. you know. Everything.”
He dropped himself back into the pew next to Peter, who leaned in immediately. “We gotta go back,” he whispered. “There’s nothing saying that the school is gonna do this to all of us, or any of us. But if they find out that we know, or that we know where she is . . .”
“Wait.” Neesha sat up at the front of the church. “Wait. Oh my God.”
She closed her eyes in concentration. Everyone else watched her in silence. “What?” Peter finally asked.
“They’re testing us, all the time. And recording all the results, right?”
Emma nodded.
“What if something happened recently that caused all of the results to get . . . dramatically better? Something that made them think that what they were doing was working—that we were ready, or whatever. That it was time to start using the ARC.”
She stared at Emma, who stared back, horrified.
“Holy shit,” Aiden said. “You’re right.” He reached into his pocket, and in front of them, he dropped the baggie of the remaining silver pills.
Neesha.
NEESHA REMEMBERED TWENTY-FOUR hours earlier, lying in her room, when she’d been paralyzed by fear that she might get kicked out. It was almost funny, thinking about all the things that seemed so serious and important then.
Scenes of her four years here played back in terrifying clarity. The free tuition, the insane curriculum, the global recruiting, the calls for exceptionalism, the emotional assessments, the meals and supplements—there was no reason for any of it unless there was some larger end the school was moving toward. It had always been there. There was always a voice, just beyond all the instructors, whispering a direction, suggesting a plan for the students.
She thought Redemption was her escape, but it was the opposite. It was a cage, in a much larger reality. And she didn’t even know the worst of it. Her eyes drifted to Emma, seated with her eyes closed and her head rolled back against the altar. Emma had chased the same promise—new place, new life, the ability to be the best and the reward that came with it—and had fallen further into the trap.
Neesha walked cautiously to the front of the nave, sliding onto the ground next to Emma, taking her own piece of altar. It was a long moment before either of them said or did anything, just breathing the same air and staring forward at the same low-resolution, inky-black church, watching the spot where it disappeared into darkness. Finally, Emma let her hand fall softly onto Neesha’s. Neesha slid her fingers through Emma’s and squeezed.
“I’m sorry,” Emma said.
“You’re sorry?” Neesha almost rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t know . . . all of that was happening.”
“I’m really good at hiding stuff.”
Neesha swallowed. “You were trying to tell me. You were trying to tell me to focus less on that stupid trophy, and I didn’t . . . I should have said something.”
Emma shook her head. “I set you up. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved at all. I made you sell your project, then left you to take the blame. If they would have found out . . .” Her eyes fell to the floor in front of them. “When they find out. It’ll be even worse for you.”
Neesha tightened her hand around Emma’s, her grip so delicate Neesha was afraid squeezing might shatter it like glass. In every picture of Emma in Neesha’s head, the delicacy was an act, a false flag waved for attention and pity. Holding Emma’s hand and sitting this close, hearing her story and reading her journal, Neesha knew it wasn’t.
“It’s funny.” Emma’s eyes were puffy from crying but soft as always, as though she was mid-joke. “A few months ago, I thought I had problems.”
Neesha smiled painfully.
“I wrote in my journal, This is the worst my life has ever been.” Emma shook a few tears out of her eyes. “I don’t know why I even thought it was a good idea to write that. It’s like I was trying to make it worse on purpose.” She sniveled and it echoed through the church.
“Why do you think she picked you?” Neesha asked.
“I don’t know . . .” Emma’s body had a small but constant rock back and forth. “Because I’m depressed, maybe. So if something happened to me, it wasn’t a total loss.”
Neesha let the words sit, staring down at their thumbs. “What’ve you even been eating? And drinking?”
“Communion bread,” Emma said, again trying a small laugh. “The body of