After lunch we practice with the program a few more times, now with our virtual troops, and I try not to notice that Mom continues to die. I replay her words in my head—No matter what happens, I'll always be with you—and remember that once we've completed our mission, I will wake up and see her smiling face. Now if only I could assure her safety in the real attack.

When we finish for the day, Declan unplugs us so we can depart to our regular laboratories to put the final touches on the prototypes used in the program. As soon as Nate is unplugged, he storms out of the room. I look at Gabriela to see if she will follow him, but she is a ghost in her chair, pale and barely there, probably reflecting on her recurring deaths in the program. Mom is strong, but Gabriela isn't. Her virtual deaths have taken a toll on her.

Phoebe looks at me. "Go see what's going on with Nathan," she tells me.

"Why me?" I ask, but she simply waves her hand to shoo me away. I roll my eyes, but stand from the chair and rush out of the room to catch up to him.

Once in the hallway, I catch him going into the biology sector. "Nate!" I call, but he doesn't hear me. Or maybe he does; he just doesn't stop. Who knows with this boy. I run after him.

When I walk into the laboratory, I see it's empty. All other biologists must be working with the mechanics people to perfect our prototypes for the knock out compound.

"Nate?" I call.

"In here," I hear him say from the room where he and Dr. Patel usually work, but I can't see him.

I walk over the bridge and past Declan's morning glories, and find Nate sitting at a counter with his back to me.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, mostly insincerely, since he's throwing a fit. No response. "Is this about the immersion? You shouldn't feel bad; I died a few times too."

"It's not the program," he mumbles, barely audible, his back still turned to me.

"What is it then?" Again, no response. "To be honest... I'm scared. I'm scared about the attacks. Those immersions weren't particularly successful. Are you feeling something similar?"

He says nothing. It looks like he's working on something, but I can't see what. Now I'm getting frustrated. How is it my job to check on him?

"Well, whatever is going on with you, snap out of it. People need you to be on your game. Did you see Gabriela in there? She's freaking out."

"So?" he mumbles.

"So you two are, like, together now, aren't you?"

He spins around in the chair, and I can finally see his face: His eyes look older with worry, and a five o'clock shadow darkens his jaw line. He sits staring at me, like he did in the immersion, as if he's trying to communicate something with his mind. Something he can't say.

"I'm not with Gabriela. We're just friends. Not even that, actually," he says.

I scoff. "Right, which is why you've been hanging out with her so much since she came."

"I wanted to see what she knew about the survivors that have been collected. You're not the only person who has family back at the bunker. My cousin may still be there. I want to say goodbye to her. We didn't leave on good terms."

"Then save her. Save her like I'm going to save my family, and then we can all come back together," I say.

"I'm not making it out of the bunker."

"Sure you will."

"No, Isla, I'm not. But you will. It's important that you survive. Not because they need you to kill the President, not because I like you, but because you should be one of the people leading the redevelopment of our country. Not Phoebe, or Winston, or Alexander, or Gunther."

I try not to blush, but I can't help myself. "Why me?"

"I told you: You make me want to be better. If you can do that to me, then you can change the heart and mind of anyone."

He stands up and starts walking toward me, his eyes intensely focused on mine. "I had to leave that lab because I couldn't see you die again. You need to survive, and I can't help you. I can try, but no matter what, I'm not going to help you live." He's so close now that all I can see are his eyes.

"I am strong enough to save myself Nate," I say, my voice cracking a bit with doubt.

"No one, no matter how strong or brave or smart they are, can succeed on their own." His eyes water. "There are things you need to know, and one of those is that I can't help you."

I swallow my nerves. "You're scaring me, Nate."

He inches closer to me, and runs his hand through my hair. I'd fight him off, but I'm frozen in his gaze.

"What else do I need to know?" I ask, but as quickly as the sounds escape my mouth, he seizes my lips with a kiss. And before I can push him off, a sharp needle stabs my neck.

I scream, tear the needle from my skin, and kick him the groin. Again. "Nate," I yell. "What did you do?"

"I'm sorry," he strains to say, recoiling as he coughs. "It won't hurt in a few minutes."

"Damn it, Nate, what did you do?"

"I injected you with something I've secretly been working on."

"Why?" I yell.

"Because unlike me, it will help keep you alive in the attack, Isla," he asserts.

"What is it?"

"It's a grouping of enzymes that will change your DNA." I move to hit him, but he holds me at bay. "Wait—hear me out—it will change your DNA to give you genes that help metabolize drugs. That way, if the government tries to drug you or something, it won't affect you. Your body will quickly metabolize the substance, and you won't lose any mental or physical functions. It works like a virus, so right now the RNA is mutating your cells to change your DNA. Pretty genius, right?"

"No! You're an idiot! Why didn't you ask me if I wanted this? Did you really have to stab me with it?"

"Yes, I did. I wasn't sure if you'd go for it, and I couldn't risk it. It's going to work."

"Why doesn't anyone trust me?" I yell, exasperated. "Why doesn't anyone believe that I can be strong on my own? I'm so sick of the deception and the tests and the games. You need to get people's consent before you go stabbing them with new DNA."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm just so worried about you in this attack. You need to learn to control your anger, or you won't make it through."

"Oh, so now you're giving me advice?"

"Yes, and you need to hear it. I was back in the lab when your mom died, and I watched you lose control. You let charge ahead without thinking. When we practice tomorrow, you need to control your anger. I know it's hard, but you need to keep your cool. Somehow you grew up in a bubble in the middle of this wasteland of a country, but now that you're in the middle of the muck with the rest of us, you need to know how to handle it without losing yourself."

I know he's right, but ironically I'm too angry to admit it. "Whatever, Nate," I say, but my voice is going hoarse from yelling. I try to calm myself down before continuing. "From now on, you will be completely honest with me."

He nods.

"I don't need new DNA. Or kisses! C'mon Nate, we've been through this. Besides that's not what girls dream about when they're little: getting kissed and stabbed with new DNA."

He can't tell if I'm joking or not, so he lets the side of his mouth curl up in a smile. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but kiss you."

I roll my eyes and make a disgusted sound. "Yes you could have. Don't be cheesy."

He actually looks offended by what I said. "I'm not being cheesy. Why else would I work on a secret DNA-altering group of enzymes for you? I care about you, Isla. Truly care. Whether or not there's another boy in your life, I need you to know that."

I debate whether or not to ease up on him, so I decide to cross my arms and look away.

"There's something else I need you to know," he says. "A set of numbers. I can't tell you anything else about them. I just need you to know them in case the worst happens."

"You're scaring me again, Nate."

"3-5-8. Can you remember that?"

"It's three numbers, I got it. 3-5-8. What are they for?"

"I can't tell you, but if something terrible happens to me, I trust that you'll figure it out. You're smart enough to know what to do."

"Okay," I say with spite. I watch his expression slip into disappointment when I don't show any reaction to his 'if something terrible happens to me' comment, but right now, I honestly don't care. This is probably just another ploy to get my sympathy and attention, and I'm not playing into his game.

"Let's go meet everyone for dinner. If they ask, I was just upset about dying in the immersion, but you calmed me down."

"Whatever," I say, and follow him to the cafeteria, my head spinning from the day. In the past 12 hours I watched Mom die, I was killed, I was injected with new DNA, I was given a mysterious code, and I was kissed by a boy who isn't Daniel.

And that was only the first day of virtual training.