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time came.” He paused. “Do you think you can build something out of it?”
    She surveyed the boxes of parts and the twisted hunk of metal that was once his mech. “I think so,” she said with a nod. “With the right tools, but . . .” She glanced up at him. “Why would you do this for me?”
    Rupert shrugged. “I know how frustrated you’ve been, barred from the workshops. I thought you might like something to work on, something a bit more diverting than labeling diagrams or writing up technical summaries.”
    Petra smiled. “I don’t expect you know many girls who would find this sort of thing diverting.”
    â€œJust the one.”
    She rose to her feet and rested her hands on her waist, eyeing the busted machine and crate of spare parts. After months of idleness, she finally had a machine to build—­a proper machine—­and it was hers . “Rupert, this is . . . This is marvelous .” She glanced up at him, a sudden warmth welling behind in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said thickly. “I don’t deserve it.”
    â€œYes, you do,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Besides . . . I can’t wait to see Selby’s face when you beat him in the tournament. That alone will be worth it.”
    Petra laughed, her spirits briefly unburdened of the weight of the last six months. She bowed her head with a smile and bumped Rupert’s shoulder. “Thanks,” she said quietly, looking at the damaged mech in front of them. “For everything. I never would have survived this place without you.”
    He shrugged. “It’s what friends are for.”

 
    CHAPTER 3
    P etra stared at the nameplate on the office door, and the name of her enemy stared back: J ULIAN H . G O SS, M INISTER TO THE V ICE-­ C HANCELLOR .
    She had thought long and hard on his threats, considering every possible avenue of choice ahead of her, and it came down to one simple thing: she had do whatever it took to stop this war, and if that meant conceding to his demands and appearing to cooperate with his plans, so be it. She wasn’t giving up. Far from it. But as she stared at that name, it still felt like the worst decision of her life. The moment she walked through this door and offered to build his war machine, there would be no turning back. She would be his to command, his to control. But what choice did she have? It was either this or forced labor under the watchful eye of the Royal Forces. At least this way, she still had some freedom, some small chance of thwarting his plans.
    Petra closed her eyes, her hands curled into fists. She could do this, she told herself. She had to. It was the only way.
    She raised her hand to the door and knocked.
    â€œCome in.”
    Before she could second-­guess herself, she opened the door and went inside.
    â€œMiss Wade,” said Julian, with only a slight hint of surprise as he looked up from his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
    She swallowed thickly, her chest constricting as the reality of her decision stared her in the face. “I came to discuss my next proposal to the council.”
    â€œI see,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Well, then . . . Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair opposite his desk and waited until she obeyed before folding his hands in his lap. “What is it you would like to discuss?”
    â€œThe war machine,” she said hesitantly. “I thought about what you said, and I—­” Her voice wavered as she looked into his eyes, smoldering with a dark intensity that once again reminded her of Emmerich. “I would like to remain here, at the University, rather than . . . the alternative.”
    â€œI see.” He rested his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands. “I must say I am pleased to hear it. The Guild needs engineers of your