How to Lead a Life of Crime by Kirsten Miller

is another stretch of glass- enclosed catwalk hanging high above our heads. The catwalk glass is clear. There are no spectators inside. But there will be. Every room in the Incubation Suites must be designed to administer some sort of test. We’re just lab rats being ushered from one cage to the next. They’ve kept the rooms featureless because they’re controlling the variables. They wouldn’t want any distractions interfering with the results of their human experiments.
    There’s a long, stainless steel food bar at one end of the room. Pastas and sandwiches and burgers and sushi and salad. Far too much to feed five people. What’s the test here? I wonder. Will they be rating our impulse control? Gauging our risk of obesity? Watching to see if we chew with our mouths closed? Then I figure it out.
    They want to see us interacting. There’s only one table in the room. And five chairs. Someone has already hauled the sixth away. I doubt the surface of the table is big enough to hold all of Ivan’s food. He has a plate piled with hamburger patties. No buns or fixings. Just patties. A plate of sliced salami. An entire loaf of bread. And he’s filled a soup bowl with the carved radishes that were serving as garnishes. I glance up at the catwalk. It must be enclosed in electronic smart glass because in less than two seconds, it shifts from clear to opaque. Which means our guests have arrived at last. I just hope someone up there is paying attention to Ivan. The guy has some serious issues.
    I’m the last to get my lunch. Aubrey is the only one who hasn’t worked up an appetite. She’s sitting at the table between Felix and Ella, who are chatting around her. Ivan is folding beef patties in half and shoving them into his maw. He doesn’t even bother to examine what he’s eating. He’s staring at Aubrey, and I can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes. I take the only seat left. It’s next to him. If we weren’t under surveillance, I might be up for a little lunchtime conversation. But this feels dangerous. I haven’t been here long enough to know when I’ve said the wrong thing. Apparently the others don’t share my concern.
    “The natural has finally joined us for lunch,” Felix says. “He kinda looks like that movie star. You know the one I’m talking about?” he asks Ella.
    “Frankenstein?” Ella points at my stitches.
    It’s interesting to see how they operate. Felix flatters those he believes may have power. Ella takes potshots to prove she’s their equal. I ignore them both. At this point I’ll learn more by listening.
    “He must be the strong, silent type,” Felix tells Ella in a stage whisper. “So who’s your jeweler up there in Chicago?”
    While they discuss diamonds and dealers, I dig into lunch. My hamburger is remarkably good. I’m trying to remember when I last ate anything quite like it when I notice that Ivan is muttering to himself. Apparently his lips move when he thinks. He’s still fixated on poor, lifeless Aubrey. I stop chewing to listen. The few words I catch tell me Ivan has a crush. And he’s not the kind of guy who sends flowers. He’s the kind who kicks down doors in the middle of the night. The girl is in some serious shit.
    “She’s mine,” I announce in a casual voice. “Touch her and I’ll neuter you with a butter knife.”
    Why am I doing this? Why am I risking everything for some brain-dead meth addict?
    Ella and Felix stop yammering. Ivan slowly swivels around to face me. “What did you say?”
    I’ve already opened my big mouth, so I give him my toothiest smile. “I told you she’s mine, you f—ing Neanderthal. So are the other two. I have a huge appetite.”
    “Excuse me?” Ella jumps in. “I am not—”
    “Shut your face,” I growl. Ella glares at me but obeys. She’ll hate me for a while, but laying claim to her body is the only sure way to keep Ivan off it.
    “If you mark your territory, you must be prepared to defend it,” Ivan says.