Seventeen
The locker room felt hollow. The off-white wall panels absorbed sounds the same way they hid scrapes and repelled stains, but I half expected every sound to echo. The air humming from the portable reclaimator tasted lifeless.
I sat on the bench by the lockers, one knee up so I could face Gunfire. My shoulders and back ached for the comparative comfort of the pillows piled on my abandoned cot, but I made myself sit straight.
Gunfire looked distracted, like half his brain was processing all those complicated maths. The expression didn’t fit his athletic build. He settled on the bench an arm’s reach away.
Start with the basics. “What do you think is happening?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I only know it’s wrong.”
I kept my eyes from rolling. “You’re this intent on a hunch?”
“I
