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  Judging by the way Miller’s lips thin, I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

  “You didn’t turn up for dinner last night,” he says. “I assumed your test went over time. But this morning you weren’t there for breakfast.” Miller shoves a cranberry muffin and a juice pouch at me. “You need to eat, or you won’t get through today. There’s only about five more minutes until it starts.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You don’t have a choice. Eat.”

  Maybe Miller is right. Maybe I don’t have a choice. Maybe the testing would start whether I wanted to participate or not. I take a drink of the orange juice. The cold rush of liquid coats my insides as the sweet and sour taste coats my tongue.

  Overwatch breaks the silence. “Five minutes until testing begins. Please return to your rooms.”

  Miller stands and throws a fresh shirt at me. “Gotta go. Don’t skip meals, Ugene. It never ends well.”

  I set the food down and replace my sweat-soaked shirt with the fresh one. How much worse could it possibly get?

  16

  I have no idea where the Central Dome is. The change of location has me curious.

  As I search, Overwatch announces one minute. I come across the doorway into the room I found during my initial investigation of the floor. Nothing marks the room out as different, but instinct tells me it’s the right place, so I step inside with seconds to spare.

  The door swings shut and the lock slides into place.

  Two others appear in the room, and I instantly recognize them both. Why did I have to ask myself how much worse it could get?

  The first is Forrest, who stands near the edge of the room with a tablet and a contemplative look on his face as he reads something on it.

  The second is Bianca, who doesn’t appear nearly as surprised to see me as I am to see her. Instead, she stands about as far apart from Forrest as she can, her arms crossed over her chest.

  I freeze near the door, staring at Bianca in her Paragon security uniform. My heart leaps, and I’m back to being that infatuated schoolboy. She can’t be part of this. Does she have any idea what’s going on here? As I debate what to do or say, a sparring mat appears in the middle of the room.

  “Let’s get started,” Forrest says as if I don’t have layers of tension leaking through every part of me. “Step onto the mat.”

  Bianca’s looking me over as she moves toward the mat, and her alarm is in response to what she sees. Not me. But the condition I’m in. I have no doubt my face gives away my exhaustion, and perhaps even the fear hammering away at me. Heat flushes my cheeks, and I can’t bear to meet her gaze a second longer. I haven’t seen her in a few days, not since that night on our street.

  Then Forrest’s words sink in. I have to spar with Bianca? This hardly seems fair. She’s a Somatic. Not an exceptional one, but well above average. I step hesitantly toward the sparring circle.

  Bianca offers a kind smile and pulls her black hair back into a ponytail, but something else hides behind her eyes as she looks at me. “I’m sorry,” she mouths, glancing furtively at her brother.

  “This is the Muscle Memory test,” says Forrest, as if I couldn’t guess it myself. “Bianca will teach you the basics; then you will spar and try to mimic her in preparation for the next phase of the test.”

  “I… can’t fight her.” The words come out meeker than I’d intended.

  “Because I’m a girl?” Bianca teases.

  “No. Because you’re Somatic. And I’m so not. It’s hardly a fair fight.”

  Bianca strips off the security guard belt and collared shirt, leaving her in just a black tank top, skin-tight leggings, and boots. “I’m sparring with you, Ugene, not fighting.”

  Warmth spreads through my whole body and the hairs on my arms and neck rise. My gaze fixes for a moment on the newly exposed cleavage. It’s one thing to have to spar, but it’s something else entirely to have to fight with the only girl I’ve ever had such strong feelings for. Forrest just motions me onward.

  The training is exhausting. Bianca walks me through each move only once—though in fairness, she does so in great detail—then moves on to the next. Each time she instructs me to mimic what she does, shifting my stance or controlling my motions by placing her hands on my arms or torso. Each time she touches me, a flare of excitement shoots through my body, and my cheeks heat all over again. Everything she does is precise and professional, but I find it hard to focus on any of this. Instead, I become more aware of her closeness, the scent of citrus soap on her skin.

  That feeling of comfort quickly dissolves when she tells me it’s time to spar. I hesitate to move toward her, well aware that I will look like a weakling.

  She calls out the moves—one at a time—with the name she taught me. It starts slow, and I have to think a second before responding. After a round, she starts calling the names faster: knife hand, high block, uppercut, knife hand block, reverse punch, hammer fist, and on and on.

  Faster.

  Each time she calls out a block, she throws the punch at me so fast I rarely make it in time to block.

  Faster.

  She mixes them up, trying to confuse me. One small mercy is that she pulls each of her swings to lessen the impact. But each strike still staggers my stance.

  Even amid all this chaos, she looks glorious. Sweat makes her skin glisten in the bright lights of the room. Her soap mingling with her sweat. I struggle to keep up with her, enveloped in every little motion and scent and sound of her. The intensity of her gaze penetrates to my soul. It’s distracting me from where my focus should be.

  And despite the sweat on her brow, Bianca isn’t tired. In fact, she looks invigorated. It has a rejuvenating power over me. I’m stronger in her presence, feeding off her energy. Drinking her in. She hasn’t given me this much attention in years. Not since we were kids too young to understand the class difference between Powers.

  Bianca calls the spar to a halt. I hadn’t been aware of how exhausted and weak I am until we stop. Her soft hand falls gently on my back as I double over, gasping for breath, nearly collapsing to the mat. Every part of my body feels like pins and needles. My muscles threaten to give out. I try to ask how I did, but I can’t form the words between ragged breaths. She rubs my sweaty back a little as if that helps at all. The action only serves to speed my already racing heart. My stomach twists in a frenzy.

  Forrest sits to the side, taking notes and reviewing the tablet as it receives reports from my nanomonitors. A stylus flicks between his fingers.

  “You okay, Ugene?” Bianca asks, bent over to see me better.

  All I can do in response is give a half-hearted thumbs up.

  Bianca’s gaze turns away from me toward Forrest. “What is it?” she asks. Her interest grabs my attention, and I watch her, hands on my knees, as she walks to her brother.

  “I don’t know.” Forrest is making notes furiously on his tablet. “Do it again.”

  I stand, pressing my thumbs into the small of my back. My breath is slowly coming back to me, but I still can’t make my legs move. “What?”

  “Do it again,” Forrest says.

  I heard him the first time. Just wish I hadn’t. Bianca drags her feet toward the sparring circle again, helping me along.

  “I can’t do it again,” I say. My throat is raw.

  After a glance at a distracted Forrest, she leans closer. “I’m gonna hit you. Stay down.”

  Right. Just let her hit me. Like it won’t hurt. But it can’t be any worse than the fire running through my skin right now.

  The two of us take up position again, but this time my stance is frail. Hardly worth standing. Sweat rolls down into my eyes, and I try to blink and wipe it out. I manage a few swings and blocks, but there’s no way Forrest would believe any of it is real. Searing pain lances across my skull, knocking me to the floor with a pounding headache.

  “Bianca!” Forrest’s voice is distant.

  I blink, pushing against the mat. If I can stand,
I can keep her out of trouble. But my arms quiver and give out. Their voices are muffled, but I can’t focus on what they are talking about.

  I close my eyes, and when they open, everything is clearer. Hands help me upright on the mat. Blinking, I work my jaw, then realize I’m no longer sweating.

  “Good to have you back,” Forrest says. “You did great, Ugene. We’re nearly done.”

  This confuses me. What exactly did I do right? I was more distracted today than any of the previous tests. In the end, I’m pretty sure Bianca knocked me out.

  Bianca.

  I rub my aching temple and seek her out. But she’s gone. And in her place stands the giant Somatic who glared at me from Terry the Telepath’s door. What was his name? Derrek.

  Nearly done. Forrest’s words sink in, and the horrifying realization comes to me.

  I have to fight Derrek. Just remember, this is for Dad’s treatment. For my cure.

  I shake my head and take a step back, but ropes appear around the ring. I could climb over them, but there’s really no escape, is there? Where will I go? Bianca was just the warm-up. Or maybe an instructor to prepare me for this. Except I’m not prepared. Not in the slightest. Derrek is twice my size with Enhanced Strength. As he stalks toward me, fists up like a boxer, I know that I don’t stand a chance.

  My insides writhe as I watch Derrek stalk toward me, towering over me, his muscles straining the short sleeves of his scrubs. And he smiles. I gag and can’t help but wonder if it would make his stop if I just vomited on his feet. With Forrest here, probably not.

  Forrest isn’t watching us at all. He’s staring at his tablet in deep concentration. The corners of his mouth are turned down like he’s disappointed.

  Derrek’s feet hammer against the mat, drawing my attention back to him and raising my elbows defensively like Bianca just taught me. I won’t last long.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” Derrek says, and that smirk on his face is no longer teasing. It’s menacing, like a predator stalking its prey.

  Unsure what else to do, I kick out, but he grabs my leg, throws a punch into my ribs hard enough to knock all the air from my lungs, then sweeps me down onto the mat. My back smacks the floor, and I gasp for breath, scrambling backward to gain the space I need to stand. Just don’t let him kick or punch me in the head.

  I barely have time to put up my arms in defense before Derrek swings again. Pain lances through my arm as I block, and I’m distinctly aware that another hit like that from him will break my arm. Sweat and tears sting my eyes, but I don’t dare move my arms to wipe it away.

  “Crying already, Powerless prick?” Derrek taunts. “I knew this would be easy, but you could at least try.”

  I swing an upper cut, but he knocks my arm away effortlessly and drives his fist into my ribs again. Something cracks. I cry out and lower my arm to my side for protection. A fatal mistake. I don’t even see Derrek’s fist, but the crack against my jaw momentarily blackens my vision. Ringing sounds in my ears. I stumble to the side, but it’s too late. I lose balance long enough that even a chance at escape is gone. I still try, stumbling into the ropes and catching them before I can tumble to the mat.

  Derrek doesn’t give me a chance to breathe. His hand closes around my arm and yanks me back, then his foot connects with my chest. I have no hope. Never did. My back hits the mat again, and no matter how hard I will myself to get up, I can’t. My ribs throb in pain, my arm aches, and I can’t breathe. A fist grabs my shirt and pulls me up until Derrek’s eyes are close, locked on mine. He stands over me, gloating.

  “This wasn’t even a fight.”

  My arms ignore my commands. My lungs refuse to listen. But my legs, despite being shaky, still have strength. On knee shoots up, connecting between Derrek’s legs, and the other leg kicks out at his chest.

  Derrek lets go and stumbles back.

  I roll over on all four trembling limbs and spit blood on the mat. The metallic tang fills my mouth and nose. My breaths come hard, and as I stand the room spins. I blink away the stinging sweat and tears in my eyes as I see Derrek attempting to recover. He’s stronger and faster. I don’t have time.

  How does this end? What is Forrest looking for? The thoughts drift like a rowboat lost in the sea. I blink again, and Derrek is in front of me. I manage to get a punch into his chest just as pain lances through my cheekbone beside my eye. Blood and blackness cloud my vision.

  My knees give out, and the mat feels like ice against my burning face. A muffled voice announces the end of the test just moments before I hear my arm snap. The pain knocks me out.

  ~~~

  The world seeps through the darkness in a haze. Muffled voices. Clicks of a machine. Patches of blurry light appear and slip back into shadow. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. I gasp, scream, pull and tug. Something bites into my wrists and ankles, immobilizing me. Muffled shouts. Warmth seeps across my skin. Then everything slips away.

  17

  I open my eyes and blink at the white ceiling. My hands are leaden. My legs don’t want to move. Everything weighs me down. I can’t remember what happened or where I am. Just me and the white ceiling.

  “Ugene…”

  Bianca’s voice brings everything rushing back. The sparring. The test. The pain… I roll my head to the side. Desk. Shelves. Journals. This is my room. How did I get here? And Bianca.

  “What…?” My throat hurts. It’s hard to swallow.

  “They brought you in like this,” Bianca says, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands fidgeting in her lap, then her warm hand slides overtop mine. The simple touch tightens my chest even though it’s a friendly gesture. “Forrest said the second part of your test didn’t go well. No one would tell me anything more. So I looked for you. And when they brought you back to your room, I asked if I could keep watch.”

  “How long?” I croak.

  “A day,” Bianca says. “But they just brought you in a couple hours ago. What happened?”

  My stomach growls. I force myself to sit up, leaning against the wall behind the bed for support. The words start tumbling out. The fight against Derrek after she left. Her brother ignoring the beatdown Derrek gave me. Everything I remember. Overwatch is listening. I know it, but I can’t help telling her the truth.

  As Bianca listens, her eyes narrow, her grip tightening over my hand. By the end, she is shaking her head.

  “No.” Her hand pulls out of mine, leaving me cold. “But Forrest…” But she hesitates, looking away as if she doesn’t want to admit something to me.

  A knock comes at the door. My muscles tense, then ache. Why does everything hurt?

  Bianca slides off the bed and glides to the door, her boots registering no sound as she moves across the tiled floor. When she pulls it open, she yanks Miller in and slams him against the wall, her forearm against his throat.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, relaxing back against the wall again. “It’s just Miller. He’s harmless.”

  Bianca doesn’t look at me. She glares at Miller and holds him like she expects him to fight back. “I know who he is, and he’s anything but harmless. What do you want?” Bianca growls at Miller.

  A groan slips out as I push myself off the bed. Pain lances through my back, feeling stretched thin, and for a moment the room spins. There’s no aching in my ribs or arm, where I know Derrek at least fractured something, if not breaking it completely.

  Healing. They had to heal me after the test.

  “I heard about what happened and came to check on Ugene,” Miller replies.

  I shuffle toward them and rest a hand on Bianca’s upper arm, giving her a small nudge back.

  “He won’t hurt me.” I manage to draw Bianca’s gaze.

  She hesitates, then gives a slight nod, taking a small step back.

  Miller rubs at his throat, watching her as he steps further into the room. “How are you, kid?”

  “I’m okay, I guess,” I say. “There was a Strongarm test and… it didn’t go well.”
<
br />   “How’s your shoulder, lovely?” Miller asks Bianca.

  “Healed,” Bianca snaps.

  The terse response pulls me back into the moment. I rub my temples. “Okay, clearly you two have a history—”

  “She didn’t like getting beaten by a Naturalist.” Miller is so smug even I am irritated by it.

  “You are not a Naturalist!”

  “It’s Matter Mutation,” says Miller, looking at me now. “You know, manipulation.”

  I nod. It never occurred to me to ask about his ability, though I have spotted the Naturalist brand on his hand—the Oak Tree—and I wondered what his Power was. He never said, won’t tell me much, to be honest. I’ve never met anyone who hoarded so many secrets. But Matter Mutation. That I understand.

  Bianca turns to me, fury burning in her stunning copper gaze.

  I tense.

  “He pulled my arm out of socket using what he calls Matter Mutation. A bolt of lightning went from my shoulder to a nearby one-ton weight. Nearly ripped my arm off.”

  The physics of what she claims is impossible, and despite my better judgment, I only have one reaction. “Cool.”

  Bianca’s eyes flare wildly.

  I cup my elbow with one hand and tap my lips with the other, trying to piece it together. Miller didn’t just zap Bianca like his ability should do. He nearly ripped her arm off. That’s only possible with Reversed Divinic Regrowth. So, if a Naturalist can create lightning from a metal anchor, and a Divinic can manipulate a person’s cells, what did that make Miller?

  “The strength it would take to pull that much energy from something.” I’m muttering, pacing back and forth, just a few steps in the confined space. “No one has that much strength in any Power. It would take… superhuman strength. Unless…” I stop and spin on my heels, hands rubbing together, facing Miller.

  Miller crosses his arms as if he knows what’s coming.

  “You have two Powers. Two Branches.” The words rush out. “That’s why Paragon wants you.”

  Miller shuffles his feet, lips pulling in a taut line. “Technically, it’s just borderline duality.”