My heart races. ‘Why would she hate us? We haven’t seen her in months and it’s not like she knows …’
I trail off, feeling my face flush with heat.
‘Knows what?’ Marquis asks. He pulls a pre-rolled cigarette out of his boot and sticks it behind his ear.
‘Nothing,’ I mutter as we follow the recruits down the corridor.
My stomach twists into tight knots. Sophie doesn’t know how I hurt her and I never intend on letting her find out. I’ll fix what I did, and everything will go back to the way it was before.
OWEN LEADS US UP THE staircase to the second floor. An obscene number of signs appear on the walls, all giving instructions or prohibitions. At the entrance to the house’s East Wing, there’s a circular sign depicting a mouth with a finger pressed to it.
DiscretionNotDiscussion, the instructions beneath say.
‘Girls to the left of the hallway, boys to the right,’ Owen calls over our heads.
I can see Sophie up ahead, talking to another girl. I feel a pang of sadness. Why will she talk to a stranger but not to me? Marquis reaches for my hand and squeezes.
‘If you need me, send the signal,’ he says.
The signal is a series of low whistles he, Sophie and I used to find each other as children, when we were lost in the overcrowded underground bunkers during the war. It’s stuck with us since, a sound guaranteed to bring the others running.
The boy in the white collar is standing by the door to the boys’ dormitory, fiddling with something in his pocket. Hestops when he catches me watching and grins. I force myself to tear my gaze away.
‘Send the signal,’ I repeat with a nod. ‘I’ll see you later.’
The girls’ dormitory is large and dully lit by brass wall lamps. Poking out from behind the blackout drapes is a set of frilled pink curtains. There’s a tapestry of the alphabet on the wall and a sad-looking rocking horse in the corner. Whose nursery had this been? There are six beds, crammed together but neatly made, with uniforms waiting on each one. A shirt and black silk tie, a navy wool skirt and a navy jacket, black stockings and a hat. There’s a brooch, too. A dragon flying through a silver circle. It could be a crown.
Or a net.
Sophie has taken the bed next to mine – the only one left. She picks up the sleeve of her jacket and drops it again. Her cheeks are sunken and hollow, and there’s a nasty burn on her hand. I stare at her until she’s forced to look at me.
‘Hello,’ I say, surprised at how quiet my voice has become. ‘It’s good to see you.’
She gives me a withering look. ‘What are you even doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same question.’
Around us, the other recruits are introducing themselves.
‘I’m a misfit now, remember?’ Sophie says, rolling her eyes. ‘But you and Marquis … you should be in Fitzrovia.’
‘Your parents told me you’ve been missing for weeks—’
‘You’ve seen my parents?’
‘I left Ursa with them,’ I begin. ‘So much has happened, Sophie—’
‘Ursa?’ Sophie says. ‘Why? Where are your—’
‘They’ve been arrested,’ I whisper. My chest suddenly aches. ‘I was told that if I came and worked here, they would be released.’ I don’t mention Chumana or the Peace Agreement. Sophie wouldn’t believe me. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Granger’s Prison,’ Sophie replies, visibly satisfied at the look of shock on my face. ‘The place where they send class evaders.’
Granger’s Prison is where the people who refuse to be demoted go. I suddenly remember the headlines from this morning.
‘I read there was a mass breakout,’ I say. ‘Did you …’
Sophie shakes her head. ‘No, I didn’t escape like the rest of them. I was recruited. That woman – Dolores Seymour – she came and spoke to loads of us, but she picked me.’ Sophie shrugs. ‘I don’t know why.’
