The Final Six (The Final Six #1) - Alexandra Monir Page 0,75

“Yes. It’s maddening.”

“I wish I felt indecisive like you two,” Asher says glumly. “Then it wouldn’t be so hard if—if I get cut.”

“You have some of the best odds out of anyone,” I encourage him. “I mean, who else here is a trained pilot?”

“Jian Soo,” Dev chimes in, not exactly helping.

“Exactly,” Asher says, his voice dropping. “And even if I happen to be better at flying than he is, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Not when they have a perfect piloting machine in Cyb.”

Naomi wraps a comforting arm around his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, we can help each other get through it.” She glances at me. “Right?”

I stare at her and Asher, my two closest friends here, who I never imagined together in that way. But now, seeing them looking close and cozy brings a pang to my chest. What if they were to get chosen without me?

She looks at me questioningly, and I clear my throat. “Right. We’ll—we’ll be okay.”

A rush of footsteps comes clattering through the doorway, and we all glance up. Lark and two other team leaders burst into the lounge, excitement vibrating off their skin.

“They’ve made their decision!” Lark exclaims. “We’re meeting Dr. Takumi, the general, and the AIs in the cafeteria right now. Dinner will be served after the announcement.”

“Seriously?” Dev whispers to me. “Who’s actually going to eat after that?”

But I’m too shaken up to answer. This is it. I’m either going to continue on for two more weeks here and have an exponentially bigger chance at making the Final Six—or I’ll be released back into the emptiness of an earthbound life tonight.

As if sensing my emotions, Naomi squeezes my arm. I gaze down at her, and suddenly I am bargaining with the universe. If we both make it to the next round, I’ll stop skating around how I feel. I’ll tell her—even if it means rejection.

My legs are like lead as we march to the cafeteria. Dr. Takumi, General Sokolov, Dot, and Cyb stand in a line on the raised platform. Here we go.

Beckett and Katerina, who were missing from the lounge, are already seated at our team table when we arrive. I still haven’t spoken a word to Beckett since the bungee-jumping incident, and as I slide into my seat, I add an addendum to my prayer. Please let them cut the right person today: Beckett Wolfe.

“Welcome, finalists, to one of the key milestones in the Europa Mission.” Dr. Takumi greets us, his voice booming through the tense quiet of the room. “With the most impressive teenagers in the world to choose from, it was an extremely difficult decision. The ten of you leaving us tomorrow morning should know that it was a close call, and you have much to be proud of.” He clears his throat. “Without further ado, your mission pilot, Cyb, will announce the names of the twelve finalists moving forward in the draft.”

I can hear my heart thumping wildly as the robot shuffles forward.

“From the United Kingdom, Dianna Dormer,” Cyb’s mechanical voice calls out. “From India, Dev Khanna. From Ukraine, Minka Palladin. From Italy, Leonardo Danieli—”

“Yes!” I punch the air in celebration, almost dizzy from the sound of my name. I did it—I made it!

Beckett looks at me like he’s just tasted something rotten, while Naomi smiles at the sight of my happiness, and Asher thumps me on the back in congratulations. Suddenly, I’m nervous all over again. Asher and Naomi have to get chosen, too. I can’t imagine this place without them.

“From France, Henri Durand. From Canada, Sydney Pearle.”

The tension in the room mounts as Cyb reaches the halfway mark. I can hear Katerina’s legs jangling under the table, her feet tapping uncontrollably, while Beckett’s face takes on a purplish hue. Naomi fidgets in her seat; Asher takes short, shallow breaths. Only six more names.

“From Japan, Ami Nakamura. From the United States . . .”

Naomi’s head jerks up. I grab her hand under the table.

“. . . Beckett Wolfe!”

No. My spirits plummet as Beckett celebrates in his seat, high-fiving Katerina. My competition—and the most ruthless person here—remains. Naomi’s body sags at the realization that it isn’t her, though I can’t tell whether from relief or disappointment.

“From Spain, Ana Martinez. From Russia . . .”

Katerina sits up excitedly, and Beckett gives her a knowing smile.

“Evgeni Alkaev.”

Katerina’s mouth falls open. And now we’ve reached the final two. I grip Naomi’s hand again, closing my eyes and concentrating on her name, as if I can somehow manipulate