There was silence for a moment, and Vik handed it over. Tom shoved the finger into the attachment point at his knuckle, feeling stupid.

Vik nodded at the other two, and Wyatt and Yuri withdrew from the room.

Then Vik drew closer. “Tom, I know you’re—”

“Yeah, I’m being a pansy. I know. It’s the med programs. They’re messing with my head.” It wasn’t the meds or exhaustion making him feel like this, like some giant, exposed nerve, but Tom couldn’t seem to control what he was feeling and it was embarrassing.

“Come on, Tom. I’m not . . .” Vik stopped and let out a breath. “Do you need the social worker?”

“She came by before you did.” Olivia had been sitting by his bed as he recovered from the anesthesia. She’d pressed him to talk. He pretended to sleep.

Vik rubbed his palm over his face. “I’ve got to tell you something. When you left the group at Obsidian Corp., I—”

But Tom’s attention riveted to a faint shuffling sound, somewhere in the distance, and he sat bolt upright. “Is Yuri still here?” he demanded, on edge. “What’s he up to?”

“Yuri?” Vik blinked a few times. “No, he and Wyatt went . . .” He stepped back to check and peered out the doorway, then said, “Hey, Yuri, man, I said I’d meet you in the mess hall.”

Yuri’s voice was gentle, mild. “Of course, Vikram.” He peeped in. “Good-bye, Thomas.”

Eavesdropping. Tom wasn’t sure why the word popped into his head, but he tried to force it away.

FOR THE NEXT few weeks after he was discharged from the infirmary, Tom felt like a walking black hole. Everything seemed to have changed, and he couldn’t place why. The worst was his friends. He felt this wave of sickness whenever the four of them were together, something like dread. It was like he was poised for something awful to happen, and he didn’t know what.

The other people at the Pentagonal Spire weren’t much better right now. They’d all heard what happened. A few sniggered at how stupid he’d been, blundering outside in Antarctica, but others were weird with him about it.

Like Walton Covner, who’d been promoted to Upper Company. Instead of messing with Tom’s head, or otherwise acting like the strangest person Tom had ever met, as they stood in the elevator together one day, Walton said, “I’m sorry about what happened in Antarctica. Are you all right?”

“I’m great,” Tom said vehemently.

Walton looked so awkward that Tom felt an evil little thrill. It occurred to him that this was a prime opportunity to mess with Walton’s head for once.

He leaned in close, dropping his voice. “Hey, Walt, thank them for me.”

“Thank who?”