And just like that, he closes up again. “Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?”
“We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs, but the answer is written across his shoulders, down his folded arms. It’s classified. I’m not his gunner, not—in his mind—really even a member of the Sixth.
That’s when a new thought occurs to me. “Is this about my Academy status?”
His gaze darts up. “Your what?”
“You know.” I wave my hand, hating him for making me say it. Surely he already knows. Everyone knows. “Because I was accepted into the Academy without a sponsor. I took the entry test instead. I know they say no one’s supposed to be able to pass the entry test, that it’s just the Academy’s way ofactinglike they’re giving opportunities to underprivileged students, but…” My anger ebbs at the bewilderment on Lament’s face. He didn’t know. Is it possible he didn’t know? “But, um, I did pass. Which led to all the rumors…”
“What rumors?”
That I was sleeping with the Academy’s president, mainly. But if Lament wasn’t aware of my Academy status, he surely hasn’t heardthatgossip.
“You know what,” I say. “It’s not important.”
I fully expect Lament to push the subject, so I’m surprised when he replies with, “If you say so.”
Which leaves us at this uncomfortable juncture where we’re both still mildly irritated but have no way to move the conversation forward without either apologizing or resuming our earlier arguing.
I choose a third option.
“Well.” I stand from the couch a bit too quickly; my shin knocks the coffee table hard enough to make Lament wince. “As pleasant as this has been…” I shuffle sideways, cringing a little as I try to extract myself from the narrow space between the couch and table. “Itislate. Or early, I guess. I’m heading back to bed.”
It’s surely my sleep-addled brain, but Lament looks almost disappointed.
I limp toward the door, taking the roundabout way to avoid passing too close to him. I’m almost out of the room when the cleaning bot pulls another grate from the wall.
This time, something crawls out of it.
The bot doesn’t react (it’s a bot), but I jerk in surprise as the creature—black, serpentine, with a body like a lizard and a head that reaches my knees—emerges from the vent, bares a row of needlelike teeth, and lunges for me.
I scramble backward, my hand going to my belt where my ray gun… isn’t. My brain stutters, my fingers pawing uselessly at my hip until I realize my gun is in its holster, which is lying where I left it on the couch.
I forgot my weapon.
I never forget my weapon.
I think—fuck—as the creature flies toward me, all sinewy limbs and flashing talons. I grab the bot and offer a worthless apology (bots can’t feel and I’m pretty sure they’re not sentient) before raising it over my head and hurling it at the monster. It’s a direct hit, but my attempt at self-defense only serves to enrage the creature. It crashes to the floor, hissing, claws skittering. Its scales are so polished they’re reflective. Its eyes are bluish, strangely glowy. There’s foam around its mouth, gathering at the corners, and dear Mother of Stars, thosefangs—
A shot fires. There’s a blaze of green light, the familiar burn-and-metal smell of a ray beam. The lizard’s body blasts into pieces, splashing red across white walls.
Holy shit.
I’m clutching the doorframe, gaping at what’s left of the reptile while my heart tries to batter its way out of my rib cage. Lament has my ray gun in hand. He must have grabbed it off the couch, except I don’t knowhow, because he’s standing exactly where he was before, stiff, not a hair out of place. I have the oddest thought that maybe he really has become a statue, like he’s turned permanently to stone. Then he lifts his gaze to mine.
His eyes aren’t full of shock, as I expected, but fury.
04
“Lament.”
I hurry after him as he marches out of the study and down the hallway, practically jogging to keep up.
