“Good night,” Cyrus tells me without quite meeting my gaze.

Daisy’s finished showering by the time I return to the room. I expect my body to call it a day and collapse on the couch again, but it feels like I’ve taken an extra-strong shot of espresso. All my nerves are buzzing, my mind zapped awake. It didn’t mean so much to me in the moment, yet I keep going back to what Oliver said, turning it over, dissecting it:

He’d kill me if I told you.

I don’t manage to fall asleep until four in the morning.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It’s a known natural phenomenon that whenever you’re traveling, the rain is going to come on the day you least welcome it.

My hair is already frizzing aggressively from the damp as we gather at the foot of the Yellow Mountain. I push it back from my face for the eleventh time, blinking cold water out of my eyes. The rain isn’t so heavy as to necessitate using an umbrella, but it’s still heavy enough that it’s wreathed the mountains in white fog and darkened the steep paths and sheer cliffs ahead of us. Even the pine trees are darker, their needle-thin leaves a shade of deep, clear green that probably predates human civilization, that might be one of the first colors to ever exist in the natural world. If it weren’t for our backpacks and phones and the little flag Wang Laoshi’s waving, I’d think that we had fallen through a fissure in time itself. There’s an ancient beauty to everything here, from the stones that jut out like strange silhouettes in the distance to the birds calling out to one another from high in the clouds.

“The first to reach the mountaintop will be rewarded with a Michelin-star five-course meal for lunch today. You’ll have your own private room and incredible views of the scenery,” Wang Laoshi tells us.

“What will the rest of us get for lunch?” Oliver calls out over the rain.

“Granola bars,” Wang Laoshi replies simply, which makes Oliver’s eyes widen with true terror. “Now, while I’m all for the spirit of the competition, please do be careful not to slip, and look out for any falling debris …”

Nobody is really listening to this last part. The prospect of getting a hot meal and a reprieve from the rain is enough to motivate everyone to start moving. Cyrus and I are the first to rush forward, our feet pounding over the rocks.

“I see you’ve switched to sneakers today,” Cyrus notes casually, climbing three steps at a time.

I fight a grimace as I hurry to match his strides, my calves burning from the effort. “Don’t look at them too long.”

“Why?”

“They’re my ugly shoes.”

He raises his brows. “You have designated ugly shoes?”