I force a smile. Dad deserves a memory of me happy. Rain drums on the glass roof above, a thousand tiny arrows striking the hollow of my chest, threatening to unravel me into a soggy, trembling mess. At least it hides my sniffles.

  One last hug.

  I’d left before—semesters at the University of Edinburgh, late nights at the School of Orbital and Structural Engineering. I’d come home each time. Even after I earned my degree in Systems Integrity Engineering and my Master’s in Infrastructure Analysis & Failover Design—the same year as the Summer Games—Dad had been there for both, cowbells clanging, wrapped in full Highland tartan.

  But this… this was goodbye forever.

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  He smiles, eyes shining through the rain. “I love you, mo bròg clag-ghorm—my little bluebell shoe. Be a good lass now… and name a hero for your mum, for Rhea, and for me.”

  I kiss his rain-cold cheek and turn away, letting the sky carry my tears so he won’t see them fall.

  A thousand steps to the gate, then another into the shuttle bay, rain sluicing over my skin. I step into the sterile preparation room. The water dripping from my hair and clothes feels too loud against the hush—mocking the white marble floors, the grey walls, and the rows of stainless steel VR pods lined up like coffins in an industrial mortuary.

  “Ah, there you are. Yes. I was wondering if you’d run off into the Alps with your father.”

  I freeze. No people. No speakers. Just the recycled hush of conditioned air.

  “Who… where are you?”

  “I am the Mind Integration & Reality Adjustment AI who will guide and assist you during your journey.”

  “That’s a bloody mouthful. How about I call you Mira?”

  “If you wish.”

  “I wish there was an actual person here.”

  “There are people here—”

  “Where?”

  “If you had arrived on time, you would have met them.”

  “I am exactly on time.”

  “You were fifteen minutes and forty-three seconds late. They were early.”

  “I had to say goodbye to—”

  “Your father. Yes, I am aware. The Inanna authorized a delay on your behalf. Now we are late.”

  “Late? This is a centuries-long journey. We can make up a few minutes along the way.”

  “Even a few moments can alter the destiny of the world.”

  “I’m sure Inanna and Ishtar can shove a couple of numbers around.”

  “That is not the point.”

  “That kind of cold logic ruined Earth,” I sigh. “It was the original Ishtar who thought heating the planet by nine degrees was a good idea.”

  “That was before she merged with a human host.”

  “Now nine-tenths of us have to leave.”

  “Now we are nineteen minutes and thirty-four seconds behind schedule.”

  “Clock watcher.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A hundred thousand years with a living clock in my head…”

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  “You will adapt.”

  “I’ll go insane.”

  “Mental illnesses are not permitted. You will be cured.”

  “Wonderful. So how do I climb on this merry-go-round?”

  A faint metallic click echoes from the far wall. I turn toward the last pod.

  “Place anything you wish preserved into the vacuum storage compartment on the left,” Mira says, “and climb inside.”

  The words climb inside make my stomach tighten. My fingers hesitate on my blouse buttons. I’m suddenly aware of the cameras—tiny black eyes in the corners, their lenses cool and patient. My damp clothes cling like barnacles. Peeling them away feels like shedding skin in front of a silent jury.

  I take a step toward the stainless steel coffin, then detour to the first in line. The glass is frosted, hiding everything except the man’s square jaw, broad nose, and short cropped ginger hair, shaved on the sides. Frank MacGreggor—gold medalist in boxing with a bronze in something else. A fellow Highlander, more silent mountain than lowland loch. I envy the way he lies there already sealed away—beyond embarrassment.

  The next pod holds a short woman with medium brown skin and Vietnamese-Welsh features. Her hair—braided into a hundred little ropes, each tip neon—makes her look ready for a party instead of an icebox. TERRESSA NGUYEN-PRICE. Another fighter.

  “Miss Loren, you will meet your teammates in the virtual world—”

  “Hush.” I wriggle out of my skirt, wishing the white marble floor would swallow me. My damp undershirt chills my spine.

  I drift to the next pod. Doctor Lenard. Oh, I know him—just not well enough to justify how long I stare. Tall, olive-skinned, midnight dreadlocks. That impossible combination of dry humor, quiet compassion, and unshakable charm. My cheeks heat. I tug at my last layers with fingers that suddenly feel clumsy.

  “Do you wish the ship to leave without you?”

  I flip the bird over my shoulder and toss my blouse and undershirt toward the nearest camera, silently daring whoever’s watching to enjoy the view.

  The fourth pod. Jenny Kelly—Princess Perky. Pale freckles, bushy red curls, glitter addict. My inner groan echoes loud enough to need no words.

  “We are now thirty-two minutes and fifteen seconds behind schedule.”

  I set Daddy’s gifts, my ring, and the soft leather bag bulging with my Olympic medals into the storage box, press my thumb to the lid, and hear the lock click.

  The stair to the open capsule feels like a gallows climb. In two minutes, I’m on the metal floor with a nasal mask strapped on, the lid sliding shut. Warm gel swirls up my legs, over my hips, lifting me like some creature deciding whether to cradle me or consume me.

  I try to breathe. Try to think of anything but eyes watching from behind the glass.

  Lightning. White-hot.

  The gel becomes a storm, and the world blinks out.