Prodigy

you—”
    “I’ve saved you dozens of times. But if
I
turned you in, and your family
died
for it, would you forgive me?”
    I swallow. “Tess, I’d forgive you for just about anything.”
    “Even if I was responsible for your mom’s
death
? No, I don’t think you would.” She fixes her eyes on mine. Her voice carries a hint of harshness now, armored with an edge of steel. “That’s what I mean. You treat June differently.”
    “Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
    Tess ignores my reply and barrels on. “If you had to choose between saving either me or June, and you had no time to waste . . . what would you do?”
    I can feel my face going red as my frustration builds.
    “Who would you save?” Tess uses a sleeve to wipe her face and waits for my answer.
    I sigh impatiently. Just tell her the goddy truth. “You, all right? I’d save
you.
”
    She softens, and in that moment the ugliness of jealousy and hate is smoothed away. All it takes is a little sweetness for Tess to turn back into an angel. “Why?”
    “I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair, unable to figure out why I can’t take control of this conversation. “Because June wouldn’t need my help.”
    Stupid, so stupid. I almost couldn’t have said anything worse. The words spilled out before I could stop myself, and now it’s too late to take them back.
That’s not even the right reason.
I would’ve saved Tess because she’s
Tess,
because I can’t bear to imagine something happening to her. But I don’t have time to explain that. Tess turns and starts walking away from me. “Thanks for your pity,” she says.
    I hurry over to her, but when I take her hand, she jerks away. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I don’t pity you. Tess, I—”
    “It’s fine,” she snaps. “It’s just the truth, yeah? Well, you’ll be reunited with June soon enough. If she decides not to go back to the Republic.” She knows how cold her words are, but she doesn’t try to sugarcoat them. “Baxter thinks you’re going to betray us, you know. That’s why he doesn’t like you. He’s been trying to convince me of that ever since I first joined. I dunno . . . maybe he’s right.”
    She leaves me standing alone in the hall. Guilt slices through my skin, opening veins as it goes. A part of me is angry—I want to defend June, and tell Tess all the things June had given up for my sake. But . . .
is Tess right
? Am I just deluding myself?

I HAD A NIGHTMARE LAST NIGHT. I DREAMT THAT A NDEN pardoned Day for all his crimes. Then I saw the Patriots dragging Day onto a dark street and putting a bullet in his chest. Razor turned to me and said,
“Your punishment, Ms. Iparis, for working with the Elector.”
I jerked awake in a sweat, trembling uncontrollably.
    A day and night (more specifically, twenty-three hours) pass before I see the Elector again. This time I meet him in a lie detection room.
    As guards lead me down the hall to an ensemble of waiting jeeps outside, I go over all the things I’ve learned at Drake about how lie detectors work. The examiner’s going to try to intimidate me; they’re going to use my weaknesses against me. They’ll use Metias’s death, or my parents, or maybe even Ollie. They’ll certainly use Day. So I concentrate on the hall we’re walking down, think about each of my weaknesses in turn, and then press each one deep into the back of my mind. I silence them.
    We drive through the capital for several blocks. This time I see the city smothered in the gray half glow of a snowy morning, soldiers and workers hurrying along the sidewalks through the spots of light that streetlamps cast on the slick pavement. The JumboTrons here are enormous, some towering fifteen stories, and the speakers lining the buildings are newer than those in LA—they don’t make the announcer’s voice crackle. We pass the Capitol Tower. I study its slick walls, how sheets of glass protect each balcony so anyone giving a speech will be properly shielded. The old Elector had once been attacked that way, back before the glass went up—someone had tried to shoot at him all the way up on the fortieth floor. The Republic had been quick to put up the barriers after that. The Tower’s JumboTrons have wet streaks distorting the images on their screens, but I can still read some of the headlines as we pass them.
    A familiar one catches my attention.
    DANIEL ALTAN WING EXECUTED DEC. 26 BY FIRING SQUAD
    Why are they still