THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

for. She’d understood the need to care about tomorrow as much as today.
    Mathias would tell Callan to welcome any opportunity to improve the morale of the village, even if the encouragement came from a stranger.
    He had taught Callan that part of his duty while in the Sphere was to smile in the face of disaster and on his worst days. Just like a warrior, leaders did not show weakness.
    For that reason, Callan would smile during the celebration of Mathias’s BIRG Day in spite of it being a huge nuisance and waste of time. In truth, Callan didn’t really mind because Mathias deserved a special celebration after having spent the last year in here instead of a final adolescent year of carefree time most in his position enjoyed.
    This would not be the extravagant production Mathias would receive at home, or at this year’s BIRG Con, the symbolic–and often too realistic–end of childhood. As a Gild Level, Mathias would be first in line to the next Governing House leader. Mathias deserved to lead the Governing House and Callan would do everything in his power to make sure his friend got that chance.
    Mathias was built of integrity, but he also understood when he had to be sly, like turning TecKnati lies into a morale booster by leaving tonight. Knowing Mathias, he would not lounge around and use the time to rest. He’d show up tomorrow evening with something for dinner. And truth be told, he would probably enjoy a night alone without sixty kids looking to him for guidance.
    But Callan couldn’t watch his friend’s back if Mathias was outside the village and Callan was stuck inside here babysitting. TeK Scouts had told all the MystiKs they would only be here until they were eighteen. Only someone who drank shroom juice would believe that, but Mathias had been adamant about using that story to keep hope alive in the hearts of the children. Callan and Mathias had created a plan to make it appear as though Mathias did leave this evening.
    A plan that Etoi or Zilya could not know about since Etoi had no leash on her tongue and Callan didn’t trust Zilya.
    A night of solitude might be the best gift of all for Mathias.
    Callan entered the common area where a thirteen-year-old boy supervised the food being prepared for the feast. He used the word “feast” loosely. They’d been anticipating preparing fresh roasted croggle meat for this evening’s celebration, but now they were reduced to tullee pods and dried banban seeds.
    Rayen’s gaze swept over everyone, her face closed off as she kept her thoughts to herself while matching Callan step for step.
    Crossing the open area to reach the Governing chamber, Callan returned polite smiles to all the excited faces turning toward him...all but one.
    Neelah rarely had a smile for anyone these days, every glare blaming the Warrior House and Governing House for pulling her away from her betrothed. Callan might feel some sympathy for the girl if she’d direct her anger at the TecKnati, not other MystiKs who suffered alongside her. Neelah was not the first, nor probably the last to leave a betrothed behind.
    Entering the Governing Chamber, Callan crossed the room to one of the carved chairs and sat down, weary from using so much energy to heal.
    He waited to see if Rayen would take the other one, but she’d paused just inside the door, thumbs hooked in the top of her blue pants.
    Did she have to draw his attention to her narrow waist like that? “Have a seat.”
    “I’ll stand.”
    So be it. Best way to put himself back on firm footing with her was by not treating her as a guest. That might also help toss a wet rag on this strange awareness of her that kept his thoughts in turmoil.
    Rayen took one look around and moved further inside the doorway then crossed her arms. “Where’s V’ru and what makes him so special?”
    Callan wanted to slap himself. He’d forgotten to tell V’ru to meet him. Holding up his hand in a sign for Rayen to wait, he sent a brief telepathic call to V’ru, asking him to join Callan to interrogate a prisoner.
    Finally, he answered, “He’s a G’ortian, a rare descendant of the Records House. He’s on the way.”
    “Did you just call him telepathically?”
    “Yes.”
    Even motionless, Rayen emitted a silent power. “What’s a G’ortian?”
    “Someone of unusual gifts and powers that develop very young.”  That’s how he saw V’ru, but not himself. When he looked in the mirror he saw a waste of power that should have gone to