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because they disappear into the ceiling after four
stories. Some of the buildings, like the one Serena currently
crouches on, are lower, wider, and sprawling. Her attention moves
to the streets and her gaze sharpens. She can make out movement a
few streets away, and hear scuffing noises to her right, as well as
in front of her.
    Her opponents are on the roof. And they’re
armed.
    Opponents, that’s all they are.
The enemy. Not Dom, who taught her to tie her shoes because her
father was too busy. Not Laurie, who knows all the best folk songs.
Just masked foes, trying to keep her from Damon. Just like the real thing.
    Hunkering into the shadow at the
edge of the building, she closes her eyes and slips deeply into
the centre of her power, imagining the
internal light of her Talent filling every cell. Her consciousness
has to align completely with her physical body so that she can be
both undetectable and ready to act – a perfect Zen state of
awareness that she’s spent years learning to achieve. She slides
into it, her skin tingling with energy that will protect or attack,
as she commands it. This is it, this time. No going back. They
won’t let her out on the streets unless she succeeds in this, so
succeed she must. And this is her last chance.
    If she doesn’t get past the test
on her third try, she’ll get pushed into intelligence services or
worse. I definitely don’t have the head to
be a teacher . She snorts, just thinking
about trying to get a bunch of kids to listen to her without
resorting to dangling them upside down, then sobers. I’m gonna make
it . Certainty trickles through her bones,
driving away the mild irritant of the armour digging into her hips,
and the coldness of the roof seeping into the balls of her feet.
It’s designed that way because cold saps psionic ability. Cold
steel is the worst, leeching the energy right out of you faster
than you can think. Making the Arena so cold lowers her chances of
completing the course. Better move fast,
before it weakens me too much.
    In order to avoid standing out from her
surroundings, she makes her mental shield as thin and unnoticeable
as possible. She tunes it to the frequency of the air and stays
perfectly still. Her defences are weaker like this, but she’s less
likely to be found. Those hunting for her have their own psionic
abilities and will use any advantage they can, any sign of her. And
even a tiny flaw in the skin of her protection could signal her
location – a beacon of power to lead them to their prey. The longer
she can stay hidden, the better chance she has of making
it.
    Which means she has to be careful.
    As subtly as possible, she spreads
her awareness out, pinpointing the locations of the movement she
noticed. The operatives’ shields are good, but motion displaces
air, creates environmental ripples. Tracking those ripples down
like the threads of a spider in a web, she nods once to herself,
and forms a mental map of her surroundings, complete with moving
blips to represent the people who are going to try really hard to
shoot her. No longer the freedom fighters she longs to join, they
are now standing in as Institute soldiers. Here, they’re just as
dangerous to her as the soldiers will be out in the real city, on a
mission. People die in the Arena if they’re not ready. Better that
than being taken because you were sent out into danger unprepared.
Still, dead is dead. But not me, not
today . Alright,
suckers, bring it on!
    Her movement is explosive.
Bursting across the roof faster than a normal human can run, using
well-practiced telekinesis to power her feet, she leaps out into
the air. She lands sure-footed on the next roof over, just before a
mental attack grasps after her, huge, invisible fingers trying to
catch hold of her moving figure and pin her down. A basic attack.
Unsurprised, she fends the operative off, slipping through the
reaching thought forms without missing a step. Dropping like a
stone into the alley below, she