Warcross (Warcross #1)(44)

I look more closely at each of our outfits. Even though we’re all wearing red body armor, there are subtle differences between the suits. Ren’s Fighter suit is streamlined, full of smooth plates reinforced by an outer set of warrior armor. His armguards are spiked. Hammie’s Thief suit is full of pockets, nooks, and crannies, where she can stash items away. Asher looks like the captain that he is, while Roshan, our Shield, has armguards larger than any of ours, his belt equipped with potions and elixirs he can use to protect the rest of us.

Then there’s mine, the Architect’s armor. Around my waist is a utility belt, equipped with a myriad of tools I’m all too familiar with. Hammer. Screwdriver. A box of nails. Two rolls of duct tape. A small chain saw. A coil of rope. Tools are tucked along the tops of my boots, too—sticks of dynamite, lock picks—and an assortment of knives are strapped to my right thigh.

“Hammie,” Asher says. “You’re with me.” He nods in my direction. “Emika, Ren, and Roshan. You’re a team. Roshan will be your captain.” He taps something in midair, and a glittering gem appears over Roshan’s head. “Remember—your goal is always to aim for the gem. However you accomplish that is up to you. Let’s work out our weaknesses.” He glances between our two teams. Then he pushes something in midair.

Jewel-toned power-ups appear all around us, their bright colors electric against the white. Some are on display in store windows. Others are at the tops of the streetlights, while a bunch hang above the buildings.

My eyes follow the power-ups as they dot the training level, noting the easy grabs and the hard ones. I’ve only ever played beginners or practiced alone in worlds accessible to everyone. What will it be like to have an official team scrutinizing my plays?

“Power-ups in the championship tournaments are different from the ones in regular games,” Asher says to me and Ren. “Every year, the Warcross Committee will vote in a dozen new power-ups exclusive only to the championships, and then retire them at the end of the game season. Today, I want us to practice going after these power-ups.”

He pushes another button in midair. All of the power-ups vanish—except for one, perched over the edge of a bridge that links two buildings. It’s fuzzy, covered with bright blue fur striped with bits of gold and silver, and buzzing slightly.

“Specifically, I want us to be going after that one,” Asher adds.

“What does it do?” Ren asks.

“Morph,” Asher replies. “It gives the user the power to change one thing into something else.”

As Ren nods, his attention turned on the power-up, I watch him and quietly tap my fingers against my leg. A little progress bar blinks in the corner of my vision while I run one of my hacks on him. After a few minutes, the only data that I’m able to access is his full name—Renoir Thomas—alongside his photo. I frown a little. My hack manages to access some of his more public information and even a few of his messages—but everything else is still secured behind a wall of shields that I’ve never seen before.

“Emi,” Roshan says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Step up.”

I do as he says.

“This power-up was put into this year’s championships for the Architects, since you’ll probably use it best. I want you to retrieve it for your temporary captain, Roshan.” Asher looks to his side. “You’ll be facing off against Hamilton, who will do everything in her power to get it for me first.”

Roshan steps over to her and murmurs something in her ear. He’s probably telling her to pull some of Tremaine’s signature moves, I think, recalling what Roshan had said moments earlier. Hammie nods a few times, her gaze flickering to me as she listens. When Roshan’s done, she offers me a dark grin. I try to smile casually in return.

A timer, glowing scarlet, appears over the power-up. Asher taps his wrist. “Phoenix Riders are known for speed,” he adds. “So I time every single one of our training sessions, no matter how small or trivial it might seem. Got that, wild card?”

I nod. “Got it.”

“You both have five minutes.” He looks up. “Go!”

A surge of adrenaline hits me. I don’t think; I just bolt. Hammie does the same. She rushes toward the building itself, but I decide to run across the street. As Hammie starts to scale the side of the building, grabbing one brick after another and winding her way around the walls, I sprint toward one of the tall streetlights lining the block across from the building. I pull one of the sticks of dynamite from my boot. Then I plant it at the base of the pole, careful to position it so that the explosion will break the pole in the right direction. I ignite the dynamite. Then I take several steps away so that I’m safe from the blast zone.

Bam!

The ground rumbles as the base of the streetlight explodes. The pole careens sharply forward, toppling at an angle against the wall of the building.

“Nice!” Roshan shouts in approval.

I’m too focused to glance toward them. All my energy now hones in on my task. I hop onto the pole, then take a deep breath and start sprinting up it toward the building. The time I’ve lost from setting up the dynamite is now made up as I rapidly get higher and higher, until I reach the wall of the building. Hammie is still climbing, a good dozen feet below where I am. Two stories above us, the power-up hovers along the bridge.

I press my hands against the wall, then reach for the rope at my waist. If I can fling it and loop it around one of the spotlights along the bridge, I can pull myself up fast enough to get there first.