BY THE TIME I step out into the back alley of the complex, a steady rain has started to fall, leaving the streets slick and shiny. Bright lights pour from the entrance directly across from me, a building filled with pink claw machines dispensing Warcross merchandise. Parties thud from its higher floors, but otherwise, the alley—blocked off on both ends by security—is almost peaceful.

Tremaine’s out here, his back against the wall, waiting out the rain under the canopy. He barely turns his head at the sight of me before going back to staring at the entrance across from us. In the neon light, his pale white skin looks blue.

“Off to report to the Blackcoats?” he says. “You’re on so many teams, I can’t even keep track anymore.”

I don’t comment on the edge in his voice. There’s a brief silence between us before I speak again. “I wanted to thank you for finding what you did,” I say.

“It’s what hunters do.”

I shake my head. “You didn’t have to. It’s dangerous enough as it is, with just one of us on this.”

“You’ve got enough problems. Don’t worry about me.” He holds his hands together and blows warm air between them. “I didn’t do it for you, anyway.”

“Then why? It’s not like you’re getting paid for this job.”

His gaze sweeps along the street. “Roshan’s worried about you,” he finally says. “He’s been afraid of how deep in you’re getting, and it sounds like his suspicions were right. So I promised him I’d watch your back.”

My teammate’s concern is a balm on the stress of the past few days. It’s all I can do to not turn around right now and return to them, instead of heading back into the arms of the Blackcoats. “You helped me because of Roshan?”

“He says you have a tendency to be a loner about everything. You won’t ask for help, even if you need it.” He holds his hands up when he sees me about to interrupt. “Hey, no judgment from me. I’m a hunter, too; I get it.” He smiles a little. “Besides. We also get into this sort of stuff for the thrill of it, don’t we? I don’t think I’ll ever get a shot at this big of a conspiracy again.”

I find myself smiling back. “It sounds to me like you’re still fond of Roshan. Even after you left the Riders.”

Tremaine shrugs, trying not to look concerned. “Nah. I saw him with Kento. It’s fine.”

We wait in silence, both of us staring at the steady stream of rain.

After a while, he glances at me. “Did he ever tell you why we don’t talk anymore?”

I hesitate. “He told me you left the Phoenix Riders because you wanted to be on a winning team, and that was what triggered the breakup between you two.”

Tremaine laughs. When he looks back up at me and sees the confused frown on my face, he ruffles his hair. “Typical Roshan,” he mutters, almost to himself. “That’s just his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Then what happened?”

Tremaine leans his head back against the wall and focuses on the spot where water is gushing down from the canopy. “Do you know anything about Roshan’s family?”

I shake my head. “It’s not something he’s ever brought up.”

Tremaine nods, as if he expected this, too. “His mum is a prominent member of Britain’s parliament. Roshan’s father owns one of the world’s largest shipping companies. His brother married some kind of duchess, and his sister is a surgeon. His cousin’s related to royalty. As for Roshan—he’s the youngest, so everyone dotes on him the most.”

Of all the things I would’ve expected from Roshan, being the son of a prominent family wasn’t one of them. “He doesn’t act like it at all. He doesn’t even talk like it. He’s a champion gamer . . .”

“It’s possible to be both, isn’t it?” Tremaine gives me a humorless smile.

Back during the opening ceremony party, hadn’t Max Martin taunted Roshan about his “pedigree”? I’d assumed it was an insult about Roshan being on the Phoenix Riders, or maybe because he came from a poor background—but I guess it was the opposite kind of put-down, a challenge flung from one wealthy son to another. “Fancy,” I say. It’s all I can muster.

“Know what my pedigree is?” Tremaine replies. “When I was in primary, my dad got shut away for shooting a store clerk over fifty pounds in a register. My mum tried selling me once, when she was high and ran out of money for another hit. The only reason I could afford to get into Warcross was because a local team was recruiting trainees, offering to pay food and lodging to kids with the most potential. I squeaked in.”

I picture Tremaine as a little boy, on his own as much as I’d been at that age. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“Oh, don’t give me that pitiful face. I’m not telling you this for sympathy points. I just figured you’d understand.” He taps his foot unconsciously against the ground. “It’s fine. I still love my mum, she’s doing well in rehab, and I’m a Warcross champion now with millions in my account. But you try explaining that kind of upbringing to Roshan’s family. That their beloved boy is dating someone like me.”

Tremaine lowers his head and stares blankly at the wet pavement. “I’m not saying Roshan’s always had it easy. But he’s smart as hell, you know? He mastered Warcross within a year of playing it. By his second year, he was in the Wardraft. People like him immediately, are drawn to that quicksilver mind of his.”

“You’re smart, too.”

Tremaine grimaces. “No. I’m . . . that guy who needs all year to study for something that Roshan could ace just by skimming the same material an hour before the big final. I couldn’t read until the sixth grade.” His cheeks flush in the night at this admission. “Roshan was the first pick in our year’s Wardraft, back when we were both wild cards. Two teams fought over him, did you know that? That was the cause of the original rift between the Riders and the Demon Brigade. And that was back when he barely practiced. I was just a straggler who lucked out because Asher saw something in me. I resented Roshan for being the one who always stayed up late to help me out. I fell for him for the same reason.”

“So you started seeing him.”

Tremaine hesitates. “And I started taking pills to keep up with everyone.”

I blink. “Drugs?”

“I started with half a pill a day, and I don’t really remember when I got up to seven or eight.”

I recall the abrupt leave Tremaine had taken from Warcross, right before he left the Phoenix Riders. How gaunt he’d looked that year. Had that entire episode been because of pills? “How long did that go on for?” I ask.

“About a year.”

“Did Roshan know?”

“Everyone knew, especially after I passed out during a practice session. They tried forcing me to quit. Asher threatened to cut me from the team if I didn’t stop. But it wasn’t until I overheard Roshan’s father talking to him before a game that I realized Roshan was out of my league. His father patted his shoulder and said, ‘I’m sorry, son. But what did you expect? It was only a matter of time before he followed his mother’s example.’ I ended up getting in a fistfight with another player during that game, and the Riders were temporarily suspended.”

“I remember,” I murmur.

“I didn’t sleep that night,” Tremaine says. “I knew I was singlehandedly crippling my team. The next day, I packed my things and left without telling Asher or saying good-bye to my mates. Roshan came running after me, asking where the hell I was going.” He shakes his head. “I was so mad and ashamed that I told him I was sleeping with someone else behind his back, that we were done. Coincidentally, the Demons were on the hunt for a new Architect, and they were only too happy to stick it to the Riders.”

I listen quietly. Roshan had never mentioned any of this.

“Look, I’m not proud of it, yeah?” Tremaine mutters. “It doesn’t mean I think I was right. It’s just what happened.”

“And you never cleared the air with Roshan?” I ask.

“Couldn’t bring myself to. And now it feels too late.”

I can’t help but think back to how I’d clutched my head in my hands the night I’d glitched myself into the Warcross Opening Ceremony, completely unaware that my world was about to change forever. Everything became amazing; then, everything turned awful. Life is always like that—you don’t know when you’ll suddenly claw your way out of your circumstances, or when you’ll go crashing back down into them.

“I’m not going to tell you it’s never too late,” I reply. “But, in my experience, it’s always the not doing that I regret more.”

The rain has stopped now, and the puddles in the alleyway have turned into undisturbed mirrors. Tremaine’s the first to push away from the wall. He shoves his hands into his pockets, then glances at me over his shoulder. Whatever vulnerabilities he’d shown a second ago have vanished behind his cool exterior.

“So,” he says, his bravado back. “No chance you’re quitting, huh?”

I shake my head. “Afraid not.”

“Well.” He lingers for a moment, nodding out toward the main streets. “Then we’ll need to stop fooling around in virtual reality and head to the institute for ourselves.”

I look quickly at him. “What do you mean, we? I thought you were out, either way.”

He sends me a message, and a map appears in my view with a blinking red cursor hovering over a place somewhere beyond the northern fringes of Tokyo. Japan Innovation Institute of Technology, the cursor says. Saitama-ken, Japan.