Master Akerman sighed dramatically. “Honestly, I signed on to be a professor, to teach and impart knowledge, and somehow, I ended up here—babysitting a bunch of idiots with more ego than sense.
“But I am a teacher at heart, and as much as I don’t want to be here, I do intend to teach you idiots something. The Five Finals might be about survival, but none of you will survive without your partner. At its heart, The Five Finals are about partnership and teamwork, and luckily for you—I am particularly well informed on the subject.”
Master Akerman pointed to the massive metal structure at the back of the Training Room, the one Allyra had dubbed the jungle gym in her mind. “Let’s see just how much you trust your partner.”
* * *
It was about trust—blind, stupid trust, the type that might get a person killed, faster than the blink of an eye. The task Master Akerman devised had all the signs of a devilish mind. It involved one partner climbing to the top of the jungle gym and then leaping across the ten-meter gap, where the other partner would catch the first. Something akin to a trapeze artist performance.
At least, that was the theory.
The jungle gym had two towers. Each one was at least three stories tall, created from metal scaffolding rods and made solid with planks of plywood. Staring up at it, Allyra thought that the jungle gym had been a poor name. It was less a child’s playground and more a tool of torture and death. Most significantly, there was no safety net of any kind. If one partner failed to catch the other—a broken limb might be considered a good outcome.
“Well, people, you were all so eager to jump into action—there’s no time like the present. Decide between yourselves who will do the leaping and who will do the catching and let’s get going.” Master Akerman shouted, clapping his hands together as if he were driving a herd of uncooperative sheep. “Shall we start with our oldest pair? François and Xolani, you’re up.”
François’s partner was huge, towering over every other Competitor in the room. Both men climbed up the towers swiftly and deftly despite their bulk. Xolani hooked his legs around a metal bar, leaning out to make full use of his height and close the distance to his partner.
Xolani must’ve weighed twice as much as François, so Allyra wasn’t surprised that they’d chosen to have him as the catcher. François stood on the platform of the second tower; its small area meant that he was only able to take two steps before he launched himself into thin air.
Their hands closed over each other’s with a firm, resounding clap, the sound of their efficiency ringing through the room. Seconds later, Xolani pulled François safely onto the platform. The entire task had been completed within minutes and with zero fuss. It was clear they were the star pupils, the ones who everyone else—everyone who might have been lumped into mediocrity—loved to hate. She couldn’t help but hate them just a little and wondered briefly if that meant she was mediocre? Allyra pushed the thought from her mind—there was no space for mediocre in The Five Finals. She reminded herself that she had always been an excellent student. In fact, she was the star pupil that everyone else loved to hate.
Xolani and François climbed down the tower, and as he walked past her, François deliberately shoved a shoulder into her, sending her stumbling back a couple of steps. Such a deliberate challenge couldn’t be ignored, not if she wanted to be taken seriously. One deliberate stride forward and Allyra stood before François, fully prepared to shove him back just as hard.
François looked down at her with an icy glint of cruelty in his eyes, and it took everything she had not to step back in shock. Because—she’d seen those eyes before. Bright green eyes—the only visible feature on a face hidden behind the silver of a Cleaner’s mask. Green and desperate, begging her to help him, to take him away from that room in the Tunnels, filled with unconscious and dying Cleaners. He’d been so thin his hands were like those of a skeleton’s.
Could it really be the same person?
It was hard to imagine François, who was bursting with health and vitality, could be the same emaciated Cleaner she’d encountered in the Tunnels. François—arrogant and confident—could be the Cleaner who had pleaded for her to save him from the Revenant she’d seen in his memories.
But there was no mistaking those eyes. She could still remember the slight blemish in his right eye, like a dark drop of paint against the emerald background.
There was certainly no recognition in his eyes as he said, “Hope you were taking notes, because that’s how it’s done.” And he brushed past her once more.
François’s words had been said quietly, but Master Akerman didn’t miss the comment. “Not bad,” he drawled, “but I would expect as much when you’ve had five years to prepare. Stop gloating—it’s unbecoming.”
* * *
All too soon, it was her turn to climb the tower. The other pairs had all completed the task, some with more flair and confidence than others but all of them successfully.
They walked up to the jungle gym, and Jason turned to her. “You’re jumping,” he said with a finality that gave no room for discussion.
Her first instinct was to refuse. Never again a pawn. Give no quarter because none will be given. Seeming pliant would be an invitation for Jason to push her around. But she was smaller and lighter, so it was logical that she would be the one to jump.
“Fine,” she said shortly and started the climb.
Allyra pushed herself
