He stumbled back several steps, shaking violently, his teeth chattering, the chill so much more dreadful where his suit had picked up some icy dampness from the ground, and he became aware of a surveillance camera mounted over the door, fixed on him—like Vengerov was waiting for him to get scared enough to beg or plead, to swear to do what he wanted.

No. No way. Not now. He would never do anything Vengerov wanted.

A rush of hot determination flooded Tom, and he very deliberately flipped the camera the bird even as wind stabbed its way into his lungs and tore at his gums. His nose stung, his fingers were pulsing with pain, and his mind raced frantically, looking for something to do to help himself.

Suddenly, he remembered back when he was little with his dad, when they couldn’t catch a ride one night in Nevada. The desert, so hot in the day when they were trying to thumb a ride, grew so terribly cold that night and the day’s sweat became like ice. Neil had told him to keep moving, because standing still was what killed you.

So Tom jammed his aching hands beneath his armpits and began hopping. He swept his gaze over the blank face of the massive complex that stretched off into the distance. His stinging lids scraped his eyes with every blink, and the wind bit his pupils until tears began flowing to his cheeks, only to freeze on his face like insects nipping him. But there was a window, a low one, and not too far away.

He launched himself into a run, his lungs gashed by the frantic breaths he gasped, and he felt a strange sense like he was in some distorted maze, because the window didn’t seem to be closer—it was so much farther than it had looked. He’d slipped on the ice repeatedly before he reached it. He tried shoving up the pane with his rubbery hands, but it wouldn’t give, so Tom hurled himself at it, and then kicked viciously over and over, perfectly willing to scrape his leg to break the glass, but it still wouldn’t break. His gums were aching, his teeth chattering. He willed on net-send, but the frequency was still jammed, and he grew aware of another camera boring right into him from over the window. He wished he had something to hurl at it. His gaze roved over the ground, and he spotted a rock, half-buried in snow. Tom realized with a spring of glee that he could use this to break the camera—no, the window! He knelt to dig it up.

A message blinked across his vision center: Warning: Low body temperature detected. 95.2º F. Trainee is advised to seek shelter.

Tom began laughing. He couldn’t help it. “I a-am T-T-TRYING!” he shouted at the message, clumsy fingers scraping over the rock’s jagged edges. He couldn’t feel the stinging cuts.