Friday, June 15

  N/A

  Mission: N/A

  N/A

  The air around me seethed with heat, my skin slick with sweat. Smoke packed my lungs and stung like needles from the inside—burning my nose, clawing down my throat. I pushed myself upright, blinking through watery eyes, and saw fire blooming in every direction.

  The ground was a churned mix of dirt, soot, and charred wood. I couldn’t even see the sky—the smoke swarmed the air like a living thing. I staggered, and only then felt it: blood running down my legs.

  No wand. No utility belt. Nothing to defend myself with.

  Except my Perk.

  My arms glowed red, pulsing with that familiar cosmic heat, and somehow that scared me more than the flames. Where was I—what kind of place forces my Perk to rise on instinct?

  Then a voice came out of the darkness. Looming. Echoed. It bounced off the walls of fire like the world itself was carrying it.

  “What has you so surprised?”

  I swallowed hard, hands trembling.

  “Guilt finally got the best of you?”

  From the deep shadow, a figure emerged. Firelight parted around her as she approached, the flames moving in a rhythm that almost looked like they were making room.

  The closer she got, the clearer it became.

  A she.

  “I’m here for one reason,” she rasped. “So I can face the villain standing in front of me.”

  I stepped back, arms tightening with energy.

  “Kindness? A myth. Love? Illusion. Rocke—gone.”

  Her face slid fully into the light.

  Mari.

  White, glowing eyes. Burned skin. A smile that wasn’t a smile at all.

  “Only retribution.”

  She charged.

  Red explosions snapped beneath her feet with every step.

  I shut my eyes and braced to punch—

  —and Mari became my alarm clock.

  It flung off the bedside table and clattered onto the floor.

  I jolted upright, drenched in sweat, gulping air as I reoriented. My bedroom. Sunlight spilled through the window—soft and harmless, the complete opposite of the nightmare I’d been trapped in seconds ago.

  I groaned.

  9:12.

  Not bad, but I’d prefer one summer break morning without getting jump-scared by my own brain. I rubbed my eyes and forehead, heart still hammering, then forced myself up. I had about six hours before I had to head to the YMPA.

  14:54

  Six minutes now.

  I grabbed my yellow utility belt from my room—shining in reflective glory. The other one had been confiscated by the TSA, so yeah… I needed a replacement. The “cool” part, supposedly, was that this one was a newer model.

  A silver lining.

  A practically insignificant one compared to everything I’d just lived through.

  It didn’t help that what could’ve been a breakthrough for all of EMO ended up a colossal failure because I didn’t do my job right.

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  “Connor!”

  Mom.

  I rushed downstairs—and immediately got hit with a fishy smell so strong it almost made me wonder if hiding upstairs would’ve been smarter.

  “Yeah?” I called.

  Mom was warming up fish.

  “Neighbor?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Neighbor,” Mom confirmed. “It still amazes me she hasn’t fixed that God-given microwave for five months, but she can host a birthday party every other week.”

  “How does she do that?”

  “She does it for other people in the neighborhood—and even some of her coworkers—just because she wants to,” Mom scoffed. “She amazes me.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “You needed me for something?”

  Mom nodded, but when she turned, her expression fell. Her eyes dimmed as they flicked from my face to my waist. She let out a heavy sigh.

  “Make sure everything’s clean once I’m done,” she said. “I’ve gotta take this over to her house.”

  I nodded and stepped toward the stove—

  —and a huge blue portal spawned under my feet.

  “YO—” I yelped, dropping hard.

  I landed on my feet, but the force still drove me to my knees.

  And there I was.

  Under the grand entrance of the YMPA.

  Lush trees swept across the lawn like the place had been painted fresh. Massive oiled wooden doors stood ahead—luxurious, glorious, and somehow still imposing every time I saw them.

  It felt good.

  It felt really good.

  I pushed inside. Students moved through the main sector where the stairs split toward the second floor in four directions, and to the left the huge oak doors to the cafeteria stood open like a mouth.

  I stepped through—

  —and a wave of noise slammed into me.

  Laughs. Screams. Cackles. Drama. The usual.

  What I still didn’t understand was why Mr. Drails always spawned me in later than basically every other human being in this academy. That was a question I needed to ask him.

  I scanned for my friends.

  Found them because they found me first.

  Tisiah waved high—well, as high as he could with the disappointing wingspan of his arms—and I made my way over to the table near the wall. It kept us slightly boxed in, which honestly felt safer.

  Tisiah wore the uniform: white jacket, black shirt, black pants.

  Nikki, his sister, took liberties—as always.

  She had the jacket zipped, diamonds on her utility belt, baggy cargo pants, and Panda Dunks like spy school was a runway.

  I feel like being fresh in spy school should be the least of your priorities, but Nikki didn’t agree with that philosophy.

  “What’s good, Nikki?” I said, offering a dab-up.

  She ignored it and shook my hand like I was a politician visiting a police station.

  “My, my, my,” Nikki sighed, shaking her head like she couldn’t decide whether she was amazed or disappointed. “Look at you. You look like a stunning cueball.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “Nikki,” Tisiah hissed.

  She pulled back and snickered. Tisiah looked at me and lowered his head like he was apologizing on her behalf.

  “So,” Nikki said, leaning in, “what’s going on with September? What’s our consensus?”

  “Consensus? Based on what?” I asked, looking around. “Did I miss a meeting or—”

  “Well, based on what happened last time,” Nikki said, “you were kind of an impressive force. You defended her in this cool, elaborate way—which I still think you’re lying about—right before Mari used her as leverage.” She lifted her eyebrows. “She probably appreciates that. Have you talked to her since?”

  “No, I haven’t been—”

  “What?” Tisiah and Nikki yelped at the same time.

  My heart skipped like it wanted to leave my body. “Why are you yelling?”

  “You have to keep pressure on,” Nikki declared. “That’s what Malachi has. Pressure. The more you talk to them, the more they know you, the more they like you—”

  “And being someone with Malachi’s resume of stupidity and attractiveness,” she added, “he’s most likely going to succeed.”

  “Attractiveness, ay?” Tisiah muttered under his breath.

  Nikki heard it anyway and lunged at him. Tisiah immediately threw his hands up in surrender.

  “Wonderful,” Nikki said, continuing like nothing happened. “Anyways—September’s been leaving early. Physical therapy.”

  “Why aren’t you going to physical therapy?” Nikki asked me instantly.

  I gave her a long, flat stare.

  “Ahhh,” she said quickly, nodding like she’d just answered her own question.

  “Either way,” I said, “that hasn’t really given me time to talk to her without Malachi being in the way.”

  Tisiah started snapping his fingers—like he’d just caught a thought midair.

  “That’s the problem right there,” he said. “Right there.”

  “Malachi’s the problem?” Nikki asked, brows furrowed. “I thought we already established that.”

  “No, no, no,” Tisiah said. “Look at it this way. You said—your words—you can’t talk to her because he’s there, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But says who?” Tisiah replied. “If Malachi’s talking to her, she’s still your friend. Malachi knows you—we’re in Mage Football together, and technically he helped with the mole situation. September knows you. She’ll talk to you.”

  “It’s not about her,” Nikki argued. “Yeah, Malachi helped him, but for a price. He’s gonna beat the brakes off Connor if Connor keeps getting in the way.”

  “Ah yes,” Tisiah said dryly, “a really good agent is going to beat the brakes off someone who has a Perk. Connor’s Perk.”

  “Perks aren’t permitted in school,” Nikki countered. “He wouldn’t be able to use it anyway.”

  “Who’s gonna catch him?” Tisiah shot back.

  “Yeah, Tisiah’s right,” I said. “To be honest, the only times I’ve really hung out with September were when we were in constant danger.” I exhaled. “Pretty poor date, if you ask me.”

  “That’s not a date,” Tisiah said. “That’s a mission.” Then he softened, just slightly. “But you’re right. I wouldn’t want to remember someone by how much trauma I gathered during operations.”

  “Do you think September is a frog or something?” Nikki snapped. “My brother in Christ—I promise you, if you asked her what her most fun missions were, Connor is coming up in at least one of them.”

  Tisiah ignored that. “Listen, Nikki—nothing’s gonna happen to Connor for talking to someone he’s close with. What he can do is this: during camp, he can try to hang out with September there.”

  I froze—Camp?