Sabaa Tahir

“You can’t know if you’d betray Izzi,” Cook says, “because you’ve never had your limits tested. The Commandant was trained at Kauf. If she interrogated you, you’d betray your own mother.”

“My mother’s dead,” I say.

“And thank the skies for it. Who knows what d-d-damage she and her rebels would have caused if she still—still lived.”

Cook’s mouth twists like she’s tasted something sour. “Did she promise to get you out? To save you? Stupid girl. Resistance never saves anyone they can leave behind.”

“She didn’t promise me anything,” Izzi says. “I want to help her because she’s my—my friend.”

I start losing battles.

It’s Tristas’s fault. He planted the seed of Helene being in love with me in my head, and now it’s sprouted like a misbegotten weed from hell.

At scim training, Zak comes at me with unusual sloppiness, but instead of obliterating him, I let him knock me on my ass because I’ve caught a glimpse of blonde across the field. What does that lurch in my stomach mean?

When the Hand-to-Hand Centurion screams at me for poor technique, I barely hear him, instead considering what will happen to Hel and me. Is our friendship ruined? If I don’t love her back, will she hate me? How am I supposed to get her on my side for the Trials if I can’t give her what she wants? So many bleeding, stupid questions. Do girls think like this all the time? No wonder they’re so confusing.