It was strange, but her words were exactly what he needed to hear. Happiness swept through him at the utter confidence in her tone. He drew his gun, but Medusa had drawn hers a bit earlier, more than making up for the speed of his character. Their guns blasted at the same time.

Her bullet thunked into his torso as his glanced off her shoulder, and Tom flew back across the sandy, scorched ground, registering a short flash of pain that receded immediately, according to the simulation’s pain settings. But Medusa’s rapid footsteps scuffed across the ground, and with a savage yell, she careened into him as he tried to rise, knocking them both over, sending dirt scorching into Tom’s lungs. He was stronger than her, heavier, and he lashed out with his arm to pin her beneath him. They stared at each other from inches away. But she was tense against him, and while she was there, a captive audience, Tom groped for something to say to make up for Capitol Summit.

“Hey, you saw how I look. I’m no prize, either,” he admitted.

Medusa’s face grew shadowed.

Oh. Oh, no. Wait. Had he hurt her feelings?

“I didn’t mean that as—” he began, but her gun slammed into his nose, knocking him to the side, and when he raised his head, he found her gun cocked, pressed right to the tender flesh under his chin, a challenging smile on her lips.

“What, you didn’t see that coming? You’re losing your edge.”

He laughed, his chest swelling with a sense of rightness. “I should’ve known that was a ploy.” He reached forward to cup her cheek with his rough palm, but stopped short when he realized he’d been about to touch her face right there where it was scarred in real life. He saw the uncertainty flicker over her face, her finger wavering on the trigger.

“I missed you,” Tom said, honest. “Medusa, I mean it. Your face and stuff—it doesn’t matter to me. Not really. I was surprised. And desperate. I had to win and . . .” Then, inspiration struck. “You know what? This doesn’t matter, Medusa. It doesn’t. We’re on opposite sides of the world. Get it? The way we look is a nonissue for us. We’re never going to see each other in person. We can look however we want!”

But the words didn’t have the effect he’d anticipated. The barrel of her gun dug into his chin, forcing his head back, until she rose up before him like some phoenix.

“That’s great. Then if you’re so unlucky you see me in person, I can wear a bag over my head.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but Medusa didn’t give him another chance. Her pistol exploded, and he careened back into his body in the training room, and away from her.

IN THAT MANNER, Tom missed the end of the simulation.

Vik and Lyla had relentlessly hunted Wyatt and the other survivors in her group, pursuing them down to the Rio Grande. Apparently, Vik and Lyla took down most of Elliot’s group—all but Wyatt. During the slaughter, Vik won Lyla over, and they discovered their feelings for each other. Then they had a terrible fight and broke up again, and shortly after that, Wyatt’s firebomb took out Lyla.

Having loved and lost, Vik was determined to salvage something from the simulation. After he stumbled into a pit Wyatt had concealed, rigged up with spears jutting from the ground, Vik mustered his strength. Despite being grievously impaled, now girlfriendless, and on the verge of death, he readied his gun. Wyatt peered down to check whether he was dead, and Vik fired off a single bullet—right into her head.

Avenging his former girlfriend left Vik feeling rather triumphant. Tom had a great time mocking him as they walked back from the pool where they’d ceremonially dunked Wyatt to celebrate her promotion. “You only dated for twelve minutes. That’s not a real girlfriend, Vik.”

“You can’t talk. You’ve never even met your ex-girlfriend,” Vik pointed out.

“Yeah, but at least our thing was longer than twelve minutes.”

Vik shoved him. “It was a full day, simulation time, Gormless One.”

Tom just kept laughing. “But it was twelve minutes real time. Twelve minutes, Vik. Ten plus two. You take longer showers than your entire relationship.”

“Die slowly, Tom.”

Wyatt walked alongside them back to the Spire, shivering and completely soaked. She was utterly silent.

“Are you well?” Yuri asked her. Wyatt nodded shortly.

“Hey, you know we threw you in the water to congratulate you, right?” Tom said.

“Yes, we thought it would be amusing,” Vik said. “And to be fair, it was. For us.”

Wyatt dragged her gaze over to them. “I was thinking about something. I’ll be in Upper Company, and you guys won’t.”

“Face rubbing,” Vik said.

But it wasn’t. “I’m not in Programming with you because I work with Blackburn. And now I won’t be in anything else with you.”

“For six months,” Vik said. “Unless somehow you make CamCo right away, but even you, Enslow, cannot charm a bunch of sponsors in so short a time.”

Even you . . . Tom stifled a laugh at the thought of Wyatt schmoozing.

“But what if you never get promoted to Upper Company?” Wyatt said, troubled. “What if none of you do? Then I’ll never see you guys ever.”

“Wow, Enslow, your confidence in us is overwhelming,” Vik said, but Tom registered the possibility grimly.

People only moved to Upper Company if they legitimately had a shot at CamCo. If they had at least mild interest from a few possible sponsors. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

“Look, Evil Wench,” Vik said, “we didn’t get promoted right away, but there’s no saying it’s permanent for us.”

“Except when it comes to me,” Tom said with forced lightness.

“And me,” Yuri added softly, and they all lapsed into a grim silence.

Wyatt was the first trainee since Heather Akron to get bumped to Upper after a mere six months in Middle Company. From the scattering of mutterings he heard about “Blackburn’s pet” and the brief glimpse Tom caught of Heather’s face during the promotions announcements in Programming—like she’d swallowed a mouthful of acid—he knew a few people weren’t pleased about it at all. Then again, Heather resented Wyatt in general ever since the firewall debacle. Wyatt found a tracking cookie in her processor, spying on all her network activity. It had been cleverly added to the general homework feed and then programmed to self-delete from every processor but Wyatt’s. Heather denied responsibility with a huge smile, but none of them believed her. She obviously was still trying to make Wyatt’s life “seriously suck.” Wyatt’s advancement in rank had to burn her.

As they all gathered in the Lafayette Room for the promotion ceremony, Vik alternately looked pleased and envious. Tom didn’t have room for much envy. He was too down.

Tom got to witness something interesting, though. Wyatt walked onto the stage when her name was called, and she didn’t even look at Blackburn as he handed her the neural chip with her upgrades. She blew right past him to Cromwell and to shake hands with General Marsh. Blackburn raised his eyebrows, obviously picking up on the same thing Tom had—Wyatt was not pleased with Blackburn for some reason.

But Tom didn’t wonder about that for long. He found himself meeting General Marsh’s eyes, and had to drop his gaze, aware that he hadn’t met the general’s expectations. He hadn’t found a way to redeem himself. All that confidence Marsh had in him was misplaced. There was this pervasive sense of bleakness that settled inside him like a swamp. He wondered if Yuri was feeling the same way, seeing the possibilities he probably would never have.