My grandmother was in her usual gear—tank top, khaki shorts, boots that looked like they could wade through rivers of acid without being seriously damaged—and the moth-eaten tattoos on her arm and shoulder just drove home how much trouble we were in. Her arsenal of unusual weapons was all but depleted.

“I know,” she said. “How long before the end of the show?”

“About an hour.”

She nodded. “All right. Let’s see if we can get through it alive.”

Twenty-One

“Everything’s better with a little extra boom.”

—Alice Healy

The Crier Theater, about an hour later

WE STOOD IN A RAGGED LINE across the stage, me between Lo and Lyra, each clinging to one of my hands with the bone-crushing strength of people who had everything to lose. Our heads were bowed, eyes half-closed against the glare of the stage lights and the tension in the air. Even the audience seemed to be holding its collective breath as we waited to hear from the judges. We’d changed back into the costumes we’d worn for our solos, putting our most iconic finery on display. The stage lights were hot, but I was freezing in my sequins and fringe.

“Well, Adrian? Have the judges come to a decision?” Brenna’s voice was as warm and professional as always, but I could hear the quiver underneath her carefully rehearsed question. If I got eliminated tonight—if I died—I would be taking the hopes of her entire Nest to the grave with me.

“We have. Valerie, step forward.”

Heart hammering in my chest, I let go of Lo and Lyra and moved into position, lifting my head high. I would not cry. I would not flinch. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. Instead, I was going to prepare for the fight of my life.

“Tonight you danced the way we’ve always known you could: with grace, power, and passion. You’ve been a remarkable, consistent technician from the beginning, but there have been times when it seemed as if technique was all you had. If you remain on the program after tonight, we’re going to expect this level of performance every week—and so is America. Honestly, we can’t be sure you have the stamina to deliver on our expectations. Valerie, step back.”

I stepped back.

“Lyra, step forward.”

The whites of her eyes were showing all the way around her irises as she stepped into position. Adrian’s face softened.

“The judges have discussed this, and I’m afraid we’re unanimous, darling. You’ve always been one of our favorites. You are an incredibly skilled, accurate, daring dancer, and your journey through this season ends tonight. It’s been a pleasure having you, but Lyra, you have been eliminated.”

Lyra’s eyes began to fill with tears, glittering like diamonds in the stage lights.

“Valerie and Lo, you are safe for another week and may leave the stage.”

Adrian’s voice sounded tinny and distant, filtered through the ringing in my ears. On automatic, I moved to hug Lyra. She wrapped her arms around me and clung as tightly as a limpet. She wasn’t crying yet, but it was coming; those tears were going to fall.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Lyra didn’t say anything. She just nodded, and let me go.

Lo was there, waiting to grab my hand and pull me from the stage before we could get in trouble for lingering too long and screwing up the schedule. Together, we walked down the stairs to the space in front of the judges’ podium, joining the rest of the safe dancers. Lo pulled her hand out of mine and threw her arms around her partner, Will, who gathered her close.

My partner wasn’t there to gather me close, even if he’d been willing to consider it—or I’d been willing to let him. Anders was still on stage, waiting to hear his fate proclaimed by the implacable force of the judging panel. I turned to watch, lacing my fingers together and tucking my joined hands up under my chin, where I could take some small comfort from the pressure.

“Well, Adrian?” said Brenna. “We still have three dancers in danger here. Can you let us know who else will be leaving?”

“Anders, step forward,” said Adrian, and my heart soared. If I’d danced well enough to save myself, maybe I’d danced well enough to save us both. I’d follow Lyra, catch whoever had been killing dancers, and then bow out of the competition, leaving an open field for my friends to exploit. Maybe they’d even let her come back.

“Anders, you danced beautifully tonight, but I’m afraid it wasn’t enough to justify your remaining in this competition, and you will be leaving us.”