Warner escorts Haider back to his residence, and soon after they’re gone, the rest of our party breaks apart. It was a weird, too-short dinner with a lot of surprises, and my head hurts. I’m ready for bed. Kenji and I are making our way to Warner’s rooms in silence, both of us lost in thought.

It’s Kenji who speaks first.

“So—you were pretty quiet tonight,” he says.

“Yeah.” I laugh, but there’s no life in it. “I’m exhausted, Kenji. It was a weird day. An even weirder night.”

“Weird how?”

“Um, I don’t know, how about we start with the fact that Warner speaks

seven languages?” I look up, meet his eyes. “I mean, what the hell? Sometimes I think I know him so well, and then something like this happens and it just”—I shake my head—“blows my mind. You were right,” I say. “I still know nothing about him. Plus, what am I even doing anymore? I didn’t say anything at dinner because I have no idea what to say.”

Kenji blows out a breath. “Yeah. Well. Seven languages is pretty crazy. But, I mean, you have to remember that he was born into this, you know? Warner’s had schooling you’ve never had.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

“Hey, you’ll be okay,” Kenji says, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I was just starting to feel like maybe I could do this,” I say to him. “I just had this whole talk with Warner today that actually made me feel better. And now I can’t even remember why.” I sigh. Close my eyes. “I feel so stupid, Kenji. Every day I feel stupider.”

“Maybe you’re just getting old. Senile.” He taps his head. “You know.” “Shut up.”

“So, uh”—he laughs—“I know it was a weird night and everything, but— what’d you think? Overall?”

“Of what?” I glance at him.

“Of Haider and Nazeera,” he says. “Thoughts? Feelings? Sociopaths, yes or no?”

“Oh.” I frown. “I mean, they’re so different from each other. Haider is so loud. And Nazeera is . . . I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone like her before. I guess I respect that she’s standing up to her dad and The Reestablishment, but I have no idea what her real motivations are, so I’m not sure I should give her too much credit.” I sigh. “Anyway, she seems really . . . angry.”

And really beautiful. And really intimidating.

The painful truth is that I’d never felt so intimidated by another girl before, and I don’t know how to admit that out loud. All day—and for the last couple of weeks—I’ve felt like an imposter. A child. I hate how easily I fade in and out of confidence, how I waver between who I was and who I could be. My past still clings to me, skeleton hands holding me back even as I push forward into the light. And I can’t help but wonder how different I’d be today if I’d ever had someone to encourage me when I was growing up. I never had strong female role models. Meeting Nazeera tonight—seeing how tall and brave she was—made me wonder where she learned to be that way.

It made me wish I’d had a sister. Or a mother. Someone to learn from and lean on. A woman to teach me how to be brave in this body, among these men.

I’ve never had that.

Instead, I was raised on a steady diet of taunts and jeers, jabs at my heart, slaps in the face. Told repeatedly I was worthless. A monster.

Never loved. Never protected from the world.

Nazeera doesn’t seem to care at all what other people think, and I wish so much that I had her confidence. I know I’ve changed a lot—that I’ve come a long way from who I used to be—but I want more than anything to just be confident and unapologetic about who I am and how I feel, and not have to try so hard all the time. I’m still working on that part of myself.

“Right,” Kenji is saying. “Yeah. Pretty angry. But—” “Excuse me?”

At the sound of her voice we both spin around. “Speak of the devil,” Kenji says under his breath.

“I’m sorry—I think I’m lost,” Nazeera says. “I thought I knew this building pretty well, but there’s a bunch of construction going on and it’s . . . throwing me off. Can either of you tell me how to get outside?”

She almost smiles.

“Oh, sure,” I say, and almost smile back. “Actually”—I pause—“I think you might be on the wrong side of the building. Do you remember which entrance you came in from?”

She stops to think. “I think we’re staying on the south side,” she says, and flashes me a full, real smile for the first time. Then falters. “Wait. I think it was the south side. I’m sorry,” she says, frowning. “I just arrived a couple of hours ago—Haider got here before me—”

“I totally understand,” I say, cutting her off with a wave. “Don’t worry—it took me a while to navigate the construction, too. Actually, you know what? Kenji knows his way around even better than I do. This is Kenji, by the way

—I don’t think you guys were formally introduced tonight—” “Yeah, hi,” she says, her smile gone in an instant. “I remember.”

Kenji is staring at her like an idiot. Eyes wide, blinking. Lips parted ever so

slightly. I poke his arm and he yelps, startled, but comes back to life. “Oh, right,” he says quickly. “Hi. Hi—yeah, hi, um, sorry about dinner.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

And for the first time in all the time I’ve known him, Kenji actually blushes. Blushes. “No, really,” he says. “I, uh, I think your—scarf—is, um, really cool.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s it made of?” he says, reaching forward to touch her head. “It looks so soft—”

She slaps his hand away, recoiling visibly even in this dim light. “What the hell? Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Kenji blinks, confused. “What’d I do?”

Nazeera laughs, her expression a mixture of confusion and vague disgust. “How are you so bad at this?”

Kenji freezes in place, his mouth agape. “I don’t, um—I just don’t know, like, what the rules are? Like, can I call you sometime or—”

I laugh suddenly, loud and awkward, and pinch Kenji in the arm. Kenji swears out loud. Shoots me an angry look.

I plant a bright smile on my face and speak only to Nazeera. “So, yeah, um, if you want to get to the south exit,” I say quickly, “your best bet is to go back down the hall and make three lefts. You’ll see the double doors on your right

—just ask one of the soldiers to take you from there.”

“Thanks,” Nazeera says, returning my smile before shooting a weird look in Kenji’s direction. He’s still massaging his injured shoulder as he waves her a weak good-bye.

It’s only after she’s gone again that I finally spin around, hiss, “What the hell is wrong with you?” and Kenji grabs my arm, goes weak in the knees, and says,

“Oh my God, J, I think I’m in love.” I ignore him.

“No, seriously,” he says, “like, is this what that is? Because I’ve never been in love before, so I don’t know if this is love or if I just have, like, food poisoning?”

“You don’t even know her,” I say, rolling my eyes, “so I’m guessing it’s probably food poisoning.”

“You think so?”

I glance up at him, eyes narrowed, but one look is all it takes to lose my thread of anger. His expression is so weird and silly—so slap-happy—I almost feel bad for him.

I sigh, shoving him forward. He keeps stopping in place for no reason. “I don’t know. I think maybe you’re just, you know—attracted to her? God, Kenji, you gave me so much crap for acting like this over Adam and Warner

and now here you are, being all hormonal—” “Whatever. You owe me.”

I frown at him.

He shrugs, still beaming. “I mean, I know she’s probably a sociopath. And, like, would definitely murder me in my sleep. But damn she’s, wow,” he says. “She’s, like, batshit pretty. The kind of pretty that makes a man think getting murdered in his sleep might not be a bad way to go.”

“Yeah,” I say, but I say it quietly. “Right?”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean, you guess? I wasn’t asking a question. That girl is objectively beautiful.”

“Sure.”

Kenji stops, takes my shoulders in his hands. “What is your deal, J?” “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Oh my God,” he says, stunned. “Are you jealous?” “No,” I say, but I practically yell the word at him.

He’s laughing now. “That’s crazy. Why are you jealous?” I shrug, mumble something.

“Wait, what’s that?” He cups his hand over his ear. “You’re worried I’m going to leave you for another woman?”

“Shut up, Kenji. I’m not jealous.” “Aw, J.”

“I’m not. I swear. I’m not jealous. I’m just—I’m just . . .”

I’m having a hard time.

But I never have a chance to say the words. Kenji suddenly picks me up, spins me around and says, “Aw, you’re so cute when you’re jealous—”

And I kick him in the knee. Hard.

He drops me to the floor, grabs his leg, and shouts words so foul I don’t even recognize half of them. I sprint away, half guilty, half pleased, his promises to kick my ass in the morning echoing after me as I go.