Agent Stiles adjusts her grip on her satchel and glances at her watch. Her gaze drifts toward the front door before looking back at me. “You need to decide now. It’s your call. Training or detention camp?”
There’s really no choice. As she stares at me, I see she knows this, too.
I nod at Mom. “Sign it.”
She moves to the desk. I follow closely, watching as she signs her name and then hands me the pen to sign.
“Excellent,” Stiles announces, taking the papers from me. “A van will be collecting you tomorrow morning between seven and eight. Be ready.” She takes a satisfied breath, squaring herself in front of me. “You’re one of a chosen few. You should consider yourself very honored.”
Honored? I want to point to my throat. Did she miss that?
She continues, “We’ve been granted permission for roughly fifty carriers. We conducted a nationwide search. It was difficult to choose. Harder to find quality females.”
She makes me sound like livestock. Not a person. Not human.
Then that other thing she said sinks in. Fifty carriers nationwide. That’s not many at all. But she mentioned needing to visit other houses in the area today. Could Sean be one of them?
I have to know. Even if our last encounter left a bad taste in my mouth, I have to know he’s not going to be behind that barbed fence being guarded by all those men with guns. I can’t wait until I’m on some van headed God knows where to learn he’s not headed there, too—to discover that he’s been shipped off to a detention camp with all the rest of the carriers and that I will never see him again. I’ll never know what happened to him. Or Coco. An image of her fills my head. All she put with . . . the Cage, Brockman. For nothing, it seems.
“Who else?” I blurt. “Who else are you taking?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Mitchell studying me curiously, and I know I’m giving myself away. At least to him. He knows me well enough to read me, to see that I care a lot about Agent Stiles’s answer. That I care about someone.
“I beg your pardon?” She slides the papers into her satchel efficiently, already finished here and eager to move on.
“You said you had other houses to visit nearby. Other carriers. Did any of them go to Keller with me?”
She angles her head, considering me. “I believe so. Gilbert Ruiz scored perfect on his ACT. And his computer knowledge is nothing short of astonishing. He can write code and hack into the world’s most complicated programs.”
Anxiety trips through me. Just Gil? Not Sean. I see the buses in my mind, the people being shoved onto them. Their wide eyes, their faces stark and haunted. My stomach twists sickly, hoping that Sean possesses some skill, some talent that can get him away from that.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She fumbles for another sheet and hands it to my mother while I wait breathlessly, hoping for her to say another name.
“Here’s a list of what to bring. Only the essentials. It’s not a summer camp.”
“No one else from Keller?” I press.
She turns for the door. “You’ll see for yourself tomorrow.”
“Please.” I can’t stop the whisper from slipping free.
She looks back at me, her expression shifting, awake with curiosity. “Who do you want to be there, Davina?”
Heat swamps my face. I feel Mom and Mitchell staring at me, sensing their surprise. They wouldn’t have expected me to grow so attached to another carrier.
“Come. Out with it. There must be something special about him to have you in such a state.”
My face burns hotter. If I give her Sean’s name would it truly help? Or is she asking to make sure he isn’t included? I can’t fathom Agency rationale.
She considers me thoughtfully. “Interesting. Actually, I’ve had to cross one carrier off my list . . . turns out he preferred suicide.” She says this like it’s nothing. “I suppose a carrier charismatic enough to charm you should be evaluated. Who knows? He might be an asset . . . especially if his presence there makes you more at ease. Maybe he could fill the vacancy. What’s his name?”
“Sean,” I respond, unsure if she’s messing with me or not. “Sean O’Rourke.”
She nods. “We’ll look into him.”
And I don’t know whether to believe her or not, but the tightness in my chest eases. He might not be headed to a detention camp. I cling to that hope. He might be going with me—to a place where we can both find a future.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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* * *
Phone call from President Pitt to Dr. Louis Wainwright
“I’ll give you your damned training camp, Wainwright. You just better be right about this. . . .”