Nikolai’s magic. She wanted to be closer to it. Needed to be closer. “Stop,” she said aloud to herself. “He’s the enemy, remember?” And she conjured a wall of ice in front of the Imagination Box so she couldn’t touch it, no matter how much she yearned to. The Game was not about friendship. After all, Nikolai had tried to kill her. Twice. No, this Imagination Box—this “token of appreciation”—was not to be trusted. Nothing was. Vika couldn’t even trust herself.
