I can’t imagine what would happen to me if I got caught… Unrankable much? I just got here… I don’t want to start over somewhere else… Hugging myself, I slump in my seat, as if that could root me in Keystone. It would be worth winning the Quest just so I’d know no matter what I could come back here… Not that I have a shot at competing in the first place.

“You’ll be given details specific to your part of the Heist after the Quest, when partners are announced,” Jeff says.

An excited ripple runs through the room. Peeking at the front row, I’m relieved to see Garrett has lost interest in me. He again faces the stage, arms folded across his chest, but the left corner of his mouth is curled up in a nonchalant half smile. Even he seems to be buying into the hype. A shot of adrenaline jackknifes my heart, sharpening my vision, and I’m breathing cool, menthol air.

But then, winning might be fun…

“Room assignments and schedules are on the table at the back of the hall. Lessons begin tomorrow, and you’re expected to take them seriously,” Jeff says. “After all, the future of humanity is at stake.”

I read my roommate’s name—Rayelle Chen—as a pretty girl (shorter than me!) with glossy black hair walks over. She wears thick glasses that distort her eyes, making them appear impossibly large, and her lips are painted in black gloss, so her mouth appears smaller than it is. I’m instantly self-conscious of my attempt to paint the stars across my face.

“Elisha?” she asks.

“Yes.” Nodding, I hold my breath, awaiting recognition beyond the bird incident.

“I’m Rayelle. I guess we’re roommates.” She offers a meek hand, along with a blank smile—the kind of smile you give a stranger when you’re sizing them up.

Accepting her hand, I give it a little pump, my heart pounding.

Her fingers squeeze mine, and I exhale relief. If she knew who I was, she would have recoiled, my Influencer touch being the acid that dissolved her kindness.

“So, you’re new here? That’s weird.” She leads me through a fireplace different than the one I arrived from, where the fires have been extinguished, and into a short tunnel. “They barely ever let new people into the training program. Most of us were born into it.” We climb a ladder and emerge through a trapdoor into the forest. “Where are you from?” she asks as I crawl into the damp, cool outside air.

“I grew up in a Maker complex in Ojai,” I say, reciting the cover story Allard prepared for me as I close the trapdoor and re-cover it with leaves.

Her jaw drops. “How did you end up here? You must have done something terrible to have been forced to disconnect.”

“It wasn’t really something I did,” I say quickly, fearful she could guess my identity. “It was more that I hated letting strangers’ opinions of me rule my life. I didn’t fit in.” That much is true.