10 Students Remaining
For a moment, I feel like I’m sleepwalking, like this is all an elaborate dream. “Summer semester,” I say. I exhale through my teeth as the ramifications of this wash over me.
We aren’t part of Luminary’s first semester. We’re part of its second.
Ian is leaning over my shoulder, brow furrowed. “This has all happened before,” he murmurs. I nod, my pulse quickening as I read through another list of names:
Luminary Institute Summer Semester
Liam Hale Terminated
Avery Smith Terminated
Noah Williams Terminated
Jordan Brown Held back
Aiden West Terminated
Cameron Garcia Terminated
Lucas Monrow Terminated
Blake Davis Terminated
Mason Redmon Terminated
Isabella Lopez Held back
Ethan Hart Held back
Mia Wilson Terminated
Logan Pierce Terminated
Charlotte Whitaker Held back
Jacob Taylor Terminated
Amelia Marris Held back
Michael Roe Held back
Harper Graves Held back
Tessa Lee Terminated
Evelyn Perez Terminated
Arden Thompson Terminated
Devon White Held back
Elijah Ashford Held back
Emily Welles Held back
Benjamin Hall Held back
Vivienne Young Held back
William Allen Held back
Elizabeth King Passed
James Wright Passed
Lila Scott Terminated
Oliver Hollis Held back
Avery Carrington Held back
Henry Baker Terminated
Cordelia Nelson Held back
Samuel Hill Held back
Ella Pruitt Held back
Sebastian Crowe Held back
Lucien Marr Passed
Jack Thorn Held back
Lily Vesper Terminated
Scott Sparks Terminated
Patty Phillips Passed
Felix Hollander Held back
Natalie Evans Held back
Jayden Sable Held back
Hannah Gold Terminated
Dylan Stewart Terminated
Victoria Sanchez Held back
Nia Morris Held back
Ashlyn Rogers Passed
“What?” I murmur. I try to make myself read the names. I want to remember them, these long-gone students. But the words blur before my eyes, and I can’t keep going. There are just too many of them. My chest clenches.
Ian nudges my shoulder. “Lia, look.”
He points to the page, to the very last name on the list. I look where he’s pointing and frown.
“Wait,” I say. “That can’t be…”
But I trail off because it obviously is. One of the five graduates of Luminary’s summer semester is Ashlyn Rogers. My TA.
Luna’s waiting on my desk when I get back to my room. She’s hopping around, pecking at a granola bar wrapper I left wadded near my tablet, her wings tucked against her sleek black body.
She looks sad, I think. Or as sad as it’s possible for a crow to look. There’s something about the way her head is tilted that feels mournful. I wonder if she’s hungry. I find another granola bar in my messenger bag and crumble some of it onto the desk for her.
“You miss her, don’t you?” I ask, and the bird stops eating for a moment to cock her head in my direction, watching me with those black eyes. I wonder what happened to Zo’s kitten, if she’s still downstairs in Zo’s room, wondering where Zo went. I make a silent promise to go check.
I crumble a bit more of the granola bar onto my desk for Luna. “Hey, Luna…you’re a pretty girl, aren’t you? Can you deliver a note for me?”
Luna pecks at the granola while I scribble a quick note to Scarlett. I write that the cameras are set to disable tomorrow at 12:32 a.m. and tie it to Luna’s leg. Then, with what I’m hoping is an affectionate nip in my direction, Luna flies out my window.
Once she’s gone, I go to my closet and kneel in front of the notch marks on the back wall.
I run a finger along the splintery wood, trying and failing to ignore the uncomfortable clench of my stomach.
At least I’ve figured out the answer to one mystery.
Luminary had a whole other class of students before any of us got here.
One of them must’ve made these notches and left the get out note below my mattress.
Fifty other students were already put through the Luminary curriculum.
And one of them tried to warn me to leave.
Was it Ashlyn? I wonder. Ashlyn’s the only TA with access to this room. And she doesn’t seem as into the torture-y parts of Luminary’s curriculum as the others. Or at least, she didn’t take part in smashing Mando’s hand.
At some point, I must fall asleep in the closet, because I wake suddenly to the sound of voices and footsteps coming from the floor below.
I groan and rub at a cramp along the back of my neck. I slept with my head resting against the back wall, and I didn’t bother changing out of the clothes I was wearing last night, or even turning off the light. Feeling groggy and sore, I stand and stumble out of my room and down the stairs.
The front door is open, and a line of students from the other dorms are being led into Innovator’s front hallway.
My eyes flit nervously over the faces: Ian walks in, along with another student from the Visionary dorm.
He nods at me, but doesn’t say anything.
Rani and two other students from Protector come in next.
They all look haggard, somber, and no one talks.
Rani doesn’t even look in my direction, but I catch him staring at Ian’s back, frowning slightly.
A girl from Strategist who I don’t recognize comes in next, and then Scarlett.
I hurry down the stairs, and Scarlett grabs my hand, squeezing tightly.
“What’s going on?” I ask, pulling her away from the others. The TAs for each dorm are at the end of the hallway, ushering everyone into the living room, and I notice Ashlyn looking over at us and frowning.
“You didn’t hear? We lost like eight students overnight,” Scarlett whispers back to me. “I heard a bunch of kids tried to break out, and the guards caught them. They’re combining the rest of us into one dormitory.”
“Eight students?” My stomach drops. I can’t believe it. Eight other students were wandering around the grounds last night, while Ian and I snuck into Sullivan? Who were they?
I picture the list of crossed-off names on the computer, the word Terminated coldly written beside so many of them. The idea that eight more names could’ve been added to that list overnight is impossible to fathom. Eight more students gone, possibly killed, while I was sleeping in my closet.
I swallow, tasting something thick and sour in the back of my throat.
I don’t think I can stand looking up their names.
I should have found some way to help them.
They didn’t know I was working on disabling the cameras and picking the lock on the main gate.
They probably didn’t even know about the motion sensors on the lights, or that they could avoid the cameras by staying off the main paths.
If I’d told them, they wouldn’t have tried breaking out on their own. I could have saved them.
“Lia, this isn’t your fault,” Scar hisses, reading my guilt on my face. “There’s—”
“No talking, you two,” Ashlyn says cheerfully. I glance over my shoulder and see her waving me and Scar toward the stairs. “Trolley’s leaving in fifteen minutes. You’ve got to make sure you’re ready to go!”
I stare at Ashlyn’s face as I make my way to the third floor. Her wide smile, the freckles on her nose and cheeks. Did you leave me that note? I want to ask her. Did you make the notches in the back of my closet? Were you trying to warn me about this place?
We still need a getaway car. The cameras will be disabled, and I’m pretty sure I can pick the lock, but without a getaway car, it could all be for nothing. The guards will return just as we’re getting through the gate. They’ll hunt us down and drag us right back here—or worse.
But if we had someone to help us, someone on the inside, we might actually be able to get away from this place.
I swallow and pull my gaze away from Ashlyn’s face. I just wish there were some way I could know for sure whether I can trust her.
“Lia, it’s nice to see you! Come on in and take a seat.” Ashlyn gestures to a lumpy armchair in the corner of her room. My eyes linger on the Keep Calm and Crochet pillow, but I stay hovering in the doorway, nervous.
I shouldn’t be here. It’s just after eight in the evening. I only have four hours left until the cameras are turned off and we can try to make our escape.
The problem is, I keep imagining how the moment’s going to go.
I picture myself working the lock, trying to get it open in under five minutes, which is already faster than I’ve ever done it before.
But hey, say I manage. Say we unwind the chain from the main entrance and get through the front gates just as the guards are returning from their walk around the perimeter.
What then? It’s not like they’re going to stand back and let us go without a fight.
They have guns.
The thought makes my chest tight. And I can’t stop thinking about the notch marks in my closet and the note under my mattress. Ashlyn was trying to warn me about this place. It had to be her.
If this escape attempt doesn’t go the way I hope it will, if someone gets hurt, I’ll always wonder if Ashlyn might’ve helped us. I have to know if there’s even a glimmer of a chance.
I exhale and close the door softly behind me, the click of the latch sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
“Lia?” Ashlyn stares at me for a moment. “You look stressed. I know how intense this environment can be. Why don’t I bring you something to help calm you down? A cup of tea, perhaps?”
Tea seems innocent enough. I wet my lips and say, “Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll be right back.” Ashlyn crosses the room toward the small kitchenette.
I sigh and slump into the armchair. My gaze drifts around the room, lingering on the framed photos of Ashlyn’s friends and family crowded over the top of her dresser, the arty lamp sitting on her desk with a silk scarf draped over it.
There’s a vintage rug on the floor, and a potted plant by the window.
It’s nice. Homey. It makes me wonder who Ashlyn was before she came here.
I pick up a framed photograph from her side table: a younger, smiling Ashlyn flanked by two adults who must be her parents. I stare at the younger Ashlyn’s face. She clearly has a family who loves her. So why did her parents think this would be a good place for her?
A teapot whistles from the other room, followed by the shuffling sound of Ashlyn moving around the small kitchenette, getting mugs and tea from the cupboards, humming to herself.
“Do you take milk and sugar?” Ashlyn shouts from the other room.
“Uh, yeah, okay,” I call, putting the picture back on the table.
Footsteps approach from the kitchen, and Ashlyn appears, carrying two steaming cups of tea back into the room. She hands me a cup. “Here we go.”
I stare into the cup of tea. I have no way of knowing whether she’ll help us without revealing what we’re planning to do.
But I can’t stop looking back at that photograph: Ashlyn, smiling.
Ashlyn, surrounded by people who love her.
I think of the class list Ian and I found in the Records Room. Terminated, terminated, terminated.
Eventually, I say, “I don’t understand.”
Ashlyn settles in a chair across from me, carefully blowing on her steaming cup of tea. “What don’t you understand?”
“Why you’re here.”
Ashlyn straightens. Clearly that’s not what she expected. “What?”
I nod at the photograph. “You seem so happy there. Just a normal little kid with your parents. So why did they send you here?”
Ashlyn smiles nervously, like she thinks I’m telling a joke. “I don’t know what you mean…”
“Were you ‘troubled’ like the rest of us? Did they think they were helping you?” I release a laugh that sounds a little unhinged, even to me. “Did they do the letter thing when you were a student? Or is that new, for our semester?”
Ashlyn suddenly leans forward, her hand tightly gripping my arm. Her next words are barely above a whisper. “Don’t say another word. They’re listening.”