Page 35 of Flickerstate

“He had a hard time here,” Vik continues. “Admin’s always bragging that because the Academy’s tuition-free, it takes the best navigators no matter their background. But come on. The admissions interview is basically just a nav demo, so kids whose parents can afford private tutors always have an edge.”

“Idospy lots of Gucci sneakers around campus.”

“Yeah. But Jake—his mom was a high school janitor. His dad was on disability. And he… I’ve been told I’m awkward. But he wasawkward. And a powerhouse navigator. Kids here looked downon him for being poor and weird, and they resented him for being talented. If he hadn’t cared what they thought, maybe he—but he obviously wanted people to like him. That made him vulnerable. Kids were…nasty. When I called them out, they laughed. Said I couldn’t take a joke, he couldn’t take a joke. He told me I should stop defending him, he could handle it. The rumors say he used interference for revenge, but… How can I put this? When kids tormented him, it wasn’t like they were stepping on a snake, someone who’d hiss and bite back. It was like they were kicking a puppy. If I’d just…”

He trails off, face full of anger and regret and guilt.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Whatever happened, it sounds like it fucking sucked.”

He laughs, startled. “Yeah. Yeah, it did. But… Sorry; we’re not here so I can monologue. Back to business?”

I want to give him a moment, sympathize with him,something. But he looks so uncomfortable I go with his change of subject. “Right. Navigation. If our flickerstate concepts don’t match up, that means we can’t use them to channel?”

“Not necessarily. If I take on your concepts—”

“Is that possible?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“I thought how flickerstate appears depends on our subconscious or whatever. We can’t choose what we see.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Trying’s how we find out.”

The idea does appeal to me: widening my sphere of control, leaving as little as possible to chance or fate. Why not change howyou see reality? How you see other people? “I’m down.”

He smiles. His smile makes me feel clever and brave, though I’ve only agreed to an experiment that might blow up in our faces. “Okay. I’m gold filigree. And you’re…?”

“Fire.”

Maybe I sound like an emotionally unstable arsonist, but Vik doesn’t bat an eyelash. “That could work. Channel fire to me, and I’ll use it to melt the gold. Make it molten, manipulable. I think of my nav in terms of flow anyway. Now tell me why you see yourself as a fire.”

I hesitate. “What do you mean, why?”

He looks at me steadily. “There must be some reason. If you tell me what it is, it’ll help me see you differently.”

“I…” Okay, I think a lot, about a lot of things, especially myself: Vanity and insecurity are the twin motors that power my personality. But even if Icanexplain why I appear as a fire, I’m not sure Iwantto. Saying it out loud will hurt. Like pressing on a bruise. “Can you go first? Explain the river to me.”

God, I sound childish, don’t I? I brace myself for mockery.

But he stares at me with—not gentleness, exactly, but acceptance. “All right.”

And then he starts talking.

He tells me—quietly, avoiding my eyes—about his life before the Academy. His parents aren’t funny lactose-intolerant nutritionists, it turns out. They’re surgeons, hard workers and bitter fighters. He and his brother spent their early childhood hiding in separate bedrooms from the anger that filled their house. After their parentsdivorced, Vik’s habit of solitude stuck. He spent most after-school hours alone: running, reading, writing surreal short stories and showing them to no one. “I was always meandering, flowing down the same set channel, by myself. High banks walling me off from the rest of the world.”

He sounds so resigned it makes my throat clench. “That’s not how I see you at all,” I blurt.

“Okay.” He smiles. “Why gold filigree?”

“I…I don’t know.” I think hard. “Gold’s one of the elements least likely to decompose. It’s stable, not reactive. And you seem very…consistently you. If that makes sense. As for filigree…”Internally complex. Beautiful.I shrug, embarrassed. “I don’t know. I’m taking Art History. Maybe it’s got me thinking in terms of art.”

“But not when you think about yourself,” he says. “So now I ask again: Why fire?”

I don’t want to tell him. Because telling him all the reasons might lead us perilously close to my dad’s bite and my own—the one secret Ican’tshare. But also because I feel too raw in places, too vulnerable. My animal instincts say,Hide your throat.

“It might help us channel,” he says softly into my silence. “But if you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”

He’s giving me an out. Somehow, that relaxes me, makes me more willing to talk. And if I can’t learn to channel—the most basic form of team navigation—I don’t think Candace, Bree, and I will make it through the trials.