I went to class. I got stronger. The end of the semester was in sight. Just a matter of weeks until the Directorate Award was mine.

Many of the girls were gunning for me, just as Lilac had warned, but Emma and Yas watched my back.

I dared not befriend anyone else. Girls were disappearing every day now, and the rumors that’d once abounded had all stopped, as though Acari were afraid even to discuss it, lest they might disappear in the night.

It was becoming clear that either you succeeded or you died, and I couldn’t risk too many friendships when my very survival might depend on another girl’s downfall. Friends were a new concept to me, and I didn’t know how I’d handle the loss of one.

But I did let myself get close to the teachers. Oddly, we were really clicking. I’d always been smarter than my teachers back home, but these all had something to teach me, even creepy Master Dagursson.

I knew some girls were struggling. I could see it in class. But I was pouring myself in heart and soul. I was labeled a teacher’s pet, but I didn’t care. I think that might’ve been the only thing keeping other Acari from suffocating me with a pillow in my sleep.

The academics alone astounded me. There was no end to the knowledge available to me. Tracer Judge gave me a key to the phenom library, and I read whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

My morbid fascination with Master Alcántara continued to grow. I couldn’t decide if he was totally appealing or totally terrifying, but discussing map coordinates with someone who’d actually met Descartes, the dude who’d discovered the X and Y axes? Now, that was cool. He only guest lectured once in a while, and every time reminded me how profoundly I coveted that Directorate Award.

It would be mine. I was working so hard. I had to win. I’d find a way off the island.

Even combat class had taken on new meaning. I headed there now, thinking how in all my years of dissing gym class I’d been so wrong. Since fighting the Draug, I’d become exquisitely aware of just how valuable my body was, of how physical aptitude was precisely the thing that would transform my mind into a killer weapon.

“Good afternoon, Acari Drew.” My combat teacher, Watcher Priti, smiled as I walked in. Her language, like her posture, was ever elegant. “You’re the last of my little birds to arrive.”

I smiled back naturally. Because I adored Watcher Priti. She was smart and strong and beautiful. It was like being taught how to kill with your bare hands by a maniacal Padma Lakshmi look-alike with a penchant for Chanel No. 5 and pert tennis outfits. I was certain she was as deftly dangerous with her chosen weapon, a razor-sharp discus she called a chakra, as she was with her charms.

“Just swooping in for my landing,” I said, playing off her nickname for us students. “I hope I’m not late,” I added, even though I knew I was. Just ninety seconds, but that’d be enough to get most girls on toilet-scrubbing duty for a week.

“We’ve not begun yet.” Priti was pulling padded vests from the storage locker. “If you’re already geared up, you may join the other Acari on the bleachers. We’re doing blade work today.”

She flashed me a broad smile, knowing how much I loved anything with a blade. We’d yet to move beyond simple attacks and defensive techniques, but I knew the day would come when I’d graduate to my throwing stars.

If only this were all there was to being a Watcher. But, sadly, the island was so much more insane than cool phenomena topics or learning how to sword fight. I was mastering all sorts of illegal, immoral things—breaking and entering, hacking, exploding, stealing. Killing.

It appeared I had three choices in life:

Though I knew option three would be a lot harder than it sounded, I was still gunning for my eventual escape.

And yet . . .

A tiny part of me had begun to mourn the thought of leaving. Some of the people around me were beginning to feel like a makeshift family. I’d always dreamt of belonging, and if I ascended to Watcher, I’d become a part of something bigger. I’d have a place.

I was mesmerized by Watcher Priti and studied her hungrily, eager to emulate her. She was elite and shown so much respect. I’d spied the affectionate smiles she’d shared with some of the Tracers—they were close-knit and trusting.

What I wouldn’t do to have Ronan smile at me like that. He hadn’t smiled at me since the Initiates discovered my iPod.

If—rather, when—I escaped, I’d be saying good-bye to all that. Good-bye to Ronan. Good-bye to a shot at the sense of family I’d always longed for.

There was my training to consider, too. I couldn’t deny I was enjoying every minute. It’d been chemical compounds for me in the morning, and was shaping up to be a knife-wielding afternoon. I was learning new things. Learning how to be strong.

But I was also learning how to be a woman. Which is partly why Priti held such fascination for me. Growing up without a mom, with a front-row seat to my dad and the Yatch, I didn’t know much about femininity, about how the power of it went beyond styled hair and a good pedi. I’d spent these past months studying Priti’s every move, knowing she had far more to teach than merely combat techniques.

As a result, I found myself standing straighter. I practiced on the Trainees, letting myself hold their gazes, just to see how they’d react. And the reaction was generally positive. I’d never realized before how simpleminded boys could be.

I heard faint whispering from the bleachers but ignored it, feeling hostility aimed my way. It bugged a lot of the girls that I was one of Priti’s favorites. She was so elegant and lovely, I guess other Acari felt she should’ve snubbed a wallflower like me right off the bat.

And I don’t know why she hadn’t. Maybe I was a project for her. I worked hard, got hurt a lot, but never said anything. Maybe she sensed that, too.

I glanced over at my waiting classmates. They were watching our little exchange, envy and hatred in their eyes. I decided to prolong it. “Is today the day you let me try your chakra?”

Priti laughed. “You know it’s not, little Acari.” She eyed my bag. “But I see you brought your shuriken.”

I hugged it close to my side, thinking of my throwing stars tucked safely inside. I took them most everywhere now, like Emma with her hunting knife. “How can you tell?”

“I can see it in your eyes.” She chucked my chin, and her lithe five-foot-eleven frame alongside my meager five foot two must’ve been a comical sight. “And by the way you’re clutching that bag.”

“Does that mean you’ll finally let me use them?” I’d been dying to learn how to throw them, but Watcher Priti said I still needed time.

Her face bloomed into a gorgeous, pearly smile. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Ohmygosh, really? Today?” I restrained myself from jumping up and down in giddy anticipation. “Yes. Totally ready.”

“Today, then.” Lowering her chin, she sharpened her tone. “And now I think it’s time you took your seat, Acari Drew.”

Class was unending. We worked through a circuit of standard sword and dagger exercises. Shoulder and arm warm-ups, weight work, footwork, basic defensive maneuvers. All interminable. My only thought was for the four perfect stars in my locker.

I was at the kendo station, practicing a standard series of lunges, arcing swings, and footwork. The long bamboo sword felt like an extension of me, and I repeated the moves by rote.

“Very nice, Acari Drew.” Priti snatched the end of my sword in midair. She eyed me speculatively. “I know you enjoy our sword work. Shuriken may have sharp edges, but they’re very different, you know.”

Was this her lead-up to finally letting me throw them? “I’m sure,” I agreed quickly. I’d agree with anything; I just wanted the stars. I was so eager to try them.

She narrowed her eyes in challenge. “I’m not sure you’re listening to me. You must prepare yourself to miss the mark. Many times.”

“I’m ready.”

She didn’t look like she agreed with me, but nonetheless she told me, “Go get them.”

I raced to my locker and was back before Priti could have a chance to change her mind. I met her at the target station, a throwing star in my hand, the others wrapped in velvet at my feet.

I raised my arm, ready to throw. Nervous excitement jangled through me.

“Patience, Acari Drew.” She stilled my arm, giving me an amused smile. “Shuriken is an art form. The exercise mental as well as physical.”

She wrapped my fingers around the star. It was cold, sharp. Not so much larger than my palm. “Feel the weapon. Shuriken is Japanese for ‘dagger in hand.’ Feel the edges. More than any knife, it is an extension of you. Nothing separates you from the steel. No artificial handle, no imperfection of the blades.”

Priti took my shoulders, guiding me into position. “When you throw a knife, you must worry about distance. Not so for the shuriken. Yours have six points. Six opportunities for the weapon to hit its mark.”

She squatted a bit, standing behind me, bringing herself to my eye level. “Now look at the target. You aren’t just throwing at it. You are extending yourself, your will, your power, toward it.”

I’d been contemplating that bull’s-eye all semester. But I opened my mind this time. I extended my energy toward it. As though the target and I were connected by the finest thread.

“Yes,” she whispered. “You see it, don’t you? Watchers are taught a mantra. Listen, and hear the words.” She cradled my arm extended before me. “I am roots in the earth. I am water that flows. I am grounded. I am Watcher.”

Slowly she pulled away. “Now breathe. Feel the ground at your feet. Feel the weapon as a part of your hand. Relax and feel the connection.”

I did. My head rose, my shoulders dropped slightly. I felt lighter.

“That’s it, Acari. Stay relaxed. Always relaxed. The movement isn’t merely in your arm. It’s not just a flick of the wrist. You must draw energy from the ground beneath your feet. Let the energy flow up from the earth and through your body. Into your arm. Your movements should be fluid. When you throw, you cast the shuriken from you as though riding on a wave of power.”

I did. I felt it. The soles of my feet were grounded to the floor. I was connected to the earth. The sensation of power rose from below, through my feet, shooting up my body, tingling all the way to the tips of my fingers.

I felt her whispered breath in my ear. “Now.”

I threw.

The star flew from my hand on a wave of power. And then clattered to the floor.

I heard a couple of girls behind me snicker.

I felt my face turn beet red.

“Again, Acari. Without pause. You must try again and again.” Priti patted my shoulder and walked away. I heard her shout a crisp order to one of the other girls, but her words didn’t register.

The only things that existed were me, my shuriken, and the target. I tried again. Again I heard the disappointing ping of metal hitting the ground.

I tried over and over. And each time my star bounced off the target, clattering to the ground.

I felt the other students gathering their things, heading to the locker room. I kept my back to them. I didn’t care if I had to stay all night. I was determined to get this.

Again and again I tried. Ping. Ping. Ping.

Until.

I knew the moment the shuriken left my hand that it was the one. I’d felt it. It had flowed straight from me. Riding on a perfect wave. I felt it going directly for the target, like a line being reeled back home. It hit and it stuck.

I heard a single pair of hands clapping for me. Turning, I saw Emma smiling at me. I realized I hadn’t really seen her smile before. It warmed that heart-shaped face, opened it up. She was pretty.

She glanced at the clock. “You’d better git,” she told me in that Fargo accent.

Many of our classmates had already showered. They sat waiting for Watcher Priti’s final words.

I tucked my stars carefully in their velvet wrapper and headed to the bleachers. I’d have to skip my shower and change later.

“Hey, little piggy.” Lilac made exaggerated sniffing sounds. “Disgusting. I can’t sit near this.” She and her crew shifted to one of the rearmost bleachers.

I smiled. High school barbs and minidramas meant nothing to me. I’d learned how to throw like a ninja.

Watcher Priti came to stand before the class. She was freshfaced and glowing, looking statuesque in a white jumper. It was hard to imagine she was capable of great savagery, though I knew she surely was. A woman wasn’t elevated to her rank without a flair for cold, calculated combat. I had a picture of her in my mind, beaming her pearly smile while beheading wayward Draug with her chakra.

“Wonderful news, little birds. We’ve determined the subject area for this semester’s Directorate Award.”

Heart kicking into gear, I edged to the front of my seat. This was it. She was going to tell us what our big, end-of-semester challenge would be. Math? I wondered. Some computer-programming thing?

“It will be a single-elimination tournament format. You will face off against an Acari challenger. If you lose, you’re out. If you win, you face the next Acari. You do this over and over until either you lose or you win the tournament.”

I hung on her every word, my mind racing. A tournament? But what would we compete in? Were they going to give us some sort of all-around trivia challenge?

Watcher Priti gave us her signature smile. It meant good news for me; I knew it. “This semester’s chosen discipline is . . .”

I held my breath.

“. . . combat.”