“Of the game.” That made sense. If he wasn’t part of it anymore, they wouldn’t want him to remember. “Why would Jackson fight so hard against you taking those memories? He hates the game. Why would he want to remember it?”

“Because in forfeiting his memories of the game, he would also forfeit his memories of you.”

I gasp.

“He refused his freedom because of me?” I don’t want that responsibility. But I also don’t want to imagine him forgetting me, forgetting us, forgetting sharing lunch at the top of the bleachers, matching wits . . . kissing. I don’t want him to forget loving me, even though remembering cost him his freedom. What kind of person does that make me?

“So what now? What happens to him? What happens to me?”

“We resume.”

Resume the game. Resume our lives.

“This was all a setup.” I shake my head, barely able to grasp that. “You kept Jackson here, made me think his life was in danger, made me think I had to choose between his life or mine, for a test?” I’m about to say that what they did wasn’t fair, but even thinking the word makes me want to roll my eyes at myself. Life is unfair. Cliché of the first degree and oh-so-true. “That’s twisted. It’s sick.”

“It is effective. And it was more than a test. Jackson Tate defied the rule. He must not do so again. It will mean his termination. We are confident he understands that now.”

I shiver, the agony of his cries fresh in my thoughts. “So he’s still part of the game?”

“Yes. In keeping his memories, he made that choice.”

Which means my freedom was sacrificed for nothing. He didn’t get what he wanted in the end. He didn’t make it out.

“And what about me? If he’s staying, do I get to leave?”

“The war continues. The Drau threat remains unchanged. But under the terms of our agreement with Jackson Tate, you are free to go because he chooses to stay.”

I didn’t expect that answer. I thought they’d say no. It takes me a second to readjust my thinking. I was Jackson’s ticket out, and now he’s mine.

I didn’t think I’d be able to consign anyone to the game in order to win my freedom, and now I’m faced with exactly that choice. But not just anyone. Jackson.

Except I’m not consigning him to anything. He’s already made his decision.

I’m the one who has to make mine.

I press my lips together. I feel like I’m a hamster on a wheel, running, running, getting nowhere. Running because I’m too foolish to stop, to make a choice other than the obvious one. “What happens if I take the free pass? Do I go back to the moment when the truck hit me? Do I die?”

“You return to your original life.”

Because Jackson’s still in the game, so I don’t have to be. I get to leave.

Or do I? Can I trust the Committee? A day ago, I would have said yes. Now, I’m not so sure.

I run through everything that’s been said since I first got here, and my own words flicker neon bright in my thoughts: I wouldn’t have been brought into the game if I wasn’t important. . . . The war needs me.

This is about more than just me.

Everyone on this planet could die at the hands of the Drau.

From everything I’ve seen on the missions, from what the Committee’s told me and what I’ve figured out on my own, every soldier matters. Every team leader matters. There are few of us and so many of them.

Where’s my honor if I walk away from that? I can almost feel Sofu standing beside me right now. He used to talk about Bushido: the way of the warrior. Loyalty. Honor unto death. I know he would have stayed in the game and fought to the bitter end. He would have defended our world until the last Drau was either dead or chased off with its tail between its legs.

I stare at the Committee, torn. No matter how pissed I am at them, no matter how shaken my trust, I have to decide with a clear head.

A clear heart.

And the worst thing is, I sort of get them. Maybe I don’t like all their methods, but in relative terms, they’re still the good guys, the ones trying to save the world. I take a breath.

“I’m in,” I say. In it until I see it through.

The form in the middle inclines its head in a spare nod and then without another word, they fade away like they’d never been here at all.

“Wait,” I cry. “Did they all make it back okay from the latest mission? The kids on the other team? The girl that helped me?”

I stand there for so long that I think they’ve forgotten me. And then I feel their answer in my skull, in my bones. We sent no other team. There was no girl. You saved yourself, Miki Jones.

But I didn’t.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I WAKE UP TO LIGHT STREAMING THROUGH MY WINDOW, HITTING me in the face.

“Miki?” My door creaks as Dad pushes it open an inch. “Okay to come in?”

“Um . . .” I look down to find I’m lying on top of my covers, fully dressed. “Yeah. All clear.”

He stands in the doorway, frowning as he studies me. “Everything okay? You were sleeping when I got home from work yesterday. I tried to wake you for dinner but you grabbed my sweater and threw an uppercut at my face.”

I sit bolt upright. “I didn’t.”

He rubs his jaw. “Yeah, you did. See the bruise?” He drops his hand. “Must have been some dream, huh?”

“Must have been.” I stand up and peer at his jaw. “Dad, seriously, please tell me I didn’t hit you.”