“And?” I prompted her. “Or…so?”
She looked up from her phone, her mouth pursed at my willingness to question her. “So,” she said, emphasizing my word with clear displeasure, “if St. John isn’t back yet, that means they’re hearing him out, at least. The argument is still going on. And that works to our advantage.”
The Committee had cleared the conference room of all candidates after the GTX guards had hauled Ariane away. Dr. Jacobs had been shouting about my presence being a stunt and insisting that I could not be considered a qualified competitor, all while Laughlin sat back and laughed.
And now Adam and I were stuck waiting to hear the verdict. And not just us. Somewhere in this hotel, Ariane, Ford, and Carter waited too.
Ariane had looked small and tired, like she hadn’t slept since I’d seen her last. She’d been trapped at GTX, forced to do God knows what.…
Pushing that thought away, I stepped up my pacing.
“Hey, if this is all too much for you, I’m ready,” Adam said with a shrug.
I glared at him.
“I’m just saying, any time you want to trade places, assuming you actually end up getting a place, that is…” He trailed off.
“Gentlemen,” Justine said with mild annoyance, barely even looking up from her phone. Of course, she could afford to be calm about this. Regardless of which of us was sent in to the trials, she still had a chance of getting what she wanted: Ariane.
The funding and the contract behind Project Paper Doll came from the Department of Defense, but the good people at Homeland Security, a separate department entirely, had other plans.
Justine had made promises about Ariane’s future, talked of using her as an expert resource rather than a test subject. She’d hinted that Ariane was needed to help them with some equipment or documents recovered from the New Mexico desert.
This was my chance to prove myself and make a difference. I wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.
“I still say I can be pretty convincing when I need to be,” Adam said with a leer.
He was trying to get under my skin, provoke a reaction. I knew that, and I still couldn’t stop myself. The buzz of power was like static electricity dancing over my skin. The room lights flickered in response. That was me, losing control.
But then blood gushed down from my nose to my mouth, and the gathering power dissipated.
Damn it. I fumbled in my pocket for a tissue. The process had been designed as a gradual one, intended to be administered over weeks instead of hours, as I’d experienced it. So my head ached now, almost constantly, with frequent nosebleeds when I accessed new parts of my brain that the DNA embedded in the virus had opened pathways to. (I’d spent a decent chunk of each week staring up at the inside of various diagnostic devices—CT scanners, MRI machines, and others I didn’t even recognize.)
“You are so not ready for this,” Adam said in disgust.
The lock disengaged on the door suddenly, loudly, in the relative quiet of the room. Even though we’d been expecting it, waiting for it, the sound froze us.
Emerson came in, appearing more rumpled than usual, his hair standing up in tufts and his glasses pushed up on his forehead. His mouth was a thin grim line.
Crap. This could not be good news.
Even Justine slipped her phone into her pocket to pay attention for once.
But before Emerson could say anything, he noticed me with the tissue stuffed against my nose. Again.
“What happened here?” Emerson asked with a frown. He approached me, tossing the envelope toward the bed, but Adam, with a simple gesture, diverted it to land gently in his hand.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “It’s getting better. What did they say?”
Emerson shook his head, ignoring the question to focus on me, checking the dilation of my eyes. “Have you been experiencing the headaches again?”
How about all the time? Not that I was going to mention that.
Behind Emerson, Adam ripped open the envelope without waiting for permission and pulled out a sheet of paper. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked with a laugh. “He’s my target?”
“No,” Emerson said. “He’s Zane’s. Technically.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. I was in the trials. I felt a rush of relief, followed immediately by the falling sensation of panic. I’d fought hard for exactly this, but I hadn’t thought beyond this moment to the next obstacle or series of obstacles, which were looking pretty monumental at this point.
But I would do it. I could do it. I wasn’t the same helpless human I’d been before.
Adam looked up sharply. “No way. No way they’re letting him in.” He shoved the page back in the envelope. “I can win this for you,” he said to Emerson. Then he switched his attention to Justine. “I can get that girl to do whatever you want. I’m the better candidate,” Adam said with the supreme confidence of one who believes himself to be incontrovertibly right.