DAY 27, 7:33 A.M.

Aboard the Tower Space Station

Sometimes mistakes should be made. Sometimes they should be made two or three or five times. The only catch is that Morning has promises to keep, and none of them are to me.

Fifty-two competitions in the Waterway and we’ve won six. One victory against Morning in all that time, and it was a fluke more than anything. During Morning’s three absences, we managed a 5–1 record. If only there were more of those ahead. With just four days remaining, she will captain Genesis 12 for each of their remaining Waterway competitions. Vandemeer and I take a final look at the scoreboards, running scenarios. Today is the final dueling day. Other than that, there are eight more Waterway battles or races. Just nine events. Twenty-seven thousand points up for grabs.

Five bold names and only one spot remains. Vandemeer looks over the numbers again. For the first time since I’ve known him, he is unshaved. He looks rail thin too.

“Four things need to happen.”

“That’s four things too many,” I reply. He doesn’t laugh. His face is hooded and pale. Neither of us sleeps well these days. “All right, what are they?”

“First, you have to beat Anton today.”

“Done,” I say. Twice I’ve beaten him, though he’s nearly nicked an artery both times.

“Second, Longwei has to beat Loche.”

I take a deep breath and nod. “He will. He won’t lose three times. Not to Loche.”

I wish I believed that. Vandemeer says nothing because he’s thinking the same thing as me. Longwei’s fights have been awful. He’s been outmatched time and time again. He’s barely hanging on to his captaincy at this point. A lot of our crew is heading the same direction.

Desperate and lost and helpless.

“What’s the third thing?” I ask.

Vandemeer’s eyes are tight. “You have to win in the Waterway. Just once.”

We both stare out the porthole window. Eden stands bright against the dark of space. We know the odds of winning. We know it isn’t likely, because we know Morning doesn’t lose.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Vandemeer tries to look confident. “Something amazing.”

“Just one time,” I say. “All right. And the fourth thing?”

“It’s not something you can do.”

I glance over. “What is it?”

“Bilal.”

He doesn’t need to say any more. Bilal’s final match will be against Holly. My friend’s only won one duel so far, and trying to compete hasn’t allowed his leg to heal properly. Holly’s good. It’s not likely that he’ll win, but he’s as desperate as anyone else. If he wins, I won’t go to Eden. It’s the position I always hoped to avoid. Make friends in a place like this, and eventually you have to root against them. But Kaya taught me better. I’ll be happy for Bilal if he wins. A part of me believes that.

Vandemeer stands. “We should head down.”

After Roathy and Isadora’s attempt, they’ve been quiet. I have no idea how Defoe threatened them, but it doesn’t matter. The numbers just don’t work for Roathy to make it to Eden. He can’t catch me, and he’s going to get passed by Loche.

The morning challenge has us loading cargo. Nyxian blocks transported to a location at the other end of the Waterway. We start off faster than Genesis 12, but we burn out along the rapids. They pull a few clever submersions and are fully unloaded by the time we dock. Watching them win is like watching my future slip quietly through my fingers. Seven more chances.

I can’t stomach a lunch, so I walk the Tower Space Station. I know what’s at stake. I know what I have to do. The rest of it is out of my hands. I make a few circles around the station before heading back to the Waterway. The observation deck is empty except for Defoe. His eyes are distant, like he’s looking past the course, through the station, and down to Eden. My arrival catches his attention.

“You’re early,” he says.

“Nowhere else to go.”

His eyes flicker over to me. “We are nearing the end.”

“Yeah, we are. Will you go down to Eden?”

He laughs. “I can’t. As much as I’d love to, the Adamites will not allow it.”

The river fills our awkward pause with quiet.

I say, “I’m not sure I’ll get to go either.”

“You need a win in the Waterway.”

I shouldn’t be surprised he knows that, but I am. “It’s unlikely.”

“Change the dynamic, then,” he says. Footsteps echo behind us. The others are coming. “Change the dynamic. Think like Kaya used to think. Remember her strategy in the Rabbit Room? You have to change how the game works. Morning keeps winning because she changes the dynamic first. Change it before she can and maybe you’ll get your win.”

I nod. “I still have to win my duel.”

“Against Anton?” He flashes teeth. “Just get him riled up and let him overextend.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” I ask quietly. Shadows stretch in the hall behind us.

Defoe’s lips purse. “You remind me of myself, Emmett. I came from nothing to where I am now. I worked hard for everything I have. It’s also my belief that your presence on Eden will benefit our company. I’ve watched the other students. Morning? She’s brilliant, of course. But Loche? He’ll go down to Eden and treat it like a vacation. I can tell you’ll work hard, Emmett. More than that, you’re a loyal person. I’m not going to manipulate the results of the contest, but I can still hope to see someone like you on the surface for Babel.”

He straightens as the others funnel into the room. Let the games begin.

Babel’s scheduled it well. The early fights are of little consequence. Morning crushes Isadora like she’s crushed everyone. She glances over my way after her fight and she’s wearing the same look she’s had for days. There’s passion, and fear, and dark dread. There’s a war happening inside her. One part wants me on Eden. The other part has promises to keep.

Ida falls to Azima’s spear and Omar makes Katsu look small again. Parvin and Jaime go tumbling into the water during their duel. In the chaotic splashing, Jaime catches her on the shoulder with his short sword. Then the first fight of consequence: Holly and Bilal.

My friend’s still walking with a limp. He wears an air cast inside his boot, and he noticeably favors the leg. I can’t fight the secret fear that edges into my heart as I watch them take their positions across from each other. What if he wins? What if Bilal’s the one who knocks me out of the competition once and for all?

The two of them circle. Bilal knows he won’t last long, so he fights aggressively, darting forward and hoping to score a lucky shot. But Holly’s a great boxer. She wards off the rushes, dances around jabs, and punishes every mistake. My heart rejoices and breaks as her finishing haymaker ends him. I watch Bilal’s avatar fall, and a horrible box is checked in my heart.

One out of four.

The next fight arrives, and I’m not sure either participant has calculated its significance. I consider pulling Longwei aside to make sure he knows the consequences, but he shoulders his way downstairs before I can. Not that he would have cared about my fate anyway.

Loche looks determined. His bright-blond lover, Ida, stands by the bottom docks calling for him to be brave, to win. Longwei shoots her an annoyed look. Even that amount of emotion gives me hope. The fight begins quietly. The two circle, and Loche looks for a way inside the reach of Longwei’s sword. They exchange blows and circle twice more. Loche lunges under a sweeping strike, but before he can slip his arms forward, Longwei head-butts him in the face. The crack echoes over the water, and Loche stumbles, nose gushing blood and legs unsteady. Longwei takes his time after that, slashing at ribs, disarming Loche, and then putting silver right through the Aussie’s heart. Loche’s avatar drops and my heart soars.

Two out of four.

As Anton and I cross the bridge, I consider Defoe’s advice.

Get him riled up, he said. Let him overextend.

The Russian is twirling his knives and humming some military marching song. I walk past him and turn so that I’m facing the observation deck. I fake a confused look.

“Wait, who am I fighting?” I ask, letting my eyes drift up to Defoe.

Defoe raises an eyebrow in return. “Anton.”

“Oh,” I say, looking right at Anton. “Where is he?”

Defoe doesn’t answer this time. I can hear Katsu laughing as a flush creeps up Anton’s neck. I crane my neck forward and squint.

“Oh, there you are! Sorry, didn’t see you for a second.”

My smile clinches it. I make it a dirty, I’m-better-than-you kind of smile. It doesn’t make me feel good, but it has Anton pacing like someone just insulted his mother and his grandmother. Maybe his dog too.

When Defoe gives the signal, he flashes forward. And God, is he quick. I fend off the first two strikes, but he spins and leaves a gash on my upper arm. I can hear him cursing under his breath as he stabs, ducks, slices. He catches me four times in the first minute. There’s not even a second to glance up at the avatars, but I know I’m losing, bleeding out.

In the end, though, Defoe is right.

Anton ducks to put his left blade between my ribs, and I absolutely crush him with a hook. Even with the protective nyxian padding, he whips with the blow. I plant a massive boot in his chest, and the gargoyle goes flying over the railing. His avatar’s brain hemorrhages, and I win. He comes gargling and cursing to the surface, but his words can’t touch me.

Three out of four, I think.

Just one more thing to do and I’m on Eden.

Vandemeer waits in the hallway and actually picks me up when I tell him. We walk excitedly back to our rooms, but the hardest part is still to come. That afternoon, we lose a round of capture the flag. The next morning, we lose a race that’s completely underwater. My chances vanish like words on the wind. Vandemeer follows me everywhere. His encouragements sound small. Another afternoon comes, and this time Babel simulates storm currents. We get trapped by metallic tentacles so large that I don’t want to see whatever creature they’re supposed to prepare us for. Genesis 12 notches another victory, and Loche’s score inches up to mine.

The idea that we could win a group event seems laughable.

Four, I think. Only four events remain.

One victory, I think. An impossible number.