Page 25 of A Mastery of Monsters

“Yes. It got in some good blows, but it could have easily tried to cut or bite us. It had its facilities intact. But real uncontrolled monsters can do terrible damage. Most of the students who come to us come because they’ve experienced that.

It’s what allows them to understand the teachings of the society.

And the candidates here are the ones motivated enough to become soldiers to fight against those types of monsters in the apocalypse.

The only reason you can stand being this close to me is because you don’t know any better.

” His fingers twitch for a moment, like he wants to tear his hands away and then remembers what we’re supposed to be doing. “That’s why I chose you.”

He really believes that. That he’s right on the edge of being a vicious murderer and people should act accordingly. It ladders up nicely to that self-sacrificial attitude that Corey mentioned.

“You let me know when I’ve seen enough monsters to properly deem you dangerous,” I say. He opens his mouth to respond, and I interrupt him to note that Professor Chen is coming.

When she reaches us, she sticks something to the inside of my wrist. “Match breaths now. Breath in… and out. In… and out. Good. Keep going.”

Maybe our eyes are supposed to be closed. But me and Virgil end up staring at each other as we follow the directions. There’s a tiny crease between his eyebrows as he concentrates, and his glasses are almost unnaturally clean. Not even a finger smudge obscures his dark amber eyes.

When the professor tells us we’re done, it’s like coming out of a trance. We pull our hands from each other, but that crease of concentration between his eyebrows stays. Before I can think about it, I reach out and press my finger between them. “It’s over.”

The crease smooths, and Virgil swallows.

I tuck my hands under the table.

After everyone has been monitored, we’re told to proceed downstairs to the main gym for the physical exam. Virgil walks me there in silence. It’s only at the entrance to the testing space that he finally says, “Good luck.”

“Don’t need it.”

He groans. “Must you be so acidic all the time?”

I grin. “Yes.”

Before I leave, he grabs my hand, and I pause. “I believe in you, you know? You’ve been training hard for this. You’ll do great.”

“Is the reassurance for me or for you?”

“It’s for both of us.”

“If you say so.”

Virgil finally lets go, and I give him one last look before I enter the gym. I shove my hands into my pockets, still feeling the ghost of his touch.

I will not let the attractive book nerd distract me. I could never live it down if I actually caught feelings for Virgil . It’s the muscles. The muscles are so confusing. Why are his forearms that big? From moving books?

I enter the gym and head to the changing rooms, where I put on a pair of bike shorts and a looser T-shirt. A lot of the other girls already have branded Queen’s athletics gear. I’m glad I don’t match them. It was bad enough that Corey bugged me into getting matching Queen’s hoodies.

We leave the changing rooms and line up along a wall to stretch. I run through the set that Mom taught me and Jules before we did any sparring. Mom would say it isn’t about winning, it’s about what I learn along the way. But that doesn’t apply to this competition.

The gym is sizable. Definitely bigger than my high school one.

There are bleachers lining three sides, and the usual setup with floating basketball nets.

Throughout the space, they’ve got several stations.

One of them, unfortunately, features ropes dangling from the ceiling.

I’d hoped that Corey not being totally right about the societal knowledge test would mean maybe not everything she mentioned would show up in physical endurance, too, but no luck there.

Caden and his friends break into unnecessarily loud laughter, and I avoid looking at them. The more I stay away from that guy, the better.

A man who I assume is the professor blows a whistle around his neck.

He’s younger than Bernie or Professor Chen, with umber skin and his hair shaved close to his head.

He looks like he might be Latine. He’s got the tall-dark-and-handsome thing going for him, but he also looks like a gym bro, which is unfortunate.

“I’m Professor Perez, but you can call me Luis.”

Oh God, not a professor who wants you to call them by their first name. Even Bernie had the decency to introduce himself with his last name in this context. I resolve to always call this guy Professor Perez.

He continues, “You’ll be five to a station, and we’ll rotate through them, with water breaks in between.

My associates are handing out your student number, which you will pin on your shirt.

These will mark you so they can easily track your times.

You must meet the minimum requirements of at least fifty percent of the skills to advance, with the exception of the rope climb.

If you cannot reach the top, you’ll be cut.

I’ll call out student numbers and stations. Please proceed to them.”

Love that we aren’t told what the minimum requirement of the skills is. I am, thankfully, put on the beep test first. It’ll exhaust me, but better to get it over with now while I have the most energy.

“Well, you had a good run,” Caden says from beside me. “Nominations can only get you so far.”

The beeper sounds, and I sprint.

Margot said to conserve my energy.

I don’t.

I can’t.

Not with that fucking kid in my head assuming that of course this would be where I fail.

I lift heavier than I need to at the weights, I jump higher at the box jumps, I row faster at the machines.

I give every single station 110 percent, and by the time we get to the final rope climb, I stare up at the thing with spots in my vision, panting and not giving a fuck that I look as exhausted as I feel.

It was worth it, because by the second station, Caden didn’t have anything to say to me.

I grip the rope between my hands and squeeze my eyes shut as my vision swims.

“Hey… you okay?” The voice is disembodied and echoey, like it was shouted into a tunnel. When I look over, it’s Bryce, navy blue eyes staring at me from behind his glasses, a frown on his face.

“I’m fine.” Sweat slips into my eyes, and I rub them with the hem of my T-shirt, probably flashing my sports bra to everyone.

The whistle blows, and I heft myself onto the rope and tug my body up. My arms tremble, but I keep going. All I need to do is get to the top. That’s it. I just need to reach the top. I keep repeating it to myself, closing my eyes in intervals to help with the way the room’s spinning.

I spot the red buzzer, reach out, and slap it.

My eyes close, and my lips pull into a goofy grin.

I did it.

My grip slackens, and finally I let go, plummeting toward the ground.