“Third.” Linda pauses. “You’ve been flagged as part of a cluster.”
The word means nothing to me.
She doesn’t say anything. Not immediately. Just watches me, like she’s giving the word time to settle.
“What’s a cluster?”
“A grouping. It happens sometimes—certain individuals show markers that suggest they should be grouped together. It’s rare, but documented. You’re showing those markers.”
“Grouped with who?”
“A group at the Academy. Five men. They’ve been flagged for two years, but their cluster never finalized. The system thinks you’re the missing piece.”
I stare at her.
Five men. A cluster. Something that never finalized because I wasn’t there.
“I don’t know these people.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t ask to be—”
“I know that too.”
She says it simply. She doesn’t get defensive about it.
“The transfer happens tomorrow. I wanted you to have time to understand before they move you.”
“Understand what? That I’m being shipped off to live with strangers?”
“That you have more information now than you did an hour ago.” Her voice is steady. “That’s not nothing.”
I want to argue. Want to tell her that information isn’t the same as choice, that understanding doesn’t mean accepting, that none of this is okay just because someone finally bothered to explain it.
But my head is pounding and my hands are shaking and I can feel the emptiness in my stomach like a living thing, and all I can manage is, “Why do you care?”
Linda looks at me for a long moment.
“Because someone should,” she says. “And because I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that how you treat people in the initial days determines everything that comes after.”
She stands.
“The water isn’t drugged. Neither is the food they’ve been bringing. I know you don’t believe me, and I’m not asking you to. But when you’re ready, it’s there.”
She moves toward the door. Pauses.
“I’ll check on you before the transfer. If you have questions, I’ll answer what I can.”
Then she’s gone.
The room is quiet. The light through the window is thin and gray.
I look at the water on the table. The blanket she left on the chair.
My hands are still shaking.
I don’t reach for either one.
