Between them sat Dr. Amina Chaudry (59), a retired forensic psychologist, who said nothing but saw everything. And then there was R5.

“You were in a darker cave,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Then it hit him. The “lesser brother” of the beast (666) could be 555—the “number of man” in some gnostic texts. And “what mortals fear thrice”? The threefold fear: the Furies. The Erinyes. Their number? Three. Three threes? Nine.

At 8:03 AM, a wax-sealed parchment was shot from a pneumatic tube into the camp’s fire pit, narrowly missing a sleeping YouTuber. Cassia unrolled it with the gravitas of a general reading a declaration of war. “Celebrities. The gods of Olympus are displeased. Your whining has reached the underworld. Today, you will face the Wrath of Hades – Round Five. One soul must descend into the Cave of Tantalus. This is no ordinary trial. This is a redemption. Or a reckoning. Choose wisely.” A collective groan. Round Four, the day before, had seen ex-rugby player Gaz “The Mauler” Morrison fail a challenge involving live scorpions and a Perspex coffin. He was now being treated for mild shock in a luxury hotel (which, according to the producers’ leaked gossip, had a pool and unlimited ouzo). The camp was terrified.

Rico closed his eyes and went somewhere else. Not to Greece. Not to the jungle. He went back to Miami, 2006. Backstage at the American Music Awards. He’d just won three trophies. The champagne was flowing. He was on top of the world. Then a cop had pulled him over at 3 AM on the MacArthur Causeway. The headline the next day: “Latin Star Rico Suarez Arrested: Twice the Limit, Daughter in Back Seat.”

The lid flew open. Sunlight. Dino and Spiro were cheering. Centipedes were brushed off by medics. Rico sat up, trembling, a single centipede clinging to his eyebrow. He plucked it off gently and set it on the rock.

Then, a voice. Quiet. Gravelly.