself down. Whichever. So instead I look once at my “perfect match”, with his bewildered, somewhat hurt expression, his hand gripping the hem of his linen shirt. Eli. He's darling, I realize, and the softness in his eyes makes me think he's probably very kind-hearted, too. A good bet. Someone my mother would love, and my father would accept. But while I'm looking at him, I can't help but think of Johanna, and her tattoo, and her decision to save her own life rather than spend it with Harlow, and how horrified I was by her actions. I can't help but think of Harlow's emotionless face as he left with Marta, a sickening reminder that existence is more than a heartbeat. And suddenly, I am transported back to the granite platform, to the sea of boiling lava, to the choice I made to save a sister I didn't even know. Why? Why her and not my parents or my best friends? Or myself? Was it because she was fierce and strong and beautiful, and I wanted to be like her? Or because I felt the wrongness of her death in my bones and wished that she could have had a second chance? Or because, of anyone I had ever known about, she was the only one who seemed to have truly fought to live life on her terms? I'm not sure. The one thing I do know is that, somehow, I made the right choice, and that it's time for me to make it again.
    I turn to look at the men still sitting in the