He turns to a woman sitting next to a velvet rope and holding a retina scanner. “I’m not in the database,” he says. “These tickets were a last-minute gift from Natasha Wilde.” Mentioning Faye’s alias, he hands her the paper-thin screen seemingly made of bubbles that serves as an invitation. “And the same goes for her.” He nods over his shoulder at me before leaning in, whispering, “She’s a survivor.”

“Oh, what a dear.” I sense her pity. “Just a quick scan and you’re in.” She holds up the scanner.

Garrett leans forward and peers into the eyeholes.

If he’s nervous, he doesn’t show it.

My stomach clenches; I hold my breath. The moment of truth.

A light on the scanner turns green, and she waves him through.

I exhale relief.

“Your eyes, miss.” She holds up the scanner, and I bite my lip.

“See you inside, Bets.” Garrett disappears into the crowd beyond the gate.

So much for keeping me in sight. Wide-eyed, I watch him go.

“Miss,” the guard repeats.

“I’m not in the database,” I mumble. Hands shaking, I rummage through my handbag, pushing aside duct tape and glitter refills, searching for my ticket. A line of fancy people forms behind me, and, sweating, I say “just a minute” and get out of the way. I set my bag on a nearby wall to properly dig, and just as my fingers find the invitation, I feel breath on my ear.

“Excuse me,” a male voice says.

Slowly, I turn, terrified I’ve been discovered. But I recognize him immediately as the guy Faye left with yesterday, minus the mole.

“Did you lose something?” He imperceptibly slips a rolled-up piece of paper into my hand.

My shaking fingers close around the note, and I push it beneath my cuff bracelet. Keeping my eyes glued to his, I say, “No. I thought I’d lost my ticket, but I’ve just found it.”

“Very good, then. Enjoy the party.” He walks off.

Excitement pumping through my veins, my head clears, and it’s like that day in the obstacle course. I stop thinking and go. Returning to the line, I give the guard my ticket and submit to the retina scanner without blinking. The light turns green, and I sail through the gate on a sea of adrenaline.

Inside, millions of bubbles float to the coffered ceiling. Seaweed dangles from chandeliers, and a school of colorful fish swishes past me, but I barely acknowledge my surroundings. In stealth mode, I enter the mouth of a sunken ship and hurry down a spiral staircase to the bathroom. The restroom has been spared the under-the-sea augmentation, and once I’m safely sequestered in a stall, I read the note.

I figured out what she wants: to feel useful, to be a superhero, to feel like she can save someone. –F.