The next time Julian opens his eyes, he’s on a bus. His stomach drops—a fluttering, sinking feeling that untethers him from the last string of confidence he was holding on to. The instructors explained a list of metrics they’re being assessed on during the undisclosed variety of high-stakes situations, and Julian is determined to nail every mark. But the scene is too familiar. He expected natural disasters, a random store robbery, something like the rock slide they just rescued a group of virtual tourists from. But this? This can’t be right… Right?
Would they simulate a similar accident to… Without warning him? Is this the real purpose of the aptitude test—to test him against his trauma?
Julian takes a deep breath. No. There’s too many instructors who would veto this, who know he’s not ready to handle it. It has to be something else.
Julian looks up when the bus stops, expecting someone dangerous to board. An armed individual, perhaps two, trying to hold a school bus ransom. Someone Julian is going to have to talk down, maybe take down. But the sick familiarity, the sick, quiet suspicion rises to the surface like bile when a young boy boards, holding a miniature model of the Milky Way Galaxy. Julian sits, frozen, rooted to his seat at the back of the bus. No, no, no. The driver—Judy, it’s Judy, everyone’s favorite bus driver—says something to the boy, who shakes his head and continues walking. Julian knows what’s coming. He gets up in a rush, yelling to get everyone’s attention. But the children ignore him completely. Hunter, Wendy, Aiden, Imani—faces etched on the back of his eyelids, doomed to be children forever—all of them talking and laughing, seconds away from—
Julian wakes up in a white room, looking out a barred window to a grey sky and a tall, brick fence in the distance. The room is small, with a desk nailed to the floor and a tall dresser, and one twin bed in the corner. He sees himself sitting there, picking and tearing the skin around his fingernails out of boredom. He can see the blood from here. The bile comes forth like a scream, but instead of screaming Julian doubles over and vomits. And then he hears her, but he shouldn’t—she shouldn’t…
With shallow breaths, he pulls himself up and looks around. The boy on the bed doesn’t move, and Julian wonders if he can hear Paloma’s voice at all. Julian can hardly stand to look at him, unable to wrap his head around seeing himself in third person, perceiving himself like others do. He looks foreign, unrecognizable. Horrifying. He locks on to Paloma’s voice like a lifeline. Julian rips the door open and runs down the long, white hallway until he reaches the end and turns the corner.
“Paloma!” He hurries to her side, relief finding him like a ray of sunlight. A thousand questions flood his head. Why is she here, is she hurt, is her power doing this—... Julian takes her by the shoulders. A comforting touch, one rarely shared between them, but more frequent with her than anyone else. He doesn’t hesitate, not now.
“I'm here.” He locks his gaze with hers. “Are you hurt? What the fuck is going on?”
