#118.pb

Both of them were dead. There was no sugar coating it, no putting a positive spin on it. Both of her tributes were dead. This was beginning to be infuriating, feeling like no matter what she did would not bring home a victor, even with kids as eager and willing to learn as Melpomene and Milo were. She stared at the screen long after the laser shot through his brain, long after the camera had panned away to a different area of the arena, long after nobody cared about Milo Karat or Melpomene Rhode anymore. But Karma did. For what was almost the first time, Karma cared, and she continued to glare daggers into the tv screen, barely even noticing the person walking up next to her.

There was a mixed feeling of pride and disgust that boiled inside her when she saw her creations on display. The crowns had been someone else’s idea, had stirred up first in a different person’s brain, but then it had fallen on Nova to program them and make them work in the ways that had originally been envisioned. It was a task that she had completed, though it made her feel sick to her stomach just thinking about it. The remaining three were reacting to the scene in front of them, and Nova turned away from the television screens, bumping in to someone as she did. “Oh gosh,” she began, “I’m sorry. Coordination was never really my forte.”

The plaque on the principal’s office confirmed every rumor she had heard. Of course it was Lysander, of course he had followed in his grandfather’s footprints. From the moment he had first gotten the job, she had no doubts in her mind that he would one day end up in charge of the whole operation. She had just seen herself in the picture as well, not some other girl. While she had tried to avoid him throughout the night, it seemed that not talking to him was virtually impossible. Every time she started a conversation, he was somewhere nearby, either talking to her or in a discussion with someone else. Her words accidentally turned to acid every time his voice was within earshot.