Knox raps twice against the door.
“Up and breathing,” he calls. “It’s a great day to have a great day!”
I groan at his cherry voice. The sun hasn’t even fully risen.
Of course, Ender refuses to let us sleep in after the long drive from Division One to Division Two. We took the transit road that cuts through the territories like a scar. It is a six-lane stretch of pavement that runs from the capital to the farthest division.
Even though Ender took the express route reserved for military personnel, we still had to stop at two checkpoints, presenting our Smart Card––which carries our identification, credit balance, and travel clearance––before we could proceed. Each card has a matte-black surface with a white sun etched on an iridescent circuit, while the fingerprint sensor flags any unauthorized use.
The border patrol studied Mercy and me the longest, seemingly disturbed by our similarities. I guess he’s never seen a pair of twins before.
I slip into my favorite cargo pants. The fabric is heavy against my skin. The holster settles against my hip like an old friend.
My fingers brush the grip of my gun, feeling something dangerously close to affection.
My hair is plaited, bangs drifting along my eyes like a hazy dream. Our mother always cut it for us when we were young. She’d sit us on the floor and warn us not to squirm, or we’d regret it when we looked in the mirror. That was a long time ago. Mercy and I kept the style ever since.
Behind me, Mercy adjusts the folds of her dress, smoothing the canary-yellow fabric and adjusting the matching ribbon in her hair. It suits her well. Soft and dainty. She looks like shebelongs in a fairytale, sliding between meadows and chasing white-speckled gazelles.
“Remember,” I murmur, tightening the end of my braid, “insult him often, but be creative or you’ll ruin my reputation.”
“And you?”
“I’ll say as little as possible.”
That earns me a smile.
I soften my face, erasing my hard expression, and then we descend the stairs together. Halfway down, I lean closer.
“Why are you grimacing?” I ask.
“I’m smirking,” she hisses back. “The way you always do.”
I swallow back a laugh and resist the urge to fix her expression myself.
Knox is waiting near the door, arms folded across his chest. His blue hair is lazily ruffled, and his mouth is drawn in a crooked smile.
His gaze drops immediately to my hip.
“Well.” He whistles. “We didn’t reach the Forge yet, darling. No need to dress for battle so soon.”
I open my mouth, ready to respond with a sarcastic retort, but I stop myself. Mercy wouldn’t rise to the bait.
“Where’s that… idiot?” Mercy asks, pitching her voice just slightly too high.
I resist the urge to remind her that our voices are identical, and she doesn’t need to change her cadence.
“Watch your mouth,” Ender barks.
He steps out from beneath the archway, moving like a shadow. His gaze fixes on Mercy first. I watch her cheeks flush, and her eyes drop instinctively.
That is not good. I would never turn away first. But Ender just met us, so he might not have picked up on the nuances of our personalities.
Ender’s brow lifts, just a fraction, before his eyes jerk to me.
I do as Mercy did and lower my gaze. We may as well both play at being coy.
“No weapons unless I permit it,” he says.
