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.