KIERAN CHUNG

Novel | Harvard-Westlake School, Studio City, CA

Elysium

Chapter 1

Jay hadn’t slept in three days. He never slept more than a couple hours a night, but this was unusual even for him. Maybe it was the nightmares, or the fact that a new batch of prisoners was arriving at Daedalia tomorrow, but his body refused to shut down. Fortunately, he’d felt his energy levels spiking at dinner and moved tomorrow’s appointment up to tonight— which meant that instead of running laps or sparring against an invisible partner all night, he actually had something productive to do.

He looked up at the artificial sky projected onto the dome surrounding Daedalia. Four of the nine central stars were in alignment, and a fifth was almost in place. Beck should have been here by now. Jay hadn’t befriended the nineteen-year-old boxer for his punctuality, although a little more discipline would be nice. Still, he found himself bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, throwing mock punches into the air, to ease the impatience coursing through his body.

“Yo. Tucker.”

Jay turned around. Beck stood behind him in the soft starlight, leaning against House I with his arms crossed.

“Where have you been?” Jay asked.

“What, no hello?”

“I told you to be here half an hour ago.”

Beck made a guilty face. “Oops. Anyway, the rest of us can’t walk out for a midnight stroll like you, you know. I got held up.”

“We talked about this. You can’t be late all the time.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I’ma outlive you. Just out of spite. I’ma outlive you, and then maybe I’ll finally get to sleep in. And you’re gonna look down at me from the heavens—”

“Beck.”

“—and you’re gonna see the effect of your ruthless tyranny upon the three worlds.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “You’re infuriating.”

A wide grin broke across Beck’s face. The two of them clasped hands and closed in for a brief hug, slapping each other on the back. Beck was half a head shorter than Jay, and his cloud of dark curls scratched at Jay’s nose and cheeks. Most of the prisoners in Daedalia let their hair grow out, although haircuts were offered once a month in the dining hall. In contrast, Jay kept his head shaved. It made him look cleaner, more in control. Made him stand out.

“So, are we going?” Beck asked, glancing past Jay’s shoulder.

“If Sergeant Martin hasn’t already left.”

“You mean, if I didn’t sleep too long.”

“If you hadn’t slept so long, we’d already be done, and you’d already be back asleep. Funny how that works.”

“Funny,” Beck repeated wryly.

Jay set off at a brisk pace along the curve of the dome. He headed west, away from the main cluster of buildings, until they crossed the scoria field used as a parking lot and arrived at the construction site. He gestured to Beck to step over the dragging yellow caution tape. In front of the entrance were two yellow hard hats. Jay put one on and prompted Beck to don the other. The project may have been abandoned years ago, but it was still a construction site, and he didn’t quite trust the gods to save him if an iron rod went through his brain.

He maneuvered around half-welded beams and screws strewn across the ground—raw wood in some places, Martian dust in others—listening to Beck’s footsteps land surely behind him. It took about a minute altogether to reach the center of the construction site. By then, Jay had shifted ever so subtly into character.

They ducked under the final obstacle, a bundle of metal rods suspended between two platforms, and emerged into an unfinished execution chamber. The room was about three feet square, furnished with a single metal chair with wrist and ankle restraints. Jay held almost all his appointments here—one, because there was no surveillance, and two, because it always caught his targets off guard. He was comfortable in a prison cell. They were not.

Sergeant Martin was still in the room by the time they arrived, thank the gods. The middle-aged mod was standing in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself, looking supremely uncomfortable. Excellent.

“What’s this?” Martin demanded in a furtive whisper. She gestured at Beck, who looked completely out of place with a cool smirk on his face. “You said you’d come alone.”

Jay shrugged. “Insurance.”

“Insurance,” she scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean? If I say something you don’t like, your sub will thrash me?”

“Oh, no, no, no. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.” He met Martin’s alarmed expression with perfect composure. “Let’s get to business.”

“Uh—yes.” Martin stuck out her hand. “The money.”

Jay tried to conceal his annoyance and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash. Martin made a move for it, but he held it high above his head. “You keep your subs away from House K,” he said in the same even tone. “They have no right profiting from us.”

“More than they already are,” Beck said.

“More than they already are,” Jay amended.

“You made the matches a public event,” Martin said. “There’s nothing illegal about my subs casting bets on your wrestlers.”

“I don’t recall coming here to negotiate.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“One thing you’ll find about me, Sergeant Martin, is that I never make empty threats. If I find even one Elysian footprint in the ring...”

“You’re looking at an ass-kicking in your very near future,” Beck finished.

“Let’s just say an early retirement is in store.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jay caught Beck mouthing ass-kicking with exaggerated slowness. He pressed his lips together to stop himself from smirking.

This time, Martin’s response was more subdued. “Understood.”

“You don’t speak to anyone about this. You don’t mention me. As far as you’re concerned, this night never happened.”

“Yes, fine.” She grabbed for the cash again. He stretched his arm up higher. He had a good eight inches on the mod, but heavens forbid she catch him with his guard down.

“Don’t spend it all at once. A sum like that’s bound to draw suspicion.”

“It’s not that much,” she muttered.

With a warning cough from Beck, Jay forced his hackles to lower. Martin didn’t know it had taken him weeks to amass this much money,

much less the lengths he had gone to in order to get it. Just like every other self-righteous mod in Daedalia, she liked to ignore the fact that Jay was technically a prisoner of war.

After making Martin wait a few more seconds, he finally handed over the money. Although parting with such wealth gave him the jitters, he stayed as still as he could as he watched her fold the stack of bills in half and shove it in her coat pocket like a used tissue. “This was—good,” she said. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

So she was capable of humility. “I would prefer not to have to repeat this conversation,” Jay said. He rubbed his palms together. Oh, how his body itched to go for a run. “Make sure your subs know what isn’t theirs. If you’re incapable, I’d be happy to step in.”

Ass-kicking, Beck mouthed.

“Have a good night,” Martin said.

Jay nodded once, then turned and began the long trek back toward the houses, Beck following half a pace behind. Beck managed to contain his laughter until the two of them were concealed by House H—at which point he doubled over, howling. Even Jay started to snicker.

“Did you see the look on her face? Oh, I can do that myself. Oh, I don’t recall coming here to negotiate. How do you come up with that stuff?”

A lot of early mornings. Brainstorming while you’re sleeping in. “I don’t know,” he said, grimacing. “The delivery was all wrong. Being late threw me off.”

Beck slugged him in the arm, and Jay staggered into him in retaliation. “Are you serious? You owned her. She was terrified of us.”

“My goal isn’t to make people terrified of me, Beck.”

“Works, though.”

“Come on. It doesn’t always work.”

“Name one time.”

Jay must have taken too long thinking about it, because Beck elbowed him in the ribs and crowed, “Ass-kicking!” to the domed sky.

“You don’t stop shouting, you’re gonna get us both in trouble.” He glanced at the sky. “Look, it’s not even halfway to two. You have time to sleep if you want.”

“Nah, I’m too pumped up.” Beck took a few bounding leaps around Jay to emphasize his point. Then he stopped. A slow grin spread across his face.

“Want to spar?” Beck asked.

“No. Absolutely not.” Jay pointed at House C, on the opposite side of the forum. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Come on,” he begged. “For old times’ sake?” Pause. “You know I don’t have much time left. You wouldn’t deny a man his dying wish, would you?”

Jay raised his eyebrows. “You’re dying? I’ve been here a year and eight months! Statistically, I should be ashes by now.”

“Statistically, you’re Jaylen Joseph Tucker, the untouchable. The rest of us start counting down the second we start year two.” He imitated a pendulum with his finger. “Tick, tock, Tucker. My days are numbered.”

“Quit that.” Jay slapped Beck’s hand down, and Beck danced away, hooting with laughter. “You’d better get to sleep,” he told him. “It’s late, and a van’s coming in tomorrow.”

“It’s early,” Beck corrected, “and I don’t feel like sleeping. And I know you don’t feel like sleeping. So the real question is, why are we standing around, negotiating something we both already know you’re gonna do?”

Jay almost walked away right then, but the itch in his body stopped him. If he ordered Beck to return to his house, Jay would probably stay up running laps until first bell. Maybe this was what he needed to wind down. He hadn’t had a good fight in weeks.

“One fight,” he said. Beck whooped, jumping up and down. Jay forced himself to commit. After one fight, he would resist temptation and make Beck go to bed.

He took up a wide stance by the back door of House H. Beck bounced over to a spot a few paces away, dropping into a slight crouch and raising his fists. “Ready when you are,” he said. “I was looking forward to beating someone up tonight.”

Jay beckoned with two fingers. “Come at me.”

Beck advanced and threw a quick jab, then danced away, grinning. Jay blocked his next two punches. While Beck was preparing for a fourth, Jay suddenly drove forward. He used his left arm to keep Beck at bay as he hammered punches into his stomach. After a few seconds, Beck called it, and they broke apart.

When Jay signaled for the next round to begin, Beck came in strong and fast with a one-two. Jay ducked under the second punch and threw a right hook, catching him in the left side. He swung again, but Beck leapt back too quickly. His next attack was more guarded. Jay didn’t bother to counter with more than his forearms. He let Beck catch his breath before driving him back with a right cross, then two hits to the body in succession.

Beck blocked his next punch and ducked, switching stances to get inside Jay’s longer reach. He threw low jabs until Jay jumped back. They both resumed their stances, fists shifting in front of them as they darted in and out, neither of them throwing more than a couple punches at a time. Beck started to bounce on his toes. “Come on, hit me!” He lunged forward. Jay fended him off, then retreated to his spot. Beck laughed. “What, you scared? Student surpasses the master?”

Jay raised his eyebrows. He feinted left, then landed a blow to Beck’s left side. He knocked Beck’s hand away and drove another combination into his chest, pressing him back. But Beck refused to back off. They grappled until Jay called the round.

“You want to beat me?” he said. “You’ll have to wait to beat my corpse.”

Beck snorted. “I’ll wait, old man. At this rate, you won’t make it to twenty-two.”

“At this rate, I’ll drop dead of boredom.” Jay raised his fists. “Last round. Set.”

This time, Beck didn’t go on the offensive immediately. They circled each other, each searching for an opening. Jay waited until they had rotated halfway around the circle. Then, despite Beck’s strong defense, he advanced, backing him up against the wall of House H. He threw two fake punches—then lunged forward and pressed his forearm against Beck’s throat, pinning him against the wall.

“You gonna kiss me, Tucker?” Beck teased, though his expression was sullen.

Jay counted to five silently in his head, then stepped back. They shook sweaty hands. “Remember to return to your stance. Don’t get too caught up in the moment.”

“Don’t go all pedagogue on me, man. I know what I’m doing.”

“I trust you.” He looked up at the sky. The sixth star was in place—it was past two o’clock. “You better get to bed.”

“I take it you’re not sleeping tonight?”

“Too much going on. I’ll sleep tomorrow,” he said. “See you in the morning.”

“You mean in three hours.”

“I mean in three hours.” He pushed Beck again. “Get some sleep, and wake up ready to greet the new arrivals.”

“The one part of my job I actually enjoy.” Beck raised a hand in farewell. “Night.”

“Goodnight.”

Jay watched Beck cross the courtyard to House C, skirting the shadows. The itch in his body had weakened, but his head was still buzzing. He had at least three things to work out before first bell, and a thousand different thoughts were pinging around in there, making it impossible to think. If he wanted to get any work done, he would have to get his blood pumping.

He sighed and took off running.

Chapter 2

First bell ripped through Daedalia, rousing the thousand-some Olympian prisoners from sleep. The sky shifted almost instantly from night to a brilliant, cloudless morning. Most of the domes on Mars were programmed to vary the weather, but as far as Jay knew, Daedalia hadn’t had a gray day in history. Or a sunrise.

Within a minute, people started streaming out of the houses. They walked in pairs or trios, speaking in hushed tones, avoiding eye contact with the guards and mods milling about. There were generally about ten minutes between first bell and roll call, during which all of Daedalia was

gathered in the central forum. Those ten minutes, Jay had found, were the perfect time to recruit.

Jay ran through the information he’d gathered on his first target. Christian Ko, he/him, age 23. Two siblings, both in labor camps up north. Born in central Olympus, but grew up in the mideast—Jay made a mental note to shift his dialect accordingly. He had arrived almost a month ago, but he seemed to be keeping his spirits up. House K was in constant need of people like that.

“Heyo, friend,” he greeted as he approached.

Christian turned around, startled. “Heyo, Jay.”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing. You’re adjusting well?”

“Well as I can,” he said. “Y’all are friendlier than I’d—well, than I expected.”

Jay smiled. “You’ll find, I think, that the rumors about Daedalia are outdated. The admins don’t want people to know how good we’ve got it here.”

“Imagine that,” Christian said.

“You’ve got friends?” he asked.

“A few.”

“You’ve heard of House K?”

“Heard of it. Wasn’t sure what it was, exactly.”

“Lucky for you, I’m the resident expert on House K. And I can assure you it’s simply a community like any other. You might think about it like a support group.”

“Sounds nice,” Christian said.

Jay clapped him on the shoulder. “Tell you what, friend. Why don’t you come to the matches tonight? Fourth bell, behind House K.”

Christian stood up a little straighter. “I’ll be there.”

“Looking forward to it.” He cast a cursory glance down. “You’ll make a better impression if you tuck in your shirt.”

He left Christian to fumble with his clothes and moved on. He guessed it had taken a minute or so, which meant he might be able to get a few more recruits if he budgeted his time.

Next on his list: Neve Aubrey, they/them, age 16. An aspiring filmmaker from central Olympus, Neve was a happy-go-lucky kid who’d been one of Jay’s best storytellers until they stopped coming to House K a few days ago. He worried they might resist a conversation, but they greeted Jay warmly.

“How you been?” Jay asked, slipping into a more natural speech pattern. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Sorry, Jay. I’ve been real preoccupied. I can come tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure.”

“That’d be great,” Jay said. “The kids miss you.”

Neve cracked a smile. “I’m sure they do.”

“Alright.” His head felt lighter already. He was two for two and ahead of schedule. “Well, I gotta go, but it was good to catch up with you, and make sure to come—”

He was interrupted by a shriek from the opposite side of the courtyard. A guard was struggling with one of the younger prisoners, no older than eight. Jay recognized them from the most recent van. They were clutching the leg of a stuffed bunny. As he watched, the guard yanked the bunny from their hands and ripped its head from its body. The child burst into tears.

“Shut up!” barked the guard. When they didn’t, the guard drew their baton and cracked it into the side of the prisoner’s skull. The child fell to the ground, motionless. A tiny plume of dust puffed up where their body had fallen.

Beside him, Neve winced. The kid hadn’t even declared yet.

Thankfully, none of the other new arrivals reacted and got themselves killed. Jay continued on his rounds for a few minutes until the order came:

“ASSEMBLE FOR ROLL CALL!”

In an instant, the low conversation fell silent. The Olympians shuffled to the courtyard with their heads cast down. Guards kicked and shoved prisoners who lagged behind or looked up for too long. Within a minute, all of them were arrayed in neat phalanxes in the courtyard.

The speakers crackled. “ATTENTION!” General Walsh shouted from the front. One thousand hands went to one thousand brows. Backs straightened, shoulders stiffened. They held the salute while the Elysian national anthem played—all two minutes, forty-three seconds of it—until Walsh shouted, “AT EASE!” and they relaxed.

The guards released black, spherical drones into the airspace above them. The drones took up position, one for each square of twenty-five Olympians. A low whirring filled the air. After each drone finished scanning its block, it blinked green and emitted a bright chime, then returned to the hands of its owner. Jay counted the dings, his hopes rising with each one. Thirty-eight, thirty-nine. Neve was holding their breath. Just one left—the drone hovering above their own heads—and then they’d be in the clear.

No such luck. The last drone flashed red.

A few groans. Neve cursed to themself. A second of radio chatter, and then all attention turned to House A, where Camp Director Senex was standing in front of the door, looking positively jubilant at the prospect of personally doling out punishment to the Olympians.

He lifted his gun and fired. Neve buckled to the ground. Jay forced himself to stay still, to keep his eyes forward. He could feel his body begin to tremble, but he pressed his tongue hard against the roof of his mouth in resistance. The immediate danger of showing a reaction muffled the shock to a degree. All his focus was on restraining the itch, making sure he didn’t fidget, shuffle his feet, flex his hands. Any motion was seen as a threat, and although the admins were unlikely to slaughter him as carelessly as they had Neve, they had the power to disband House K at the first whisper of rebellion. And while Jay could bear martyrdom, he wouldn’t let the admins unravel his persona. There were too many people who relied on him.

The camp director holstered his gun. As he began his inspection, Jay prayed that nobody would do anything idiotic. The prayer was mainly directed at Beck—he acted out so often that he was lucky to be alive. But any of them could be next, really. Jude, who’d been so scared to start her first work detail without her older sister. Daniel, who’d had his declaration party back in December. Their bodies jerked and fell in Jay’s mind, became bloated, started to reek…

Jay gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to bring his hand to his face. Not now.

But Beck didn’t move, and neither did any of the other frequent troublemakers. Jay kept his breathing slow, controlled. No sudden movements. No weakness.

Senex stopped in front of Jay. His critical gaze traveled up and down his body, looking for something to condemn today. Eventually, he jutted his finger at Jay’s chest and rasped, “There’s blood on your shirt. It’s unprofessional.”

Jay nodded respectfully, keeping his face a blank slate. Not now.

Blessedly, the rest of the inspection passed without incident. Within minutes, steaming vats of breakfast had been set up in front of the dining hall. The Olympians sorted themselves into five single file lines. They each received a glob of oatmeal in a tin bowl from a stack that looked one wind gust away from crashing down. Luckily, there was no wind inside the domes.

As always, the other prisoners made room for Jay at the front of the line. Carrying his breakfast in one hand, he entered the dining hall and took his usual seat at a long table in the corner. Soon, his friends joined him: Beck, Vera, and the twins, Sam and Kye. As Kye launched into a long diatribe about how PSCs were the most convoluted invention in the history of humankind, Jay let his attention wander.

Beck saw her enter at the same time he did. Aria Altham, looking pitifully out of place in Elysian military dress, her blond hair held back by navy clips. She held a tray of food that made even Jay’s mouth water—fruit, bread, and cold cuts on a paper plate. The prisoners nearby were already casting scornful glances toward her—her food, her hair, the healthy fullness that permeated her every move. She kept her eyes cast down, her lips twisted into a scowl. Ari rarely came to the dining hall, preferring to eat in her room in House A. Jay found himself on the edge of his seat, ready to leap up at a moment’s notice. He didn’t know why Ari had come here today, but it was a rare opportunity that he couldn’t waste.

Ari paused for a second in the doorway, then set her jaw. She started to move forward, her fingers clenched tightly around the edges of the tray, heading for the table in the opposite corner where the other Elysians were sitting.

Beck stood up, putting a finger to his lips to signal silence. He crept up behind Ari, barely containing a fit of giggles, as Olympians turned to watch with mild interest. Finally, when he was right behind her, he reached out—then froze as Ari turned to glare at him.

“You know I can hear you, right?” She spoke quickly and quietly, like the corners of her mouth were taped together.

“Ooooooooh,” Sam said.

Even Jay stifled a laugh as Beck blustered his way through an excuse and hurried to sit back down, his face and neck darkening with a furious blush.

Ari’s military-issue boots clicked against the floor as she continued toward the Elysians’ table. It was that sound that put his circle off from her, Jay knew. Well, it was a lot of things. But that sound—those hardback shoes, that navy-and-gold coat with the name Altham on the front—it was a constant reminder that she was the enemy.

Jay stood up, pushing his bowl to the center of the table. “I’m going after her.”

“Again? Are you kidding me?” Beck said as he surreptitiously slid the bowl to his side. “Kid’s a lost cause. Plus, she’s Elysian. Plus, I don’t like her very much.”

“She’s an asset. Once I’m gone, we won’t have any more connections to the admins. But Ari is an authority among the Elysians. Her support is just what House K needs.”

Beck shrugged and lifted Jay’s spoon to his mouth. “If you say so.”

Jay turned and headed for the Elysians’ table. Behind him, he heard the leg of a wooden bench scrape against the floor as his friends scooted over to watch.

He saw Ari’s body language shift when he was barely halfway across the dining hall. Gods. Her hearing, her acute awareness of her surroundings, was too good to be wasted on maps and haptic games. Combined with the access she had as the Prime Leader’s sister... it was almost too good to be true.

If he could actually get her on his side.

Ari was in the middle of a conversation with Dr. Park when he arrived, toast half-eaten in one hand. He nodded at the doctor. She ignored him.

He kept a tight rein on his features, balling his frustration up in his stomach. No weakness. It would be idiotic to cause a scene—especially at a table full of Elysians, surrounded by armed guards. He cleared his throat instead. At least Ari had the grace to look over.

He opened his mouth, but Ari beat him to it. “I said no, Jay.”

“I didn’t even—”

“I can use context clues, idiot. There is one reason you ever try to talk to me.”

“That’s a fair point. But Ari, I really think I can change your mind about this.”

“Yeah, I don’t really do that whole changing my mind thing.”

“Just give me five minutes—”

Jay cut off at the sound of the bench scraping violently against the floor. “Whatever,” Ari said. “I’m out of here.”

She stepped around him and headed for the door, leaving her tray where it was. Jay groaned and followed behind, his sneakers somehow sounding ten times louder than Ari’s shoes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his circle get up from their table on the other side of the dining hall and start in his direction.

He palmed a coin into the hand of the guard at the door to let him leave. The guard would probably have let his circle through too, but they didn’t try, lingering just inside the doorway.

Ari paused. “You really don’t give up, do you?” she called over her shoulder. He could have sworn he heard a tinge of amusement.

“I’m not known for it, no.”

“No, you aren’t.” She tapped her foot twice, as if deliberating what to do. Then she sighed. Turned around. “Go finish your breakfast. Your lackeys are waiting for you.”

“Then I’ll get to the point,” he started. “House K—”

“We’ve been over this.”

“If you just let me explain myself—”

“What, so you can rope me into one of your insane, dangerous schemes?” “When have I ever done anything dangerous?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “When you stockpiled food in the labyrinth to test how long you could survive down there. When you ran yourself half to death calculating how fast you were. Your meeting with Senex last week, when Uriah got shot. Last night, with Lila Martin. You’re constantly risking everyone’s lives, and you don’t even realize it.”

Neve’s bloodied body flashed in Jay’s head. He bit the inside of his lip. I do realize it, he wanted to say. But you don’t understand. This is the only way.

“How do you know about last night?” Jay asked. “It was one in the morning.”

She shrugged. “I don’t sleep well.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“You know your eyes only point one way at a time, right?”

He ignored the jab and carried on. “This is exactly why we need you at House K,” he said. “You have valuable skills. You could really make a difference for us.”

Ari laughed, low and dark. “Yeah, I’d get you all killed.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Hey, I’m just reporting the science, man,” she said, raising her hands in mock defense. “I know the numbers. One hundred twenty-seven out of two hundred thirty. Fifty-five percent—”

“Ari.”

“Fifty-five percent of injuries in the First Office were my fault.”

A pause.

“You gotta stop doing that.”

“Can’t blame a girl for obsessing over the one thing she can actually remember clearly.”

“Those numbers aren’t—this isn’t even what we’re talking about,” Jay said. He forced his jaw to relax. “I’d like you to come to House K.”

She groaned. “We’ve had this conversation a million times.”

“You’re bound to give in eventually.”

“Look, you don’t control me, Jay! I outrank you by—we’re not even on the same level. You have no power here—”

“You do know who I am,” he said, letting a little indignation leak into his voice.

She snorted. “Who? Jay Tucker, undefeated? The patron saint of Daedalia? Survivor of the Rim? I know what they call you, Jay. Comparatively, you’re a little underwhelming.”

“Better than what they call you.”

Her face fell. A twitch rose to her jaw.

“I’m not letting you manipulate me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m not letting you use me, like you use everyone else in Daedalia. Maybe Olympians don’t give a damn about other people, but I refuse to be your political pawn.”

“Olympians?”

A second passed. Then her eyes widened in realization. “Jay, I—”

“Guess you were right,” he said, turning to go. “This was a waste of time.”

“Come on, Jay, don’t—Jay—fuck!”

Jay sped up his pace, resolving that he’d make up for his lack of restraint later. Part of him wanted to go back and apologize. But the other part wanted to knock the living daylights out of her, and he didn’t trust himself not to follow that part.

Beck slung an arm around his shoulders as he reentered the dining hall. “Like I said,” he told him. “Lost cause.”

“She’s capable of making life so much better for so many people,” Jay said, shaking his head. “And yet, she refuses every time.”

“Some people are just like that, you know? Rich people got no morals.” Jay started to speak, but Beck cut him off. “It’s a scientifically proven fact, Tucker. Their brains are wired different. They don’t share our values.”

They reached their table in the corner. Jay shook Beck’s arm off of him. “There’s got to be a way to reach her. I just gotta think of a better— did you eat all my oatmeal?”

Beck ignored his blatant theft. “Why are you so fixated on Aria Altham, anyway?” he asked. “It’s not like it would make much of a difference. And like I said—”

“Lost cause, I know.” Ultimately, Beck was right. Chasing after an unwilling recruit was a waste of Jay’s precious time. But the itch

had started up again, telling him to finish this job and finish it right— whatever it took.

Before Beck could speak, second bell rang. Guards herded the Olympians out of the dining hall and back into the courtyard. Once they were all assembled, they were ordered to split off into their work details, distinguished by different colored patches on their right shoulders. There were fourteen groups in all, most of which were sent off each morning to perform meaningless tasks around camp. If you behaved well, you could be moved up to a detail working in maintenance in the kitchens. If you acted out, and you were lucky enough not to be executed on the spot, you were sent down into the labyrinth to mine.

With black patches on their shoulders, the miners had the shortest lifespans of all the prisoners in Daedalia—but they were also the toughest. Those who weren’t here as punishment had been handpicked upon arrival as the strongest, the most skilled, the ones capable of wielding a pickaxe in total darkness. These were the people Jay targeted for House K. The survivors.

And indeed, they had come to form a community under his leadership. The miners greeted each other brightly, in contrast to the dull, vacant stares of some of the other prisoners. As they shook hands and hugged, Beck came bouncing up to Jay. He elbowed him in the side.

“Hey, Tucker. Why aren’t you on kitchen duty? You got the status.” It was the first line of a routine they performed every morning. Originally devised to keep up morale among the miners, they now used it to officially mark the beginning of each day.

“I volunteered,” Jay said.

“That’s crazy talk. What kind of guy volunteers to be on labyrinth detail?”

“The kind of guy you can trust,” Jay said. “You still want me?”

Beck nudged him. “Hell yeah.”

Now that the ritual was over, a cluster of younger kids crowded around Jay, updating him on everything that had happened since they’d last seen each other yesterday. He laughed and shushed them, inclining his head toward the admin heading their way, flanked by two guards.

The Elysians led the detail of miners past the forum, to the three lifts leading to the mines of Daedalia. Again, they formed three single file lines. Then, ten Olympians arrayed themselves on each lift. One of the guards cranked a winch at the side, and the lifts started to descend.

Jay always joined the third and last group of prisoners to be lowered into the labyrinth. Vera and Kye stood to either side of him, with Beck leading the first group and Sam the second. Once all eighty-nine miners—plus Ari, who hadn’t so much as looked at Jay since breakfast— had stepped off the lifts, the guard started to crank the winch again. As the lifts returned to their places, the miners looked up, shoulder to shoulder, unwilling to turn away just yet. From below, each lift glowed with a border of daylight that grew thinner with each creaking turn of the winch. Finally, the lifts slowed with hydraulic precision and hissed into airtight seals with the rubber frames set into the tops of the caves, leaving the miners in complete darkness.

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