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chapter three

“Humility is your protection from self-deception. Pride is your defeat.”

—Troika

I’m bathed in liquid sunshine and bliss. The water doesn’t soak me or even dampen my clothing; it goes through me, somehow cleansing me from the inside out and, for one sublime moment, washing away my problems. Peace settles over me. There’s no room for fear or melancholy.

I breathe in deeply...exhale slowly...and savor every second.

I’m certain Killian will overcome whatever obstacles are thrown into his path. He’s smart. Brilliant, actually. And I’m ecstatic for Archer. He’s entered into the Rest. Who wouldn’t enjoy a permanent vacation from war? I’m confident I’ll overcome my own obstacles and quickly acclimate to my new circumstances...new structures, studies, traditions and people.

I’m not worried about my parents, who are Myriad loyalists, living in the other realm...hating me?

Maybe, maybe not. Before taking her final breath, my mother reconciled with me. My father cursed me before his. No matter. My peace endures. My worth isn’t measured by his feelings for me. I am who I am, and my worth is my worth. Life is that simple and that complicated.

I’m not even worried about the frigid cold I experience whenever Killian touches me. We’ve become two halves of a whole, and we’ll find a way to be together.

A hard weight slams into me from behind and knocks me forward. I stumble, coming out the other side of the waterfall, my precious peace instantly replaced by worries and concerns, my warmth by cold and my hope by despair. Tremors ignite in my belly and quickly spread through the rest of me.

Deacon, despite his dislike of me, helps steady me as a guy who looks to be my age emerges from the Veil.

“Sorry, sorry,” the guy says with a slight British accent. “Absolutely my fault, yeah. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He has dark blond hair and amber eyes—one of which is ringed with black. He’s been in a fight. The battle we just left?

Guilt pricks at me.

There’s something familiar about him, but I’m too jumbled by my wayward emotions to solve the puzzle. Despite the bruising, he’s pretty enough to make a storybook princess weep with envy. At roughly five foot ten, he’s not much taller than me. However, the breadth of his shoulders allows him to engulf me.

His gaze slides to Deacon, and I realize I’ve been staring at him in silence. “New recruit?” he asks, amused, and my cheeks heat.

“Yes,” Deacon replies, his voice tight. He pats the guy on the shoulder and seems to fortify himself for an uncomfortable conversation. “There’s something you need to know, Victor. Archer is...he’s been...”

Victor holds up his hand and releases a heavy breath. “I’ve been told, but I refuse to mourn. I’ll be too busy fighting for his return.”

Victor winks at me. “Welcome home, newbie. You’re going to love it here. Come by my apartment later, and I’ll personally make sure of it.”

Deacon gives the guy’s chest a light punch. “The sexual harassment seminar is going well, I see.”

A grinning Victor salutes him before focusing on me. “I’m late for a debriefing or I’d stay and get to know you better. I know, I know. You’re devastated. When you come by—you did agree to visit me, right?—I’ll dry your tears.” He rushes off.

“Is everyone I meet going to make me feel like I fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch?” I ask.

“Spirits are flawless. There isn’t a can of dog food in the bunch.”

Good to know. “So who was that?”

“Victor Prince. Archer’s younger brother. They shared a special bond.”

Archer’s brother? Guilt slashes me, until I’m nothing but confetti.

Why didn’t he curse at me? Or rail? Why didn’t he demand I leave the realm forever? Something! Instead, he invited me over for, I’m guessing, a little light flirting.

Oh...zero. He must not know about my involvement in Archer’s death.

I wish the ground would open up and swallow me.

“Behold.” Deacon waves his arm to indicate the path Victor just took. “Troika.”

My gaze follows the line of his finger, a drumroll going off in my head to herald the moment of truth. Is Troika as lovely as Archer promised, or the scorched apocalyptic wasteland Killian disdained?

I can’t... I don’t... I wasn’t prepared for this. The beauty before me is far lovelier than Archer described. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. A gold brick wall frames an arched entrance created from pearl; the exquisite design is broken only by the Troikan symbol, which is carved into three separate locations.

Past the open archway is a thriving metropolis both fantastic and futuristic, with buildings of every shape and design, some made with a chrome-like substance, some with crystals. Interspersed throughout are castles and other buildings straight from the pages of a storybook. Cinderella would so approve; with the dewy foliage ascending many of the ramparts, Snow White wouldn’t miss her woodland cottage and the prince wouldn’t need Rapunzel’s hair to climb to the top.

I marvel as flowers bloom in a sky of clear, dappled water. We’re under an ocean? No. Realization: we’re under the Veil of Wings! Rose petals fall, twirling lazily through the air.

A ray of sunlight dances from a sun I cannot see. I reach out...only to still. The Troikan symbol in the center of my palm sparkles. Awed, I turn my arm. The numbers sparkle, as well.

“So many changes,” I mutter.

“You were living in an imperfect and tainted world,” Deacon says. “Physical bodies reflect that. Spirits do not.”

He ushers me past the pearl archway. A wall of mist parts in the center, revealing seven smaller archways, each made with a different precious gem and attached to a different—massive—tube.

“These are Gates,” he explains. “There are seven major cities within the realm, and every Gate leads to a different one. You’ll want to learn the transport system as soon as possible.”

He takes my hand and leads me into a tube made of diamonds.

Those diamonds vanish in a blink, replaced by a searing display of fireworks. I’m cognizant of the fact that I’m still standing, still walking, and yet I feel as if I’ve been sucked into a vacuum. The array of lights blurs, whizzing past me, and a wave of dizziness causes me to sway.

With Deacon’s help, I remain upright. The lights begin to fade, the diamond tube reappears. We step onto a gold brick street, surrounded by chrome-and-crystal buildings, no longer on the edge of the realm but in the middle of it. Thousands of people surround us. Male, female. Young, old. Well, not too old. No one tops thirty-five, I’d guess. There’s a beautiful mix of colors and races, and yet they are one people. Different, but exactly the same: priceless.

Due to virtual reality tours I’ve taken through Myriad, I know their citizens wear clothing compatible with the era they lived in as a human. I’ve seen everything from Victorian ball gowns to loincloths. The same is not true for Troikans.

“Everyone is wearing a catsuit or robe,” I say. “Why?”

“The robes are ceremonial. Needed for certain jobs,” Deacon replies. “The suits are lightweight armor. The material protects us against certain weapons. We must always be ready for attack.”

How...sad for us.

A clatter of voices hits my awareness, each light and cheerful. Smiles and laughter abound. No one seems to mind the threat Deacon described.

Envy cuts through me. Have I ever been so carefree?

First I was a girl sheltered by her parents, protected from any outside influence. Then I was a girl tortured at Prynne. Then I was a girl meant to save one realm and destroy the other. Always I was a means to an end. Until Killian and Archer transitioned from Laborers to friends.

Speaking past the lump in my throat, I ask, “How did we move from one location to another in mere seconds?”

“We’re spirits, no longer bound by physical laws. The Gates allow us to travel at the speed of Light.”

I struggle to process such an impossible revelation. The precise value of the speed of Light is 299,792,458 meters per second.

2 + 9 + 9 + 7 + 9 +2 + 4 + 5 + 8 = 55

5 + 5 = 10

Stop counting! Deacon has moved on. I rush after him, trailing him through the crowd. Despite a seeming preoccupation with each other, the couples and families remain highly aware of those around them, and no one bumps into anyone else. Everyone is courteous, offering a genuine “Please” and “Thank you” whenever warranted.

Various perfumes scent the air, blending harmoniously with the fragrance of roses. Multicolored petals continue to rain from the sky.

Deacon enters a crystal building, whisking through a door of mist. The decor is breathtaking, the ceiling like a midnight sky filled with vibrant stars. The walls are aglow with hues plucked straight from a rainbow, and every piece of furniture—from dinner tables and chairs to sofas and coffee tables—extends from massive trees that have grown through the floor, as if carved from branches still attached to the trunks.

A woodland forest inside a building. This is where impossible meets miracle.

When the identity of the occupants registers, I come to an abrupt stop. People I knew and loved in Firstlife, and even family I never actually met.

There is my grandmother Meredith; since my parents disowned her before I was born, I’ve only ever seen her in pictures. She is so beautiful. Though she experienced Firstdeath in her forties, she now appears twenty-five, her skin unlined, her pale hair without a single strand of gray.

Mom once told me about the adventures she and her mother had. How they’d spent every weekend at homeless shelters to care for the less fortunate.

My palms sweat. Am I a disappointment to her?

Meredith is speaking with Clayton “Clay” Anders. Clay and I met and bonded at Prynne. During our escape, we trekked through ice-covered mountains and got caught in an avalanche.

I shudder. Clay and Sloan were swept to the edge of a cliff, terrified out of their minds, and I had to make a split second decision. Who to save first. At the time, Sloan was Unsigned, while Clay had a secure future with Troika.

I picked Sloan, pouring what little energy I’d had into pulling her to solid ground first. I hadn’t wanted her sent to Many Ends, a realm of horrors and pain, to be tortured for eternity.

In the end, I hadn’t had enough time to save Clay, too, and I regret—

No. Absolutely not. I don’t regret. Yes, Sloan later betrayed me. Yes, Clay died too young. Considering the circumstances, I made the right call. I gave an Unsigned girl a chance Clay didn’t need. She made the wrong choice afterward, and the fault is hers alone.

And look at Clay now. My hand flutters over my heart to contain a starburst of joy. He’s thriving!

I spot General Levi Nanne, as handsome as ever in an immaculate pin-striped suit—no armor for him?—his dark hair brushed back from his chiseled features. He’s holding Jeremy, my infant brother, and I squeal.

Jeremy is my little miracle. To protect the Everlife from overcrowding, the Land of the Harvest is strict about population control. Women are sterilized after giving birth to their first child. If someone heals and a second pregnancy occurs, the child is given to a childless family. If no family is found, the child is placed in an orphanage. If the orphanages are overcrowded, the child faces elimination.

My mother had Jeremy in secret. She died soon afterward, poisoned by Madame Pearl Bennett, and Jeremy died only minutes later; Mom had unwittingly shared the poison with him when she fed him.

Some of my happiness deflates.

Let go of the past, march into the future.

I don’t recognize anyone else in the group, but I sense they are my blood relatives, ancestors who fought for me from behind the scenes during all the years of my Firstlife.

“Ten!” Clay catches sight of me and rushes over. I meet him halfway and throw my arms around him, clinging to him. With a laugh, he swings me around. “What did Zero say to Eight?”

At the asylum, he’d always greeted me with a number joke.

As I kiss his cheek, tears burn my eyes. My voice wobbles as I reply, “Hey! Nice belt.”

He chuckles. “I’m never going to stump you, am I?”

“Not in any lifetime, my friend.”

He tweaks my nose. The others join us, and I’m passed around like a hot potato.

By the time I make it back to Clay, his smile is gone. Sorrow peers at me. “You had so much more to do. You died too soon, Ten.”

My chest constricts. “So did you, my friend. So did you.” I lean my head on his shoulder. “Did Marlowe make it into Troika?” Please, say yes. Please.

Marlowe Dillinger is another of my Prynne friends. The sweetest, gentlest girl I’ve ever met. She ended up at the asylum because she stole money from her mother to—horror of horrors—pay for groceries.

She signed with Troika, hoping to escape the asylum. Her mom refused to spring her, and soon after, a guard sneaked into her cell to—

My mind shies away from the horrors she endured. The next morning, the girl with a heart of gold killed herself. Maybe she voided her contract, maybe she didn’t. I’m unclear about the fine print.

Clay flinches. “I’m told suicides are decided on a case by case basis. Hers... She’s in Many Ends.”

Fresh tears well, but I blink them back. No more crying. Marlowe’s Firstlife sucked, and guaranteed her Everlife is worse. It’s not fair. But I will find a way to free her and all the others trapped inside Many Ends. I will! My determination will never wane.

“I know a little boy who is eager to say hello,” Levi says, claiming my attention.

I give Clay another hug before stealing my little brother from the General. “Zero! He’s changed.”

Levi beams with pride, his love for the boy obvious. “He grows stronger every day.”

Jeremy Eleven Lockwood. The last time we were together, he was missing patches of hair. His cheeks were sunken in, and his swollen lips had turned blue as he’d struggled to breathe. Now he has a headful of curls the same shade of cobalt as mine. His peaches-and-cream complexion speaks of health and vitality, and his eyes...they sparkle like precious gems, mesmerizing me. Like me, one of his eyes is blue and the other is green. Though he’s only a few weeks old—spirits age just like humans, until reaching the Age of Perfection—both eyes regard me with intelligence and adoration.

A look I’ve received from only two other people: Killian and Archer.

Zero! I’m crying again, and I can’t stop. Have I become the world’s biggest sissy?

One of my tears splashes on Jeremy’s cheek, and he giggles. He wraps his chubby little fingers around one of mine and brings it to his mouth for a toothless nibble.

“We’re together forever now, baby bro.” A vow from my innermost being.

—Forever—

“Ye—” I shake my head. A little boy’s voice just whispered through my mind as surely as the wind had whispered earlier. Surely my brother didn’t...surely he can’t...

But maybe he can? New world, new rules. I don’t yet know what’s possible and what’s not. There’s no reason to stress over anything. One, I’ll figure things out. Two, if I ask, I’ll be given a cryptic answer that generates even more questions, guaranteed. That is Levi’s MO. And three, I’ve got bigger problems than my brother maybe, maybe not, speaking to me telepathically.

Namely: How can I help free the people of Many Ends without Archer’s and Killian’s help?

Everything always comes back to my guys, doesn’t it. And why not? Killian was my rock, the one who helped me stand when I wobbled. Archer was my guide. He showed me the way I should go every time I floundered.

Who else do I have? Clay is as new to this life as I am. I have family I don’t know, and I’m hated by the ones I do. I’m a soldier in a war I don’t fully understand.

Oh, I know the story: the Firstking created Troika for his son Eron, the Prince of Doves, and Myriad for his son Ambrosine, the Prince of Ravens. Afterward, he created the Land of the Harvest and the humans who populated it—humans allowed to choose the realm where they would ultimately live.

One decision. An eternity of joy or regret.

But it wasn’t long before Ambrosine plotted to destroy Eron, determined to rule both realms.

What I don’t know is why the different citizens loathe each other. Or why, exactly, they decided to go to war. Were they simply following the orders of their kings?

Why can’t we create friendships—relationships? If Troika and Myriad ever cease-fire, I can more easily save the people in Many Ends.

The portal to the realm of eternal horrors is hidden inside Myriad. But I can no longer enter Myriad...

I must find a way.

I could ask Killian to enter for me. And get him caught, punished or killed.

Not an option. If I can help Troika and Myriad reach a truce, I can enter Myriad again. Maybe. Possibly. I like my odds.

Levi pats my shoulder. “Guess what, lucky girl? I’m overseeing your training, and I’m giving you homework on your first day. Take a moment to boo and hiss if you’d like. No? Fine. Memorize the Book of the Law, write the words on your heart and see.”

“Uh, care to finish your sentence? See what?” And how am I supposed to write words on my heart?

He winks at me, code for figure it out for yourself, dummy.

Fine. I arch a brow at him. “Please tell me the book is only a single page long, and part two of my assignment isn’t literal.”

Another wink.

Great!

“So sorry we’re late,” a familiar voice says. “Class ran over.”

Excitement blooms as Kayla Brooks and Reed Haynesworth make their way through the throng. I met short, pale-haired Kayla and tall, dark-haired Reed in Many Ends. My first saves.

But not my last!

Like too many others, Kayla and Reed died too young. She’s only eighteen, and he’s a whopping nineteen.

Troika has been good to the pair. They glow.

In their Firstlife, they were Unsigned, refusing to choose a side and fight in a war they didn’t understand. Instead, they joined HART. Humans Against Realm Turmoil.

They died when protestors bombed HART headquarters.

Had their deaths occurred before the age of sixteen, they could have entered either Troika or Myriad without problem. Anyone under sixteen—the Age of Accountability—has no ties to Many Ends, even if they are Unsigned.

Later, when the spirit-child reaches the AoA, he can choose to forsake whichever realm he’s been living in and enter the other.

I’m not sure how much time Reed and Kayla spent in Many Ends before I showed up...once, twice, three times. Third time is the charm. We escaped together, forever changing the course of our Everlives; that’s how I know the captives can be freed. There’s a secret Gate or Veil or whatever inside Myriad—where we ended up.

“Hey, guys.” I grin as I embrace them. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“A word of warning, my friend.” Reed gives me a pitying look. “You’ve already made adversaries here. You’re being blamed for the loss of several TLs.”

My heart cracks down the center and leaks acid. “I made mistakes. I’ll deal with the consequences.”

“You’re a new spirit in a new world,” Levi says, and sighs. “None of us had a perfect start, and anyone who casts stones will have to deal with me.”

The show of support both elates and depresses me. I don’t want people to pretend to like me, fearing they’ll get into trouble if they don’t.

Jeremy waves his arms and kicks his legs in a bid for freedom. I’ve never been around babies, so I’m not sure what to do. My unease must show, because Levi gathers him close. In thanks, my brother upchucks all over his tie.

“Slob goblin.” Levi laughs and gives Jeremy’s butt a gentle tap. “That’s what you are, isn’t it, young man?”

Jeremy farts.

My grandmother moves to my side and nudges me with her shoulder. She’s my mom’s mom, strong but elegant, even regal, and up close she’s more than beautiful. She’s absolutely stunning. A gold catsuit makes her luminous from head to toe.

“I’m glad you finally saw the Light,” she says.

Light Brings Sight is our realm’s battle cry.

“Should I call you Granny?” I tease. “Or maybe Gran Gran?”

She snorts. “You refer to me by either name, and I’ll put you over my knee to paddle the Light right out of you.”

You can’t take the old lady sass out of the young spirit, I see.

“Why don’t you call me Meredith,” she suggests, tugging on a lock of my blue hair.

“Sure. But I’m going to creep myself out every time I do it,” I admit. “You aren’t supposed to be so...”

“Hot?” She fluffs her glossy waves. “Just wait till you meet my mother—your great-grandmother—Hazel.”

Curious, I scan the sea of faces. “Is she here?”

“No, she’s out on an assignment. The job never sleeps.”

To my knowledge, only two positions ever really leave the realm. “She’s a Laborer, then? Or a Messenger?”

“Laborer. And a very good one.”

So she works with human souls while I’ll be working with Light. I’m supposed to absorb sunlight—which is more than just heat and illumination, I’ve been told—and direct the beams to Troika.

“And you are...what?” I ask.

“A Leader. I serve directly under Levi as one of his many assistants.”

Meaning she’s a step above a Laborer, and her official title is Madame. “Cool. But I kind of outrank you, right?” I say with a smile.

Another snort. “Honey, you outrank us all. Or rather, you will. You’ve got a lot to learn first. Here’s proof.” Moving too swiftly for me to track, she secures her leg behind my knee and gives me a push.

I topple to my butt, air leaving my lungs in a single heave. Before I can catch my breath, I’m lumbering to my feet. Never stay down!

Her eyes gleam with pride. She motions to my right arm with a tilt of her chin. “Have you decoded your Key yet?”

Only then do I realize I’m rubbing the numbers branded into my flesh. “Uh—no. I haven’t. How am I supposed to decode my... Key? What Key?”

She ignores my questions. “You will. Until then, the Grid will provide an invisible link between you and every other Troikan. We’re all tied together, an army of millions with one true heart. Draw on our strength and peace.”

I imagine the heart of Troika beating inside my chest, keeping me alive while my own weeps over losing Killian and Archer. “Why do I need to decode my Key?”

She shows me her right arm, where the words Faith, Hope and Love are etched. “When you do, you’ll be able to open locked doors within the Grid.”

Uh... “Why are the doors locked?”

“The information stored behind them is more than your puny brain can currently comprehend.”

Puny brain? “How kind you are, Grandmother.” I bat my lashes at her. “Your Key is three common words. Mine is a sequence of numbers with no rhyme or reason.”

“Oh, there’s a rhyme and reason all right. I had to do three things I’d never done before. Believe in myself, expect good things to happen to me and love the people around me, whether I felt like loving them or not. Easier said than done.”

“I don’t understand. You used to take my mother to homeless shelters.”

“Appearances can be deceiving. I did what I did under duress. It was my husband, your grandfather, who so faithfully served others.”

My grandfather Steven. A man I’ve never met. “Where is he?”

“Out on assignment with Hazel. He’s eager to meet you.” She blows me a kiss before strolling away.

A woman I’ve never met takes her place at my side, clutching my hands and gazing at me with pleading eyes. My heart knows something my mind doesn’t: she’s a blood relation from my father’s side.

“My daughter,” she says. The hem of her robe sways at her feet. “Please. You have to help her.”

My stomach churns as if I’ve swallowed a mix of batteries and broken glass. “Help your daughter with what?”

“She is Unsigned. You will understand her better than most. You can convince her to choose Troika. She needs you—”

Deacon to the rescue! He wraps an arm around the woman’s shoulders and whispers what I assume are words of comfort. She pales but nods, and he ushers her away. I watch them with wide eyes, wishing I knew more about this realm, my abilities, my responsibilities—or anything useful, really. Wishing I could help her, even though I can’t seem to help myself.

I look to Levi and say, “How can I help her daughter choose Troika? I’m not a Laborer.”

“You must crawl before you can walk.”

Someone save me. “Thank you, Confucius.” I really hate cryptic-speak.

“You’ll be trained for every job here,” he continues. “Through trials of your own, you’ll better understand the people only you are to aid.”

Great. Wonderful. But no pressure, right?

Levi waves Clay over. “Escort Ten to her new apartment. She’s had a long day and could use a bit of rest.”

My own apartment...an actual home. I’ve been without a home for over a year. The asylum was simply a building where I received a cot and three hots.

I say goodbye to the others, and Clay leads me outside. The crowd has thinned considerably. I’m so busy marveling at new sights, I have no idea how he gets me inside another tube.

The sides blaze and blur, and once again I experience the sensation of being sucked into a vacuum, only to step out a few seconds later into a maze of wildflowers. Fruit and nut trees are in full bloom, heavy with their bounty. Wisteria trees arch overhead, creating a ceiling of lavender petals.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“The Capital of New.”

I nod, pretending I know what that means.

We clear the garden and come to a street peppered with homes from every era, from Egyptian pyramids to futuristic spaceships. When Clay stops in front of a Gothic cathedral, a chill sweeps over me.

Trepidation? Awe? I’m not sure!

“This,” he says, “is where the most elite trainees live, no matter their field of study. You’re on the top floor and, because you’re so precious—” he snickers as he air-quotes the word “—you get me as a next-door neighbor. There are eight others on our floor. A mix of Messengers, Laborers and Healers.”

I try to speak, I do, but all I manage are unintelligible sounds. The beauty astounds me. Up top are two towers with pointed pergolas, between them a crocket and a gable. A massive oval window consumes the center. Glistening in the sunlight are stained-glass windows interspersed with wrought iron twisted in the shape of a tree of life.

Clay presses two fingers under my jaw to help me close my mouth.

I noticed the brand on his wrist—three interlocking circles—and finally find my voice. “Have you decoded your Key?”

“Not yet,” he grumbles.

I bump him with my shoulder. “Is it wrong how happy I am that we’re in the same boat?”

“Yes! You should encourage me to kick your butt.”

We share a laugh and enter the cathedral. The occupants range in age, anywhere from sixteen to twenty. Some smile at me while others frown. A few scowl.

I distract myself, studying the magnificent architecture. Above every doorway are triptychs—paintings divided into three separate panels. Along every wall are marble columns, intricate mosaics—again in patterns of three—and murals. Above the farthest is a magnificent frieze ceiling with three tiers.

When we turn a corner, an elaborate staircase looms ahead. Both guys and girls race up and down. Again I receive a mixed bag of reactions.

I try to ignore the guy with the darkest glower. When I hear Killian’s name whispered, I wonder if everyone’s anger has more to do with my affiliation with a Myriadian than my actions on the battlefield.

“So coeds live here. Do we train here, too?” I ask.

“Nope. You’re going crap yourself when you find out where we do train.”

I snort. “Should I go ahead and order adult diapers?”

“The sooner the better.”

I catch a glimpse of Victor, who is speaking with a pretty redhead. The two are wrapped up in each other and don’t notice me. Then my gaze catches on a familiar face. The girl from today’s battle. The dark-haired one who shot me with a dart when I dived in front of Killian.

She spots me, too, and stops in the middle of the staircase to glare at me.

I swallow a groan.

“That,” Clay says, “is Miss Elizabeth Winchester. She’s a bit of a wild card. Only speaks to a select group of people, but defends our weaker members with shocking ferocity.”

“She’s a trainee, right?” Meaning we’re on equal footing? Come on, throw me a bone.

Nope, no bones today. A trainee wouldn’t have gotten the green light to fight.

Clay confirms my suspicions, saying, “She’s a new graduate. She’ll be moving to a house soon. Until then, you might want to wear your armor. If looks could kill...”

I can’t recover from a bad first impression. I can only work harder, do more and prove I’m better, wiser, stronger than I was before.

Am I better, wiser and stronger, though? I’m a girl with both feet in Troika and pieces of a broken heart in Myriad with Killian.

“Don’t worry,” Clay says. “One day, everyone will get behind you.”

Yes. Let’s just hope they aren’t holding daggers in each hand.

Head high, I ascend the staircase.

When I reach Elizabeth, she grabs my arm and softly grates, “Watch out, Numbers. I owe you big-time, and I always pay my debts. Plus interest.”