Endgame Novella #1 Read Free Page B

Player.
    It’s Xander who’s won.
    It’s Marcus who’s been left behind.
    Things move quickly after that. They are all expected to leave the camp by the end of the week. Soon a new group of children will arrive to begin seven years of training and claim the camp as their own. Marcus and the others will go back to their families, while Xander goes forward. Somewhere.
    “You really can’t tell me where?” Marcus says. They’re packing up the room they share. Seven years of memories dumped into a few cardboard boxes, taped up, and sent away. Of all these belongings, the only one that means anything to Marcus is the golden ax—and even that has lost its shine. The labrys was supposed to mean something, was supposed to mean he was chosen. Now? It’s nothing but a rusty old ax. Marcus thinks that he should offer it to Xander as a gift, a way of saying without saying, The future belongs to you .
    Instead he tosses it in a box, and resolves to throw it away as soon as he gets the chance.
    “I really can’t tell you.” Xander pulls out a pizza box that must have been sitting under his bed for weeks. That would explain the smell. “They swore me to secrecy about all Player stuff, and I don’t thinkthey’re kidding around.”
    Don’t be jealous , Marcus reminds himself, like this is even possible. Like he’s not seething with rage.
    “No worries,” Marcus says. “Feel free to lord it over me with your super-special Player secrets and your exotic classified missions. I’ve got secrets too, you know. You’ll never guess what I’ve got hidden in this sock drawer.”
    “A pack of condoms you ordered online and have been hoarding for so long they’ve probably turned to dust,” Xander says, without missing a beat. “Plus some incredibly foul socks.”
    He’s right on both counts. It only makes Marcus angrier.
    How dare Xander keep secrets?
    How dare he act like everything is the same between them, like they’re still best friends, like everything is fine—when everything is ruined?
    How dare he win?
    There’s an awkwardness between them now, a stiff silence, and Marcus knows it’s his fault.
    “I really thought it would be you,” Xander says, not for the first time. It makes Marcus want to punch him, because how’s he supposed to respond? “So did I”?
    Actually, that’s not a bad idea. So he says it out loud. Then laughs, like it was a joke.
    Xander laughs too. Fakely. It’s even worse than the silence.
    Marcus knows he’s acting like a spoiled brat. Like a child who doesn’t get what he wants and throws a temper tantrum. But it’s not like Xander’s any better, with this humble aw, shucks act, like he’s not loving every minute of this. Maybe it would be different if Xander would just own it, rub his victory in Marcus’s face.
    That’s always been the way between them—always crowing, always bragging, never apologizing.
    They could afford to be honest, because they were on such even ground.
    Not now.
    Now every word out of Xander’s mouth sounds like an apology, and Marcus sees that for what it is: pity.
    “We’ll still be friends,” Xander says, tossing a sweatshirt in his suitcase. It’s Marcus’s sweatshirt, but Marcus doesn’t say anything. Xander’s already taken everything that matters. What’s one sweatshirt more?
    “Yeah, sure,” Marcus says, not even bothering to sound like he means it. “Of course.” Because what’s Xander going to do, come home from swimming the English Channel or battling a fleet of ninjas—then go play video games in Marcus’s basement? Not going to happen.
    “Anyway, I’ve got kind of a surprise for you,” Xander says.
    Marcus grunts. He’s tired of surprises.
    “They gave me three days before I have to leave,” Xander says.
    “For your magical mystery tour.”
    “Yeah. That. Three days . . . and access to a helicopter.”
    Marcus freezes. Despite his foul mood, he feels his lips drawing back in a smile. He can’t stop himself.
    Because