Izzy waited nervously in line behind Patch. She hated this routine because she didn’t understand its purpose, and it seemed sadistic on Nomad's part.

Captain Riegel appeared, and Izzy hoped for a moment she’d stop this, but the Captain strode toward the chairs and not Nomad. That's when Izzy noticed him.

Izzy forced her gaze to remain fixed on the back of Patch's neck, but she could feel the force of the newcomer’s presence. Her intense concentration caused the icons around Patch to become clearer.

Patch was on Izzy's team and nearly as quiet as her. He served as the team’s doctor and had a background as a paramedic. That’s as specific as he wanted to get.

Two of the icons associated with Patch held the most significance, and they burned her eyes. She closed them but could still see the caduceus.

The two serpents entwined around the winged staff at first appeared no different than all the other medical versions she’d seen. But the one tied to Patch was covered in blood, and the snakes were biting the wings.

The other icon was a broken shield that radiated its failure. Izzy wavered on her feet and Stitch reached from behind her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay, Relay?" Stitch asked.

Izzy opened her eyes and regained her balance. She turned and smiled at the doctor from Nomad's team. What were the statistical odds of being placed between the two doctors, she wondered, and her mind immediately calculated the probability as one in a hundred and thirty-six.

"I'm fine, thanks though."

As Izzy turned back toward the front, she couldn't help but glance at the newcomer who sat talking with Captain Riegel.

Like before, Izzy felt immense psychic pressure, as if massive icons threatened to break her mind, but she couldn't see any—or maybe he didn't have any.

Izzy had encountered people without icons before, but it didn’t happen often. Especially since they’d traveled so close to the Pit. The ability that surfaced shortly after the disaster in Cairo grew stronger each day.

Oracle stepped out from behind the plywood wheel after disconnecting one of the thousand electrical leads. She looked at Patch with an expression that seemed almost apologetic.

The military team wasn’t mean, but they didn’t act friendly either. In the typical human fashion, they remained separate tribes.

Patch gave her a nod and strode to the “circle of trust,” as Nomad called it. Without hesitation, he placed a finger in one of the thousand holes.

The paramedic gasped in pain as he jerked his hand away. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his arm. Nomad nodded and Patch disappeared behind the wheel to reconnect the lead Oracle had chosen and disconnect a different lead.

Izzy's mind spun, like always. Sometimes she thought she might go crazy as statistical outcomes appeared and disappeared in her mind like embers from a thousand sparklers.

Patch hid his fear from everyone else, but the icons around him betrayed his true state, and Izzy used a Bayesian inference probability distribution to narrow her choices.

Izzy hypothesized the fearful paramedic would avoid noticeable or central locations, opting for a position that felt safe or less conspicuous. She narrowed her choices to the band halfway from the center with a margin of ten percent to each side.

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They’d all been forced to share small nuggets about themselves when they first met, and she knew Patch had grown up in Baghdad—a surprising tidbit since she detected no accent. Still, it meant he'd grown up around danger, yet picked a profession that placed him among those in the most need.

Izzy focused on the area furthest from her. Patch would want to keep the danger away from her, and she recalculated the distribution and walked quickly to the far side of the plywood wheel, stopping fifteen percent from the edge.

Would Patch pick a location up, down, or directly across from the center? Izzy's eyes glazed over as dozens of calculations whizzed through her thoughts.

She estimated less than a five percent chance Patch would choose something high as he would prefer to stay near the ground to both hide and protect anyone in his care.

Izzy wanted this to be over so she could go back to her room and meditate. Meditation was the only way she could get her mind to stop the endless computations. It was the same reason she liked to run, it put her in an almost Zen-like state, providing immense relief.

Ironically, all that running had earned Izzy a scholarship at Stanford, although her perfect SAT might have done the same. Thoughts of school brought her family to mind, and she pushed the sadness and guilt away before she lost control.

Izzy knelt and confidently stuck her index finger in the hole with the highest probability of success.

Fire erupted down the nerves of her hand and arm, quickly followed by pain and numbness, which seemed impossible but existed all the same.

Between the mental pressure Izzy felt from the newcomer, the uncertainty of her future, and the searing pain in her arm, it was all she could do to not cry.

To ease the pain, Izzy calculated the percentage of her teammates that would pee themselves when Nomad cranked the voltage up to max on the third round. She honestly didn't know if she was brave enough to stick her finger into such danger.

Nomad didn't react to her obvious pain and her chaotic emotions made seeing his current icons impossible. She knew from previous interactions what a good man Nomad was, which made all of this even more confusing.

Izzy walked around to the rear of the “circle of trust” and bit her lip in frustration. She'd only been two off. That was a probability of one in five hundred. Close, but not close enough. With more data, she might have gotten it right this time.

Izzy reconnected the little alligator clip to the metal plate and removed the one in the center before returning to her place in line.

Captain Riegel looked upset, or maybe surprised, and the newcomer had a mischievous smile. He met Izzy's gaze. Despite her embarrassment at getting caught, she found herself unable to look away.

The newcomer had an aura of confidence. His messy hair and casual posture stood in stark contrast to the coiled power hiding under his faded T-shirt. He smiled at her, and it looked like he almost recognized her.

They had never met though. Izzy would’ve remembered. Her heart thudded and she became acutely aware of his athletic body and good looks. He had a glow that radiated vitality despite skin that appeared covered in bruises.

Izzy tore her gaze away and scolded herself for blushing. What was she, twelve? All the pressure was obviously getting to her and creating these strong impressions.

Back in line, Izzy turned in time to see Stitch jerk in pain as the hum from the generator increased from the electrical load. The last three in the original line were all from her team.

Syntax waited impatiently while Stitch disappeared behind the contraption. Izzy tried to suppress her irritation at the social media influencer. Syntax was in her early twenties with an effortlessly chic appearance that blended her genius and her online persona. She had long wavy hair that she constantly played with. Currently, her blonde hair was colored a pastel pink. Who packed hair dye when volunteering for something like this?

Syntax’s bright and expressive eyes telegraphed her extroverted nature. Her enthusiasm for communication and expertise in linguistics meant she always said the right things. Even after weeks at a military base, she maintained a polished and sophisticated look, and she even made her service uniform look stylish.

Izzy’s curiosity—well, jealousy if she was being honest—led her to stalk the woman’s social channels. That only made the jealousy worse after seeing her ability with languages. Syntax had even created her own languages. Who does that?

Syntax yelped loudly, holding her arm like it had a major fracture. She scolded Nomad, who nodded understandingly for ten seconds before pointing to the rear of the device. She glowered her displeasure and stomped out of sight.

Two people left, and then they’d do this all again, except the voltage meter would move from three to six.

Izzy wanted to scream in frustration.