She shifted uneasily. Since her q1, I had tasked the girl with reporting any gossip or disobedience among her fellow IC members.
“Sanderson is less engaged than usual. But then, we’re all working so hard that it’s tough to say. He might’ve taken on too much.”
I sipped my tea. “I didn’t realize there was such a thing as taking on too much when you’re working on a mission as important as ours.” I sniffed. “Do you no longer find what we do compelling?”
“Me? You know how much I believe in the work. I’m down to four hours of sleep a night. But maybe Sanderson isn’t up to the—”
I raised a hand. “That’s enough. Let’s not unnecessarily bad-mouth our colleagues. What else?”
“Gordon is pretty interested in Jeremiah’s whereabouts ever since my initiation. He gives him the third degree if he’s so much as a minute late to something.”
I smirked at my mug. “Gordon can be a bloodhound, sniffing out anyone uncommitted to our cause. He is fiercely loyal to me.” My jaw clenched. “Jeremiah, on the other hand, I have my doubts about.”
“What’d he do?” she asked, failing to keep her voice steady.
“It’s not so much what he’s done as a feeling I have.” I forced myself to blink. “I don’t like the way he smiles at me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “He admires you. He’s so dedicated to the cause.”
Perhaps this one was not to be trusted either. My foot jiggled, though I loathed fidgeting. “I understand he’s become something of an avuncular figure to you.” I could stay seated not one minute more. I stood and paced. “I want you to stop spending your free time with him.”
A flush crept from her cheeks to her neck. “Teacher, I’m sorry but . . . I think you have this all wrong.”
“Ruth too.” I wrung my hands. “They might be working together.”
The girl rubbed a hand over her head. Downy hair had begun to sprout from her scalp. She bit her lip. “Jeremiah and Ruth both work tirelessly to improve Wisewood.”
How na?ve she was, even after all of my tutelage.
“Mark my words, someone will slip up at some point. When they do, the cameras will catch them.”
She blinked. “Cameras?”
“The monitoring system.”
“What monitoring system?”
“Did Gordon not tell you? Everyone in the IC knows.”
She stared stupidly.
“We have cameras in the rooms.” I waved a hand around my head. “They’re all over campus.”
The girl struggled to keep her face neutral.
“It only takes one bad actor to bring down the entire ecosystem.” A crackle of energy ran all the way to my fingertips, a great swelling of power (+2). At times like this I was a conduit. I knew not from where the message came, only that I’d been called to deliver it.
I am goddamn invincible.
“That’s why you have to keep an eye on your fellow students, to pick up whatever the cameras miss. I don’t relish having to ask for reports behind their backs, but mainland ideas are so deeply ingrained in us that they’re difficult to let go of. Gen pop has a hard time acclimating to this lifestyle for a few measly months, so imagine how difficult the transition is for the staff. Anyone who comes from that mainland brings with them treacherous ideas. Every time the Hourglass drops off a new group of guests, we risk subterfuge. This is why I pontificate about loyalty. Do you understand?”
She nodded slowly.
“Good. Now, do as I say, and avoid who I tell you to. Unless you want your own allegiance called into question more than it already has been.”
Her mouth fell open. “Who . . . ?”
“Who hasn’t?” I raised an eyebrow. “They all worry they can’t trust you.”
“They can,” she sputtered.
“Normally I consider my judgment sound, but I must say I’m having second thoughts about bringing you into the IC. You’re more loyal to these side friendships than to me.”
“That’s not true.”
I toyed with the scarf. “If you want to take Gordon’s place at my side, I must be confident of your devotion.”
She jerked her head, undoubtedly surprised to hear me speak so baldly of the staff hierarchy. She shouldn’t have been. Honesty at all costs was my policy.
“What can I do?” she asked mousily. Was there anything worse in a woman than meekness? “To prove my devotion?”
I considered the question for an inordinate amount of time, debating whether she was up for the challenge. Perhaps it was too soon.
She rubbed her hands on her jeans, waiting.
“I think it’s time you took your q2.”
She went completely still. “It’s only been a month or so since my q1.”
“Are you saying you’re not ready? Would you prefer I give this opportunity to one of your peers?”
“No. I’m ready. I’ll do whatever you think.”
I sank next to her on the couch and laced my fingers through hers.
“That’s my girl.”
36
Kit
DECEMBER 2019
ALL THIS TIME I’d been trying to figure out whether it was April or Georgina who betrayed me.
Neither had.
Since Teacher had told me about the cameras, I’d begun searching the island for them. They were everywhere. In our guesthouses they resembled smoke detectors. In the classrooms and cafeteria they were disguised within photo frames. They were even nestled in the hedge foliage. Wherever we went we were watched: around the pool, inside the shed, by the staff doors. I was sure all of it had been Gordon’s doing. I’d figured out his role here: head of security. His handiwork was how she knew everything. She wasn’t reading our minds.
She was watching us.
The abandoned inside jokes, the lost laughs, the late-night discussions—I’d thrown away my friendships with April and Georgina over nothing.
Anger stirred my gut as I paced the second-floor corridor of Teacher’s house a few minutes before midnight. Just because I didn’t see any cameras didn’t mean they weren’t there. On the wall was an oil painting inspired by Munch—a bald woman clutched the sides of her head, face melting, mouth frozen in a shriek. The painting was disturbing enough on its own, made worse by the fact there were six copies of it, three on each side of the hallway. Every time you had a one-on-one with Teacher, you had to walk past the sextuplets with their haunting eyes. Maybe they were a reminder to face our fears—or what would happen if we didn’t.
* * *
? ? ?
I REACHED FOR my own bald head, still not used to it. Teacher had said this was one more way to sever our connections to the past. If I had no hair I couldn’t pull it out. Sometimes I missed the warmth on my neck or the messy bun piled atop my head. I missed matching my hair to my mood. I missed feeling pretty. Plenty of women with buzzed hair were gorgeous, but I was no Natalie Portman. I didn’t need a mirror to confirm the cut was bad for me. I just knew.