I shiver at Ryke's words, meant as an offer rather than a threat, and say nothing in response. I focus my gaze on the touchpad by the door that flashes to signal that we've arrived.

This isn't the first time Ryke's advances have changed from playful to serious; once, and only once, he offered to match with me, and sometimes the future he offers is tempting. Ryke has far more influence than I could ever hope to gain. Matching with him is tantalizing; my goal of infiltrating the Civilization to its core might actually be possible with Ryke's sphere of influence. Ryke is also one of the most sought-after matches in the Civilization for reasons beyond his success and influence. To put it frankly, Ryke is hot--long dirty blonde hair, gold eyes, permanent smirk, tattoos and muscles. I'm not oblivious to his charms, but despite the numerous benefits of matching with him, I couldn't live with his arrogance and his secrets, such as the secret behind Jayse's disappearance which he has yet to disclose.

Ryke acts like nothing bothers him; he saunters around with a lazy grin on his face, but I know him better than anyone. Underneath the facade, Ryke is cunning and manipulative. He'll do anything to get what he wants, and he always gets what he wants.

Maybe that's the difference between us. Ryke will do anything, but I have boundaries. I won't match with Ryke just because of what I could get from his position. I don't want to use him just to get what I want like the Civilization. Sometimes I worry, however, that refusing him equals sacrificing my mission.

We step out of the elevator on the training floor and enter the miniature auditorium filled with benches angled toward a plain stage. The Tier 2 graduates are dressed in their finest, a rainbow of colors and crazy styles, and sit in the first five rows of the auditorium. Ryke and I descend the side stairs and join Mizpah and a few of the other instructors on the stage.

Mizpah glares at Ryke and me. "It's about time you two got here."

I'm about to take the blame for our lack of punctuality, but Ryke cuts in with a wink in my direction. "Sorry, Mizpah. We got a little carried away."

I fight to keep my face from turning red at Ryke's insinuation and instead fasten my gaze on the trainees in front of me. I hate how easily he gets under my skin.

Mizpah opens the graduation with a few words on the magnificence of the Civilization that I ignore. I've heard it all before: Ignore your past, embrace the Civilization's future. Using a minipad, Mizpah begins to read off the names of the fifty or so Tier 2 graduates and we all clap in support. This number will drop by at least a third for the next tier of training, so I ignore most of them and only applaud the handful of trainees with real potential.

As each name is announced, the Intellect or Justice walks forward, some of them grinning and others lifting their chins in pride. They walk across the stage and give a shallow bow to Mizpah, Ryke and me. Then, a Technologist scans their choker or armband to increase their clearance from Tier 1 to Tier 2. When all the trainees have graduated, Mizpah steps from the stage and the event is disbanded. Most of the graduates stay behind to chat, most likely lauding each other for how remarkable they are. Their chatter is high-pitched and eager and I almost envy their naivety.

I sigh, remembering how important I felt when I finished Tier 2. I thought I was halfway to my goal of Tier 4 Intellect, but here I am, still at Tier 3 with radically altered goals that no longer align with the Civilization's. As I stand lost in thought, one of the Intellect trainees approaches me.

"Renna, I'm so glad you came," she says with a bright smile.

"Hayl," I say, offering a warm smile to the only trainee I've ever really liked. "Congratulations."

Everything about Hayl screams bold. Her mint colored eyes sparkle,, her head is shaved on both sides with a braided mohawk on the top, and today she's wearing a form-fitting lime green dress that glows against her dark skin.

Hayl snorts. "On Tier 2 graduation? This is nothing. I have two more years before this choker will really count for anything."

"Still, some people only dream of what you're achieving."

"Then their dreams are too small," Hayl answers. "But when are you going to join us? If you don't do your Tier 4 AT soon, I'll be the one instructing you."

That scenario isn't out of the realm of possibility. Hayl is one of the best up and coming Intellects that I've trained, and with her determination, I have no doubt that in two more years she'll have Tier 4 clearance.

"Who knows, maybe we'll be classmates someday," I muse.

Maybe. I don't know if I could make myself put up with all of these ambitious hopefuls who still believe in the Civilization. I'm not that good of a liar.

"Hey, teach!" a student says in greeting, jogging up and draping an arm across Hayl's shoulders. "Come to see us off?"

Laird offers me a wide, easy smile. He's a Justice with an easygoing demeanor that underscores how lethal and agile he is in hand-to-hand combat. I've watched him pin a man twice his size to the ground.

"I don't think I'm quite lucky enough to get rid of you guys," I answer, grinning.

A knife flashes out of nowhere against Laird's throat and I flinch. "Need me to shut him up? I can cut off his tongue with one slice."

Tali, the third of this trio of trainees, brandishes a knife that was tucked somewhere in the bedizened floor length gown she wears, which is in complete contrast to the killer expression on her face. She's probably the only student I've ever had that scares me. She could murder me in her sleep without breaking a sweat.

I laugh uneasily. "As tempting as the prospect of Laird shutting up might be, I'd recommend you avoid the interrogation rooms." Take it from personal experience. "I really should be going," I say, excusing myself when I see Ryke waving at me. "Congratulations, you guys. I'm sure I'll see you next year."

Hayl smiles. "You will."

Year 355

An old fashioned clock dings, and we raise our voices in throaty yells, "To a better tomorrow!"

Year 355. Another year closer to success or happiness or whatever it is the Civilization is trying to accomplish. Bodies jostle against me as civilians down shots and holler above the pounding music. I step out of the masses to the edge of the room; having a wall to my back at least gives me the illusion of safety. The Civilization only celebrates two holidays, the new year and the arrival of summer, so we Intellects and Justices take full advantage of the occasion.

The crowd is a kaleidoscope of colors. Green hair, a rainbow dress, piercings up and down a guy's arm. It's funny; the Civilization values individuality and everyone is encouraged to express themselves, but I'm starting to see through their ploy. They give us freedom of individual expression to disguise the fact that they control every other facet of our lives. We feel like individuals while we're really just cogs in a giant wheel that always rolls forward.

"Want another drink, Ren?" Elz asks from beside me, hiccuping in the middle of the sentence and breaking my reflection.

She leans against me and tugs her dress down so it doesn't ride up her thick hips. Despite Elz's sweet, introverted disposition, she tends to come out of her shell after a drink or two. I just hope she doesn't use all of her points on drinks tonight.

"I think I'll pass, Elz."

"Okay, well, I'm getting another." Elz giggles and turns toward the drinks station but staggers.

Orrick is there to catch her, and I see his face flush for a moment as his hands wrap around her waist. She beams at him in thanks and Orrick keeps an arm around her, escorting her to the table. When he glances back at me, I raise my eyebrows suggestively. As if he would actually make a move on her.

Music thrums through the room; apparently, in the Old World, music used to have words that went along with the melody, but no longer. We can listen to whatever music we want as long as it doesn't have lyrics. Regardless, the beat is strong enough to pull the young civilians around me into swaying, undulating dancing. I don't try to dance, but I do sway with the music as it beats. It's so loud it drowns out my thoughts and I close my eyes.

"Hey, Ren."

The voice is hot and breathy against my neck and a hand grasps my upper arm as I turn around. "Ryke."

I try to stay guarded, but my inhibitions have been lowered by my one drink and the pounding music. I look up at Ryke, the lowlights shadowing his sharp jaw, long hair, caustic smirk.

"Having fun?" he asks, but doesn't pull away so we're only inches apart.

Strafe him. I don't need Ryke coming on to me right now--or ever, for that matter.

"I was until you showed up," I answer.

"You clean up well," Ryke comments, eying me but still not letting go of my arm.

The glazed look in his eyes makes me regret exchanging my familiar black pants and white shirt for a black dress. "Go away, Ryke," I growl, trying to pull my arm free.

He instead pulls me closer and though I squirm, I can't get away from him. Blast those stupid biceps.

"C'mon, Ryke, let me go. Stop joking around."

Steel flashes in his eyes. "Do you really think this is all a joke?"

My face goes hot. I can't believe that after two years he's bringing this up again. I've never encouraged him, never given him any hope that I like him. I'm pretty sure he's only interested in me because I've resisted him for so long. I'm the one challenge he hasn't conquered. I open my mouth to protest, but Ryke silences me.

He pulls me against him with one arm and kisses me. Perhaps kiss is the wrong word; he seems to consume me for a second, and with the buzzing in my head from the drink, I give in. It feels so good to feel something other than anger and helplessness that I forget who I'm kissing. His tongue explores my mouth and his teeth nash onto my lower lip, and my sanity returns.

Blitz. I shove him off of me with two hands on his chest. "Ryke, stop!"

I try to ignore the crowd, including Orrick and Elz, watching us; everyone knows who Ryke is and he's tall enough to stand out in a crowd. Plus, I'm yelling at him in the middle of a party.

"What the blitz?"

He smirks at me, but the steel remains in his eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd guess that he's furious.

"I'll see you later," he murmurs with a salacious wink.

A few guys in the crowd hoot at Ryke's insinuation. Great. Now everyone things we're planning to hook up after the party. My face burns and I ball my fists as he stalks away to find a fawning girl to chat up across the room. I can't blame her; I might fawn too if I didn't know what a blasted idiot he is.

I draw the back of my hand across my mouth as if I can wipe off the taste of his lips. He was trying to claim me, but I don't want to belong to him. I don't want to belong to anyone.

Whatever his intention might have been, Ryke has only assured me that I made the right choice by turning him down two years ago. He is the prototype of the Civilization: narcissistic, arrogant, without a thought for anyone or thing else.

That makes him my enemy.