She rocked her overturned cup onto one side of the rim, then let it settle to the table once more. “Philosophy isn’t my strong suit. But I do have two rules that have worked for me so far. You’re welcome to borrow them.”
“And what are those?”
She held up a finger. “Number one—nothing that seems impossible ever really is. You just haven’t found the right answer yet. Or the right question.”
For the first time, he wondered how young she was. Her blithe optimism made him feel ancient. “And number two?”
“No matter what I think I have to do, I also have to look at myself in the mirror tomorrow.”
It was a well-placed kick to the gut, and he’d asked for it. His coffee didn’t taste as good now that it was growing cold, but he drained his cup to buy some time. When he set it down across from hers, he’d mastered his expression.
Mostly.
“Protectorate soldiers don’t spend a lot of time looking in mirrors,” he said finally. “It doesn’t end well.”
“I know a little something about that.” She smiled, warm and encouraging. “But you’re not a Protectorate soldier anymore. Baby steps.”
That smile was a trap, too. Even more dangerous because he didn’t think she meant it as one. She’d gotten cagey about her origins, but this was real. Her bright, sunny smile. Her relentless optimism. All this reckless, deadly hope.
She was good. Fast, tough, smart. A fearless warrior. But her strength was also a weakness. Nina was willing to throw herself at the world because she was so damn competent, she’d never lost. She had overcome every obstacle and out-thought every opponent.
Until him.
No satisfaction came from identifying the cracks in her defenses, no pleasure. The balance of power had tipped ever so precariously in his favor, and he would take strategic advantage of it. Knox would be the bastard who shattered all that hope and optimism. Lives depended on his ability to complete his mission.
Mirrors were overrated anyway.
* * *
CLASSIFIED BEHAVIOR EVALUATION
Franklin Center for Genetic Research
HS-Gen16-A continues to exhibit strong leadership abilities. Her tendency to develop strong bonds with others could prove problematic if not curbed. I suggest instructors employ standard psychological methods—i.e., favoritism—to cultivate conflict and set her at odds with her classmates.
Dr. Baudin, June 2066
* * *
SIX
Maya had taken over driving duties, which was just as well, because Nina’s head was pounding, and Dani was just cranky.
Abandoning the interstate for the smaller back roads meant slower going, even under the best of circumstances. But a storm had apparently blown through the area they were traversing, and it must have been one of the region’s deadly tornadoes. The damage was singularly recognizable—not only had the tops of trees been twisted off, leaving bare crowns of bright, splintered wood reaching toward the sky, but debris and downed trees littered the roads. They could drive around most of them, but every few miles, they reached a blockage they couldn’t navigate.
Even with laser saws, clearing them was hot, sweaty, frustrating work. And the constant wobble of swerving to avoid potholes and branches and rock slides was taking its toll on her equilibrium. Nina leaned her head against the car window, but the sensation of the uncomfortably warm glass against her cheek only made her stomach roil harder. She wanted a drink. She wanted a bath. More than anything, she wanted to stop moving for a while and just be still.
A moment later, she got her wish. The truck slowed, and she opened her eyes to another roadblock, this one a gigantic pine that could take them hours to clear.
“Shit.” Maya exhaled roughly as she shifted the vehicle into park, but made no move to open the door. “I was not born to be a damn lumberjack.”
“Come on.” Dani patted her shoulder. “The sooner we get out there, the sooner we’ll be done.”
Maya sighed again. Then she glanced at Nina, sympathy furrowing her brow. “You okay?”
“I didn’t sleep well last night.” An understatement. After the conversation with Knox, she’d spent half the night waking up every fifteen minutes, her heart pounding. It was an old habit drilled into her during combat training, the ability to snap awake every quarter hour, but it only happened these days when she was distressed.
Which was exactly why she’d eventually given up on sleep and lain awake, staring at the stars, so tense and fidgety that not even counting the stitches in her sleeping bag had helped. She’d almost said too much to Knox. Revealed too much.