There is one thing that the common bunk room has going for it: it has windows. The view from them isn't great. All you can see is the back corner of the expansive asphalt parking lot, tall grass sprouting from weathered cracks, and a few evergreen trees beyond the curb. But having natural sunlight feels like a luxury.

I peek an eye open and glance at my hands. They look different again today; more masculine.

Three shots in now, and I can feel my biology ramping up. Things are changing at a quicker rate than Harry prepared me for. My voice keeps cracking, hairs thickening, strength blooming. Even my emotions are becoming larger, my dreams more vivid.

And I'm so fucking horny, I can barely concentrate.

Which isn't great, because things haven't quite been the same with Marcy since we moved to the common bunks after our argument three weeks ago. In fact, it took Marcy two weeks and me pointing them out for her to notice my first actual sprouts of a beard, no wearable tech involved.

It's not my fault she is still struggling to sync with wearable tech. I wish she'd be more happy for me.

Harry says it's the fastest he's ever seen the tech work on someone.

Satisfied with the progress, I roll over, pull my covers over my head, and clench my eyes shut.

There's a different level of noise in the room this morning. A chain of whispers punctuated by grunts of confusion.

At first, I try to ignore it. But before I can even pretend to be back in dreamland, a hand shakes my shoulder.

"What?" I groan and peek my head out.

It's Marcy. Which is a surprise because, as methodical and organized as she is, she is never awake before me.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and look around at everyone milling about. "Is everything okay?"

"Training's canceled," she replies. "No explanation was given."

I sit up, careful not to knock my head into the top bunk. "That's odd. Do you think something's wrong? Maybe it's the Luddites..."

She shakes her head. "We don't know that. Let's not assume the worst."

After the compound threat three weeks ago, things have been eerily quiet–no more weird noises or secret meetings with Harry–but our training has intensified.

A lot of our sessions have focused on how to heal yourself. Everyone was trained on how to use the NanoPen, the device Harry used to heal my sprained ankle. And we watched a film about how neurotransmitters can give you more control over your own healing processes.

Not that the Queer Rebels have enough trained surgeons to implant neurotransmitters in everyone who wants one.

We've also been training in self-defense. With enough practice, wearable tech can help with camouflage, creating armor, and projecting images meant to intimidate and scare.

It's like they've been preparing us for something. So the fact that training has been canceled? That's not good. In my gut, I know this is serious.

Marcy sits down on the foot of my bed, puffs out her cheeks, and lets out a long exhale.

Peering around the room, I see Mitchell in a corner with Tyree and Jenelle. I don't see Alex.

"How does everyone know?" I ask, assuming the message has been spread by word of mouth, like so much information here seems to be.

"There's a notice posted on the door." She points to the end of the room. "It was there when the first person woke up."

I can't see the door from where I am lying, and I'm also not quite ready to move. "How long have you been awake?"

Marcy shifts how she is sitting. Her eyes flash over to Jenelle and then back at me. "Just a little while," she says.

"Hmm." I nod.

"Mitchell went out to find more. When he got back, I thought I should wake you up, too." As she speaks, her eyes don't meet mine.

I do my best to ignore the lingering jealousy that won't fully go away, and I bite back the sarcastic remark on the tip of my tongue.

"Well," I say as I push back my covers. "Maybe we should get dressed and then see what news he brought back."

Marcy agrees, and we gather up clothes and toiletries and head to the communal washroom to get ready for the day.

About ten minutes later, cleaned up and minty fresh, we walk over to where Mitchell, Tyree, and Jenelle are huddling.

"So?" Marcy speaks, naturally slipping into the group. "Did you guys find anything out?"

I stand behind her, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. Listening, but not part of the circle.

Jenelle shrugs. "We don't think it's the Luddites this time, but there's talk about the city possibly discovering us."

"Not the compound, mind you," Mitchell hurriedly adds. "Just that the group still exists. After they destroyed the last compound, they assumed we were snuffed out."

"Can't destroy us that easily, can they?" Tyree squeezes Mitchell's shoulder.

Even though I'm not in the circle, I can't help but think about what Harry said to me, what even Jenelle said that one time.

"Why shouldn't the city know about us?" I say. "Think about it—if we knew about a group like the Queer Rebels as kids, wouldn't that have made things easier? We've always known about the Luddites, so why stay hidden?"

As my words hang in the air, Marcy flashes me a stony look.

Jenelle is the first to respond. "It's the authorities we're worried about, not the population."

"Yeah, but shouldn't the population know we exist?" I defend myself.

Mitchell holds up his hands. "The Luddites have muscle. We don't. I know you haven't been here long, but trust me. We don't want to be in the city's crosshairs."

"It's not that simple, Charlie," Marcy says, her tone edged with frustration. "Exposing ourselves would bring danger, not just freedom."

"You're right. Sorry," I mumble. They don't want to listen to me, so I guess I should keep my thoughts to myself.

As the rest of them continue to debate, my gaze drifts across the room, landing on Alex. They must have snuck back in when Marcy and I were getting dressed.

When our eyes meet, he nods his chin at me, beckoning me over.

"I'll be right back," I tell the group, feeling Marcy's disapproving gaze as I walk away.

"Hey," Alex greets me, their voice flat.

They're sitting alone on their bunk with a faraway look in their eyes.

"What's up?" I ask, sitting down next to them.

For a moment, they don't answer. In the beat of silence, I want to look over at Marcy. To see if she is staring at me. Or if they are all still huddled and swapping stories and gossip. But I don't.

If she is looking at me, I don't want to give her the satisfaction.

And if she's not looking at me...

"Harry wants to meet," Alex finally answers, interrupting my thoughts.

"How do you know?"

"I saw him," Alex says. "He told me to go find you and come back."

A thrill goes down my spine. He must know what's going on. Getting information directly from Harry would trump whatever news Mitchell's sharing.

Maybe Marcy would listen to my point of view if it was backed up by actual facts.

I also wonder if Harry wants to see us because he has a plan. But why does Alex look so flat? What are they thinking?

"Do you know why he wants to see us?" I ask.

Alex nods. "But I don't think I want to be part of it."

That makes me pause. "What do you mean?"

They look down at their hands. With a flair of their fingers, they turn their tips to flames. And then with another flick, the fire is extinguished and replaced by curls of smoke.

"It's not what he said, but how he said it." Alex watches the illusionary smoke dissipate into the air.

"How'd he say it?" I prompt when it's clear they aren't going to say more.

"He was angry." They look at me. "It made me nervous."

Since my testosterone levels have increased, I've had more flashes of anger. Stronger reactions. I find it motivating more than scary. Anger isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Maybe Harry has a reason to be angry.

"Okay," I say, "well, what are you afraid of?"

Alex thinks for a second before responding. "I'm–I'm afraid he's going to do something rash. Put himself at risk. Maybe put us all at risk. I think he's done with talking. I think he's ready for action."

They might be right. But depending on the reason training is canceled, maybe action is the right course to take.

"He's been thinking about doing something for a while," I point out. "So, even if whatever happened is motivating him to do something sooner rather than later, it's not necessarily rash."

Alex considers this, tilting their head back and forth. "Listen, I'm not going to try to stop him, or prevent you from making whatever choice you want to make, but I just don't think I'm up for doing anything too risky. I mean, I can barely control any tech. You're more advanced than me and have been here less than half the time I have..." their voice trails off.

There is truth in their words. I have picked up this tech thing quicker than the others. I just seem to click into the wearable tech. It's intuitive. The first time I slipped on the bracelet that Alex let me borrow, they said to think about moving my muscles and sending out my intentions. And that is exactly how easy it is. Like looking at your fingers and telling them to make a fist. Or, at least, that's how easy it has been for me.

Maybe I am stronger.

More up for whatever mission Harry has in mind.

Back in the city, Marcy was the one who excelled at everything. But here, I'm the one earning the attention and praise of those in charge.

I know Marcy thinks she is always right. But this time, maybe I am.

And maybe this is the way to show her.

"Where is Harry?" I ask, feeling emboldened.

"He said he'd be down in the basement storage room, working on something," Alex answers. "Do you know where that is?"

"No." I shake my head.

"I'll give you directions, but I'm going to stay back." Alex gets off their bed, pulls out a duffel bag, and finds a piece of scrap paper and a pencil. Then they draw a rudimentary map for me to follow.

After going over the directions, I stand. Do I tell Marcy where I'm going?

No.

If Alex thinks it's too dangerous, Marcy will definitely disagree with my involvement.

With the paper clutched in my hand, I walk towards the door.

"Charlie?" Marcy calls. "Where are you going?"

I pause. Then I turn, faced with her pleading eyes.

"Just taking a walk," I lie. "I need to clear my mind."

Then I walk away, hoping I don't regret this decision.