Birds chirp, but unlike the other noises—nope, the other noises, too—the sound is muted, giving me the impression I’m hearing an audio recording on low.

    I sniff...and smell nothing. Are earthly fragrances somehow filtered out through the Shell?

    Clay grins from ear to ear as he takes a post on the left side of the porch. Victor moves to the far right.

    Elizabeth marches to the door. —Try not to mess this up.—

    Her voice drifts from the Grid, filling my mind. I’ve learned not to react when Troikans speak to me without moving their mouths. —I never try. I do.—

    —Funny.—She opens the door. Hinges squeak.

    I enter behind her. Inside, there’s a couch, two recliners, an ottoman and a coffee table. Everything is utilitarian.

    Elizabeth crosses her arms and watches a human pace.

    The human. Dior Nichols in the flesh. The woman who won Archer’s heart. The beauty used as rope in the tug-of-war between Archer and Killian.

    From her file, I know her mother is black, her father white. Dark hair frames a baby-doll face, with a small nose and adorable, Cupid’s bow lips. Humans might come with flaws, but she’s pretty close to perfect. Her skin is a few shades lighter than her hair, and her eyes are a few shades lighter than her skin, almost gold.

    But Levi is right. I can see the disease. Shadows slither across her cheeks, down her neck. They are thin, almost like veins...only filled with what looks to be toxic sludge. I don’t think she’s aware of them; otherwise she would be screaming or maybe even setting herself on fire.

    How did she become infected?

    “Who’s the girl?” she asks Elizabeth.

    “I’m—” I begin.

    “She’s no one,” Elizabeth interjects, flicking a narrowed glance my way. “She’s here to observe.”

    Oops. Gonna zip my lips now.

    Dior continues to pace, unaware a Messenger keeps pace beside her. A boy I’ve never met. Through Levi, I know he’s one of the best, hand-chosen by the Generals.

    He’s in spirit form, and he whispers to Dior, “Firstlife is an opportunity. The past is the past. You have a bright future. Do not fear. Fight for what you want.”

    Having trained with Victor and Clay, I know Dior doesn’t hear the words but somehow internalizes them, as if she’s just had an idea. She chooses whether to follow it or discard it.

    I’m tempted to introduce myself to him, but I don’t want to interrupt him. Or freak out Dior. She has no idea he’s here.

    “Why are you here?” Dior demands. “Has the court date been set?”

    “No. I’m sorry.” Elizabeth looks genuinely remorseful.

    Dior stops to glare at her. “Why? What’s the holdup? I don’t want to spend the Unending in Myriad.”

    The Unending. Another term for the Everlife, used by humans more than spirits.

    “I told you Myriad would contest the trial, and I was right. They have. Meanwhile, we need to prepare you for the hardships to come.”

    Elizabeth’s gaze zings to mine. —Too many fail. The process is difficult, with both realms examining and cross-examining the defector. All the while scenes from the human’s life play over a screen for everyone in court to see. If she’s not ready, she’ll crumble and we’ll suffer a loss.—

    The loss of Dior?

    A bitter laugh escapes the human. “Thanks to Killian Flynn, I’ve endured hardships for the past two years. He’s a monster, and I’m ready.”

    Oh, no she didn’t! “You are responsible for the pain you suffer. Your decision, your consequences.”

    Elizabeth sucks in a sharp breath. The Messenger I still haven’t met finally looks in my direction, his eyes wide.

    Dior balls her fist and steps toward me.

    One of my number brands throbs. A warning to stay quiet? Too late. “Don’t,” I say. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I must. When it comes to fight-or-flight, I fight. Every time. Continue down this path, and it won’t end well for you.”

    Levi told me I must temper my strength with humans. I’m stronger than they can ever hope to be.

    To be honest, I’m not as strong as I could be. I’ve got to push myself harder. My one-on-one with the spiked board proves I have to be ready for anything, anytime. And considering my aspirations for peace, I have to be prepared for pushback.

    Elizabeth jumps between us, her gaze remaining on me. “Threatening a human won’t end well for you, Ten.”

    Zero! She’s right. I’m allowing my emotions to steer me. It’s time for head-smarts to take the wheel. Proceeding with caution, I say, “Troikans are love. The true Lights of the world. Myriad embraces hate. Do you want to be Troikan, as you claim, or remain Myriadian? You can’t be both.”

    Dior closes her eyes and drags in a deep breath. If the actions are supposed to calm her, they fail. Her eyelids pop open, and she glares at me. “You’re already Troikan, an advocate against judging others, and yet here you stand, judging me.”

    I should fade into the background. I’m not observing, I’m participating. But what the heck? I’ve already violated orders. “I’ve stated facts, nothing more, nothing less.”

    “You’re as cold as Killian. I would never—”

    “Tsk, tsk,” I interject. I am not cold, and neither is Killian. “Those three words—I would never—are an attempt to disguise judgment as opinion.”

    “Enough, Ten.” Elizabeth wraps an arm around Dior’s shoulders to draw her away while whispering words of comfort.