She flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “It’s not like that, Tom. Did you really think I was going to let Karl beat you up? Karl and I had a deal: I’d let him take you out of Machiavelli, and in return, he agreed to help us get Nigel into Camelot Company.” Her eyes glinted with a wicked light. “I only agreed to let him haul you out of Machiavelli. I never said a word about not calling someone here to help you. And I was just checking to see what was happening, to see if you really needed it.”

Tom wanted to believe her. He took another step back, considering it. “You could’ve let me in on it beforehand.”

She bit her lip. “Aw, but you had to look all hurt and betrayed for Karl to trust me. I didn’t know how good of an actor you are.”

When her eyes were wide and imploring, like she wanted nothing more than for him to believe her, Tom found it so hard to remember there was any reason to be angry. She hadn’t meant for him to get punched.

And then Wyatt cut in, “That’s so easy to say now that it’s all over. But if you were going to call one of Tom’s friends to tell them he needed help, why didn’t you do it at the same time you called Karl so they’d be ready to come help him? For all you knew, they weren’t even in the Spire today.”

Heather blinked at Wyatt like she’d just noticed she was there. “I’m sorry, but I don’t really know you.... Wyatt, isn’t it?”

“That’s weird. You knew my name a few months ago when I helped with your profile,” Wyatt said flatly.

Tom’s gaze shot to Heather’s. That was her?

Heather opened and closed her mouth, caught off guard. She recovered quickly. “Well, Wyatt, it’s still a little presumptuous for you to say what I should’ve done when you don’t understand the whole situation.”

Wyatt crossed her arms. “I thought I was just pointing out the obvious.”

“Tom is fine, so this argument is pointless.” Heather wasn’t so gorgeous with that gray color in her cheeks, and there was something very narrow and calculating in her expression, like she was sizing Wyatt up as an enemy.

“I thought I brought up a good point, and you haven’t even addressed it—”

“Wyatt, it’s okay,” Tom broke in, stepping between them.

Wyatt scowled at him now, and then muttered, “Fine. It doesn’t make a difference to me.” She took a few jerky steps toward the door to Hannibal Division, then spun around, and awkwardly raised her arms up in the air.

Tom gazed at her, perplexed, wondering why she was making claws like she was pretending to be a monster.

“I am awesome,” she said.

And he laughed, realizing she was gloating just like he’d told her to. Wyatt nodded, then abruptly whirled around and scrambled from the room.

Heather was gaping after her, like she’d just encountered an alien. “It’s true what everyone says. She has, like, no social skills.”

“She’s blunt,” Tom agreed.

If Heather caught that he was telling her Wyatt was painfully honest, unlike some other girl he knew, then she didn’t show it.

“You remember, don’t you, that I made Karl promise not to hit you in Machiavelli?”

Tom hit the button to the elevator several times. “Sure, I remember you saying that. Look, I’ve gotta go to the infirmary.”

He began remembering the way Heather and Nigel looked at each other in Machiavelli Division when he told them he was being chased by Karl, and the way Heather sent him off so they could talk alone, but really so she could call Karl to offer him up.

Heather’s hand slid up the back of his arm and rested there near his shoulder. Goose bumps prickled up his skin. She whispered in his ear, “I’ll come see you later, just to be sure you’re okay.”

She usually made his brain feel like it was dissolving, but he felt now like they were surrounded by a fog of sorts, muting whatever it was she did to him. Maybe his face was just throbbing too much from being punched for her to have the usual effect.

He shifted so her hand dropped from him, and stepped into the elevator. “You don’t need to,” he said. “I’m doing great.” And then before she could say another word, the doors slid shut between them.

TOM FINALLY MADE it to the infirmary a full half hour after leaving Alexander Division. After Nurse Chang packed his bleeding nose with gauze, Tom told him about the CA thing, which sent a flicker of alarm across the man’s face.

“What?” Tom said, aghast. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Nurse Chang said hastily, paging Dr. Gonzales. “Let’s look at those shoulders.”

Tom’s joints had been hurting even before Karl kindly twisted his arms nearly out of their sockets. By the time Chang tested Tom’s range of motion, he couldn’t even raise his arms past his shoulders. Chang gave him some Percocet, which took care of the pain. Tom was almost able to forget why he’d come a few minutes later as he lay in a conical machine that was testing his bone density. He’d just yanked the bloody gauze out of his nose when Olivia Ossare’s voice startled him.

“Tom, how are you?”

He peered over at her, surprised. He hadn’t realized she worked weekends. His neural processor flashed:

NAME: Olivia Ossare

AFFILIATION: United States Social Services

SECURITY STATUS: Confidential LANDLOCK-3

He hadn’t spoken to Olivia since his first day at the Spire, but he’d heard about her from the other trainees. She’d told him she was there for the kids, there to be their moral support and stuff, but Tom had learned enough to realize no one actually went to her. Or if anyone did, they definitely didn’t talk about it.

It was more of a joke to the trainees, a way to ridicule people who seemed like wimps: oh, if you don’t like it here, why don’t you go cry to the social worker, Plebe?

It embarrassed him, seeing Olivia there, concern on her face. He balled up the gauze in his hand and glanced toward the door, hoping no one passed by and thought she was there because he needed to talk to her.

“Fine. I’m having some bone density issues or something, but it’s no big deal.”

Her black eyebrows drew together. “The nurse told me you tore some ligaments. What happened?”

“Oh. Yeah. I tripped. This is nothing, really.”

“That neural processor’s supposed to help your balance.”

“It didn’t this time.”

He hoped the words would end the questions, but she pressed on. “Has everything been okay so far?”

“Everything’s fine,” Tom said.

“No, it’s not,” a voice broke in. Dr. Gonzales walked over, studying his lab reports.

NAME: Alberto Gonzales

RANK: Lieutenant, MD

GRADE: USAF 0-3, Active Duty

SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-8

Tom blinked away the text as the doctor informed him, “You’re showing signs of strain upon your joints and low density in your bones. There’s a low serum calcium level, too—you must feel some tingling in your extremities. This growth spurt’s overtaxing your body.”

Tom went cold. “I told you, I fell. That’s why I got hurt.”

Dr. Gonzales shook his head. “Your injury’s secondary to the overall strain on your body. It’s a result, not a cause. Your system doesn’t have the resources to support this bone expansion. I’m going to have to access your neural processor and shut off the hGH spike.”