The Divergent Games VIII: Heated Presence

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     Blake seemed to be staring a hole through my head, right in between my brows.

     He hadn't taken his eyes off of me this morning, ever. He didn't even eat any of the food that was set for him. He simply sat there across from me with his elbows on the table, his mouth and nose covered by his intertwined hands. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I had been managing to avoid his eyes the whole time I drank the cider from my goblet, but now it was just plain irritating. I lift my head up, sending him my famous death glare.

     "What?" I snap, practically silencing everyone else's conversations at the dining table and drawing their attention towards the two of us. He swallows and glances around, as if embarrassed that I caught him looking at me. He knew that I was uneasy, however. He knew that I had felt his eyes on me, and I simply couldn't stand it any longer. Finally, he meets my gaze again, and holds it.

     "I got a report late last night about mental training." he said, as if that explained it all. My eyes widen slightly, and I lean back in my chair, realizing I was hunched over like an animal. I cross my arms over my chest and try to hide how nervous I am about what he'll say next.

     "And?" I bite out, fixing him with a dangerous look. He shook his head and mimicked me, pressing his back to his chair and folding his arms. I scowl, raising a brow in disgust and annoyance.

     "Three minutes and two seconds." he states clearly, and just about everyone at the table gasps, all with the exception of Cameron. He just sat there, bent over his food and sipping from a bowl of soup as if this had happened a million times before. But of course, it hadn't. Cameron just knew what time I had gotten yesterday because of the screen in the middle of the room, showing every time from quickest to slowest. And, so be my luck, I was first on that screen, causing myself to have even more attention than intended. What was so wrong with my body that it couldn't take a simple needle?

     I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, squinting my eyes shut. "It's not that big of a deal. You all are freaking out over a stupid time." I mumble, but loud enough so they all can hear me. They all exchange worried and confused glances, as if I wasn't getting the point at all.

     "It wasn't just your time." Blake clears his throat. "It was that you were able to get someone else out as well. But not only that... You were able to make a sword. Out of nothing, like all of it was a dream." he bends over the table, as if to get a better look at me.

     "Well that's how it felt." I mutter, grimacing. "If it was a simulation, then that world is fake, like a dream. So that's how I imagined it." I explained it exactly like it was, how I actually felt. It seemed like a simple thing to me, but Cameron's team of cosmetologists and his stylist were nervously scratching the back of their necks, while Ralenia, Belinda, Aumora, and Dalia were all trying to hide their overly dramatic exasperation.

     Blake shakes his head. "This is not an appropriate conversation for the dining table. And to add to that, I believe it's time the tributes head down to the lobby for private training." he wipes his mouth with a napkin, even though there was no food or drink there to begin with. He stands from the table and turns, heading off in the direction of his bedroom. As soon as he's gone, I exchange a look with Cameron. I didn't show any facial expression other than a 'what the hell was that about' stare, but it still felt like more than that. Maybe I'm imagining things, I don't know.

     Already dressed in our required training apparel, I wait in the living room with Cameron. His and my style team returned to their own apartments, so we were left alone. I began counting the seconds it took for Blake to show up, which were going up ever so slowly.

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