Watchers do not make mistakes, so Watchers do not fall under suspicion. If an individual is found to be engaging in suspicious activities, they are not—nor have they ever truly been—a Watcher.
(Elite Watcher Training Manual, 51st edition, Appendix C)
I perch on the edge of my seat with stiff formality. Crucible watches the fights going on before us, his face the image of utter contentment. He stretches, letting his legs splay out beside mine. I rest my hands on my knees, willing my legs to stop trembling. Fuschious has melted back into the crowd, turning to bark orders at one of the fighting pairs before wandering around, hands clasped behind his back.
“What do you see?” Crucible gestures over to the gym. A few cages away, an Elite makes a sudden sweep, knocking out the legs of her opponent. The other Apprentice lands on his back with a heavy thud and has no time to move before the girl is descending on his abdomen with her elbow.
“I see training, Executive Lover.” I look at the grid of fight cages laid out across the room and catch sight of Sif in the distance. Standing on the floor, hands curled around the arena’s safety netting, she is yelling at the fighters. I catch sight of Zin two cages away from her. “I see Love Squad fight training.”
Crucible makes a dissatisfied sound. “Think like a Watcher. What do you see?” he asks again.
Right now it would be good to be able to read his mind, since I have no idea what he wants me to say. So I keep looking.
I start forward when I spot Hodge in one of the rings to my right. A trickle of blood runs down the scarred side of his face. But he has his opponent pinned to the mat and doesn’t look like he’ll let him up anytime soon. Unlike some of the other fighters, he’s not punching the one who is down. It’s almost as if he’s just trying to incapacitate, rather than damage. His muscles strain with effort, and sweat glistens on his bare chest. I look away, cheeks burning, and focus on the task Crucible has given me to do.
Hodge’s face is not the only bloody visage. More than one Apprentice attempts to fight with eyes nearly swollen shut, or blood marring their faces. A few fighters nurse injured limbs or hop gingerly on one good leg. Some dance eagerly around the edge of the ring, bouncing on the balls of their feet while they wait for their opponents to get back up with slow, painful rolls.
“No one is tapping out,” I say under my breath.
“Speak up,” Crucible snaps.
Fighters continue to circle, hunched and ready to strike again at their opponents, even the injured ones. One pair sways drunkenly in the distance, caught in an almost permanent crouch as they face each other across the ring. Both of them look too dazed to pounce.
I clear my throat. “They’re not giving up.”
Crucible gives a nod of acknowledgement. “You may make a Watcher, after all,” he says wryly. “But can you tell me why, Apprentice Flick?”
“Elites focus on the goal, not the game, Executive Lover,” I spout one of the Elite Axioms with ease.
“Maybe,” he says. He stretches his arms above his head and returns to his relaxed spectating. “But not in this case.”
I purse my lips. It’s Triumph season. I thought these people would be resting up after a big night, not beating each other to a pulp. But Crucible is toying with me, like a predator playing with its lunch. I just have to wait it out and let him say what he wants to say.
“They are my Apprentices,” Crucible states. He darts a glance at me. “You have no ideas?”
“I am content for you to tell me, Executive Lover,” I respond.
Crucible snorts. After a few more moments of silent observation, he speaks again. “They are fighting because I told them to. No more. No less.”
His dark eyes turn to me, and somehow he is enjoying this so-called conversation immensely.
“Oh, I could give you plausible-sounding reasons, of course. I could tell you Love Squad soldiers can’t be touched by the temptations of Triumph revelry, or some such garbage. Or something about how we’re training them to be resolute in the face of hate, blah, blah, blah,” he says. “But the truth of the matter is far more simple. If I command them to do something, they do it.”
I feel like a trapped fly who’s watching the spider dance toward it across the web.
He stares out at the matches. “Would you do the same? Fight. Like this.”
I swallow. “I live to serve the Collective, Executive Lover.”
His renewed silence only increases the viselike grip fear has on my heart. Seconds tick away. Then he exhales slowly, as if my words have physically deflated him.
“Your companion has left us.” His eyes are fixed on a point somewhere in the distance.
“My . . . what?” I say stupidly, looking around in bewilderment as if there might be someone standing beside me.
He turns to me. “I regret to inform you that your Watcher companion absconded from the Elite Academy last night.”
It takes a second for the words to register, and then my heart sinks. Wil left the Academy? My hands are still on my knees, and I dig my fingernails into my legs. Crucible knows. They all know. I’m done.
“Nothing to say?” Crucible’s expression is still relaxed, but his eyes narrow at me.
“I . . . I apologize, Executive Lover. I am . . . I am shocked.”
“You do not ask why, though. Which means you have some insight into this situation.”
My mind races. “At best I can only guess, Executive Lover.”
“You are one of his closest peers. Your guesses are more than educated.”
“He . . . I . . . we had different schedules, Executive Lover, I—”
“Apprentice Flick,” Crucible interrupts, irritated. “I may be old, but I am not an imbecile. Your prevaricating does you no favors. Do I need to spell out for you the surveillance footage we have? Surveillance that shows you and the fugitive leaving the building together last night? At the very least, you were the last person to see him on the premises.”
“How did he get out?” I ask, desperately hoping Wil didn’t go through some secret bunker exit. That would be the perfect way to sell us all out in some kind of final, defiant gesture. An Apprentice vanishing from the center of the complex would be as good as standing on the obstacle course with a banner that read, Look Over Here!
“He was seen leaving through the front entrance after midnight,” Crucible informs me. “Without a visitor permit.”
“Oh.”
“So you will tell me what your conversation was about.”
“Yes, Executive Lover. I’m sorry. I just can’t believe it. He . . .” I scramble for some explanation that won’t get us all killed. Do I alert him to the Triumph plot? They must already know if that warehouse guy was arrested. But I can’t do that, or all of the Sirens will be implicated by Wil’s presence there. The Love Collective doesn’t care if an illegal meeting is to plan treason or to sing innocuous songs. Either reason will get us on the Haters’ Pavilion Show.
I replay the memory in my head, seeking some kind of way out.
“He asked me to . . . to be with him,” I say. It’s not the whole truth, but enough to be plausible. “He had this weird idea, and I didn’t like it, and it upset him.”
I turn in time to see a hungry look on Crucible’s face that leaves my skin crawling. But I can see the explanation is working. I decide to run with it.
“A weird idea?” Crucible’s lips are moist. A nauseous wave threatens to unleash itself. The hungry look in his eyes grows. “Do tell.”
I drop my gaze. “It was conduct unbecoming a Watcher, Executive Lover,” I say simply. I hate myself for telling him that much, but denying everything is completely useless at this point. “I needed to get back to the Watcher room to do my duty, and I told him so.”
Crucible’s face droops in disappointment. He was clearly hoping for some extra juicy details. But right now I would much rather be a disappointment than a traitor.
“You were in a blind spot on the system, which we are going to remedy.” His words chill me. If I ever get out of here, first thing I will do is get word out to the Sirens.
“Did he tell you where he was going?” Crucible’s eyes flick to my face, and then return to the fight in front of us.
I shake my head. “No. I am sorry, Executive Lover. I had no idea he was going to leave the Academy.”
“What did you do after your conversation?” Crucible sits up straight and turns his body to better fix me in his stare. He examines every corner of my face with a withering look. I can’t look into his eyes for more than half a second.
“I went for a jog and came back to do some Watcher work. I thought he’d come back to the Watcher Dorm, not leave the Academy.”
Crucible’s order is curt. “Find him.”
My mouth goes dry. “Yes, Executive Lover.” I have no idea how to find Wil. Even if I knew where to begin the search, I’d hesitate before flagging his whereabouts. “Sir? What if I can’t? He gave me no clues.”
“One of you is most certainly a Hater. Whether both of you are Haters is entirely up to you.” Crucible isn’t even looking at me now but somehow that unnerves me all the more.
“I live to serve the Collective, Executive Lover,” I stumble over the words. “I will find him.”
“I will believe that when I see it.” With that, Crucible waves out at the crowd. A dozen Lovers emerge from the spectators, whistling to signal the end of the bouts. Fuschious strolls over to us, and stands waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
After giving Crucible a loyal salute, I leave. On my way down the stairs, I cast a quick glance toward Hodge’s arena, but he’s already gone from the ring. Over on the other side, Sif is in the middle of a huddle. She laughs at a joke I can’t hear and shows no sign that she’s noticed me at all. Nobody seems to be disturbed by this morning’s fight drill. Just another typical day in Elite training.
But I feel as if my world is crumbling. Crucible’s conversation replays itself over and over, and I wonder how on earth I am going to manage his mission. I have a nasty feeling that I’ve just been strapped into an overcar that’s programmed to hurtle off a cliff. That feeling only grows on the long walk back to my Watcher Dorm. Knowing I’m being watched, I race to my private spot on my bunk, logging into the Siren app only long enough to type a few panicked words: Cover blown. Bunker no longer safe. Stay away. The last three words are hard to type, since my hands tremble with fear: Wil deserted. Traitor.