The facility was a massive labyrinth of corridors that looped around, and around, until you didn’t know where you were anymore. I counted doors to know where I was, with the main elevator that reached the surface being the starting point.
The approaching sound of footsteps made me slow. Voices, soft but unmistakable, drifted from around the corner. I exhaled sharply, bracing myself.
Serene appeared first. The moment she saw me, she cast her gaze downward. Then, she folded her arms across her chest, and hunched her shoulders like she could disappear into herself. Lily was right behind, chin lifted, looking more annoyed than upset.
I kept my pace steady, even as my body grew stiff. Maybe I could avoid the interaction altogether. Doubtful—but I was going to try.
“Hey, traitor,” Lily said casually as I passed by her. I stopped and pivoted on my heels.
Serene’s gaze flicked up—just once, a flash of wide, uncertain eyes—before it dropped back to the floor again. Her fingers fidgeted absently with the edge of her sleeve.
Lily sneered. I ignored her pathetic attempt to rile me and focused on Serene. Although she despised me at the moment, I still viewed us as having a sort of kinship. We knew the same woods and the same people. Surely that had to mean something.
“Are you alright?” I asked Serene, my voice softened.
For a second—a heartbeat, no more—she met my eyes again. And in that flicker, I saw the crack: guilt, maybe. Regret. But then she looked down again, her voice soft. “We’re fine.”
I forced a tight smile. “Good.”
“We’d be better without a traitor roaming the halls among us,” Lily chimed.
I ignored the comment because it wasn’t worth an argument. Nothing good would come from it. I strode past them, resuming my search for the library. I didn’t have the energy for petty confrontations.
From behind me, Lily’s voice—barely audible—carried just one word.
“Soon.”
I found the library after a few too many right turns. It matched the rest of the facility well—just another stale, colorless, all-too-bright room. Even the books lacked color.
I’d never seen so many books untouched by mold or dirt. They didn’t smell weathered—they smelled like nothing.
I wandered around the first large room, uncertain where to even begin. There seemed to be more rooms attached by open archways, scaling down like nesting dolls as you continued through them. Before I could venture farther, a cough sounded behind me. An older man watched with stern eyes. He was holding an open paperback book in his hands and examining me like an insect. Like I was nothing more than a nuisance.
“Are you looking for something?” His voice was rough, almost as if a bit of mucus was permanently stuck at the back of his throat.
I rolled my shoulders back. “I was told you keep a record of all program participants. May I see it?”
The man raised one eyebrow and gave me a strange look. Without a word, he turned and walked off. He was several paces away when he finally spoke.
“Well, are you going to follow?”
I hurried after him as we wove through the library stacks until we finally reached a small glass cabinet. The librarian took off the chain that had been dangling around his neck. He sifted through the few keys there until he found the one he was looking for. After unlocking the cabinet, he pulled out a large bound book with serrated paper edges.
“Donotbend the pages. If I find any damage done to this book, I will have you transcribe the entire thing,” he threatened. He continued to murmur to himself as he left. “They always interrupt the good part.”
I flipped to the most recently filled page, running my finger across the list of names until I found my own.
Mavis Emmaline Ashbone. 20.
I went back ten pages. Each page represented one year. Each year was a list of names Anam had collected. Well, I still held hope that perhaps not all had been reaped.
When I found the year Willam was taken, I scanned the page thoroughly. And then again. And again. I skimmed it, lips moving soundlessly over every name—until I heard myself whisper his.Willam. As if saying it would summon him from the paper.
But his name was nowhere to be seen.
My mind raced with over a hundred possibilities. Maybe this was a list of the deceased? But that made little sense. My name was listed. Or perhaps he used a false name? More probable, yet still unlikely.
I closed the record and rushed to the librarian, who didn’t bother to look up from his book.
