“I failed your test,” I point out dolefully.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t try again.” Ahmet appears with Theo and Shura. His peppered hair is neatly combed, but he has the eyes of someone who hasn’t properly rested in a very long time. “You just need a little help. A little more time.”
“Yeah,” Shura agrees, pink hair twisted into a messy bun. “I mean, you at least got the bowl to move. It would’ve been more embarrassing if you hadn’t even moved a single—what? Why are you looking at me like that?” She frowns at Theo’s widening eyes.
I sigh. “I knocked the bowl with my hand. I don’t think that counts.”
She mouths an apology and clamps her mouth shut.
“Don’t worry. We have no intention of leaving you behind,” Theo says. “You’re one of us now.”
Annika nods. “He’s right. The Resistance will still be here, when you’re ready.”
My shoulders curve inward. When they look at me, I can’t help but feel like they’re seeing someone who doesn’t exist. Someone they expect to be strong, and capable, and ready for battle when the time comes.
But I don’t want to go to battle. And if having abilities means I’ll be forced to join an army, then maybe it’s a good thing I failed Annika’s test.
I press my lips together, scared that if I admit my fear out loud, it will become an unstoppable force I can’t control.
“Maybe you could practice on your own, with something more familiar,” Shura offers, her gray eyes landing on Annika. “Mom learned to control her consciousness by growing flowers.”
“And I learned by trying to light a candle,” Theo says. “We can bring a box of things to your room, see if there’s anything that feels right.”
Gil’s sharp voice cuts in. “If you keep handling her with kid gloves, she’s never going to learn.”
When I look up, he’s standing beside Ahmet, chocolate hair swept mostly to one side and his hands shoved firmly in his pockets. Our eyes meet, and the back of my neck prickles.
Theo crosses his arms. “And what would you suggest? Throwing her into the deep end until it becomes too much and she just gives up?”
Gil shrugs. “You’d be surprised how quickly people learn new things when you put them in a position where they don’t have a choice.” He pauses. “Besides, give her a little credit. I’m sure she has some fight in her somewhere.”
My cheeks redden. It isn’t a compliment—it’s his way of calling me a coward. And it’s probably my own fault after what I said to him.
“If you’d like to help train her, you’re more than welcome,” Annika offers with scolding eyes.
Gil stares back, uninterested. “Another time, perhaps. I’m on my way out.” He turns to Ahmet. “I thought I’d check and see if you needed anything before I left.”
“Out?” I repeat, ears perking up. He makes it sound so casual, like he’s running to the store to pick up milk. Like leaving the Colony isn’t one of the most dangerous things a human can do.
Maybe when you become a fighter, you’re less afraid of a fight. Or maybe war just numbs our fear.
“Scavenging. For material,” he says, eyes cold.
“Can’t you just make more?” I look around at the mismatched city. “Isn’t that how you built the Colony?”
“We haven’t quite grasped creating something from nothing,” Ahmet says gently. “But some of us have learned to manipulate.” He moves his hand toward the feather, and it gives a shudder before breaking apart into tiny pixels, contorting and twisting until it’s no longer a feather at all.
It’s a dagger.
If Ahmet can make a weapon this easily, what are the Residents capable of?
I reach out slowly and close my fingers around the handle. I’m surprised how natural it feels, wedged against my palm like it belongs there. When I tilt the blade, the silver gleam flickers and I catch my reflection. My eyes look like they belong to a ghost—dark and sad and destined to be a killer.
I shudder.
“It’s still not quite finished.” Ahmet takes a step toward me and reaches for the dagger, pressing his thumb to the metal. “See? Blunt. Because the details are much harder to get right. They take more out of a person.” He looks over at Gil. “Whatever you manage to find will be helpful. But please be careful.”
“I always am,” Gil says with a nod, moving toward the arena stairs.
Ahmet places the blunt knife back on the table, and I stand with my thoughts for a moment, fiddling with the material on my sleeve. The image of Theo standing in the red desert, facing off against two enemy ships, was the epitome of raw power. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t see myself in the same position. I’m not a fighter. I don’t want to hurt anyone.
But I also don’t want anyone to hurt me.
Maybe this world would be less daunting if I at least knew how to defend myself.
I look between Ahmet and the others. “Is a weapon enough to stop them?”
“It’s enough to slow them down,” he clarifies, “but only with the right training. Residents are more resilient than humans; they have a firmer grasp on their consciousness, which makes them stronger by default. But being able to put up a fight could mean the difference between escape or capture.”
I picture the city I saw on the hologram—the intricacies of a world created by a single queen. Maybe it’s rude to share my reservations, but I can’t help it. I’m afraid, and I want someone to tell me things will get better. That we’ll be okay. And that the future isn’t as bleak as it seems. “How can we possibly win against someone who’s mastered this world better than humans have?”
With a sigh, Ahmet holds his hand over the dagger and transforms it back into a crow’s feather. “Everybody in this world has a weakness. Even Ophelia.” His eyes fall to mine, and he nods like he’s aware none of this is going to be easy. “Someday we’ll find it and use it against her.”
“Until then, we keep practicing,” Annika says. “We make sure we’re stronger today than we were yesterday.”
“And don’t worry about the test,” Theo adds. “I saw you heal yourself—you’ll get control of your consciousness eventually.”
I stare at the crow’s feather, the bowl, and the locked box. He’s trying to be encouraging. Maybe even kind.
But I don’t know what’s worse: not having power at all or being someday made to wield it.
10
I PINCH THE CANDLEWICK BETWEEN my fingers, drawing out memories of heat in my mind. White sand beneath a summer sun. A mug of freshly brewed tea cupped between my hands. The breath of a campfire as embers dance through the flames.
A flame.
I imagine fire. Beg for fire. Loud and vibrant and flickering orange ribbons through the air.
But when I release the wick, the candle is as cold and still as ever.
I sigh, pulling my knees to my chest. The floor murmurs beneath me in response. A reminder, maybe, that this world is dangerous. And that every moment I spend failing is another moment I’m indebted to the Colony.