Mason Marks is a screw up.
Every day is a struggle to cough up enough money for rent, to ignore the reek of despair flooding the streets, to stop himself from slipping further into the shadows and slums of Downtown L.A.
And he is sick of it.
When h...
EXPLAINING to an airport security guard exactly why there are a collection of axes, ropes, and poisonous viles stuffed in the compartments of our suitcases is not ideal.
Perhaps that's why Warden Brooks insists we take a van up to Wyoming, the Warden capital of the nation, where the Final Exams are being held. Why is Wyoming—a state where the cow population doubles the humans—the capital? Simply put, Wyoming houses a lot more than just cattle and gun crime. It has the highest population of Somnian immigrants across the nation. Making it, in Warden terms, the most powerful state.
Shame I forgot about it on my geography quiz in fifth grade.
"How are you feeling, kid?" It's Brooks. Offering a hand as I wrench a bag of luggage from the van, having just arrived.
Fine. A four letter word settling on the tip of my tongue. I should tell her it's all going to be fine. That would be a lie of course; I can feel my insides growing hot in an sickening way and my stomach, though empty, writhers as if struggling with a rich meal—not that I could swallow a thing at diner we'd stopped at on the way here. So rather than lie, I say the very thing we are both thinking.
"I don't want to fail you."
"You won't." She studies me, with eyes brimming with intelligence, sagged by mid age. "I'll be watching you, with the other Wardens. I'm rooting for you, kid."
"Is Chen coming?"
"No...he—" Brooks sighs, slinging the bag I'd been struggling to grab over her shoulder. "He wanted to come, but was feeling a bit under the weather. Ever since his accident, I don't want to risk anything."
There it is again: Chen's accident. Despite the numerous times it's been brought up, no has as quenched my curiosity as to exactly what this accident was.
Figuring this might be the last time I get the chance, I ask, "What exactly happened?"
"He was attacked, on a task where we were chasing down a skinwalker," she says. "That's why we were a bit hesitant to accept your partner—Quinton, into the Lighthouse, knowing his species. But in the end, Quinton's admission served as a peace offering to the skinwalkers of the fifth region."
"Oh."
"You got this, kid," Brooks places a hand on my shoulder. "All you have to do is stay in the arena for a week. Don't let any Somnians on your territory and try not to die."
Try not to die. I lift my head, meeting her eyes to say words I truly do not believe.
"I can do that."
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