Chapter 5 Coded Messages – Belle #2
“Perfect!” She pulls out a chair, settling in as if she belongs here, like she hasn’t just completely derailed our only method of covert communication. “So, what are we discussing today?”
I watch, helpless, as Luna passes her copy of The Handmaid’s Tale to Leyla so she can see the reading list I’ve written on the inside cover. Luna hasn’t gotten to the annotated pages yet—hasn’t discovered my message. And now, with Leyla here, I can’t let her find it.
“Actually,” I say quickly, reaching for Luna’s book, “I think I gave you the wrong copy. This one has my personal notes that are kind of… stream of consciousness. Not really fit for group discussion. Let me give you this one instead.”
I swap her annotated copy for my clean one. In my mind, I’m desperately praying she doesn’t question why I’m suddenly concerned about sharing notes. Luna just shrugs and accepts the new book without suspicion.
Crisis averted. For now.
But I’m left holding a book full of desperate warnings that Luna will never read, while Leyla Clark sits at our table, bright and cheerful and completely ruining everything.
“So where should we start?” Leyla asks, opening her copy of Fahrenheit 451 . “Should we go around and share our first impressions?”
We spend the next forty minutes engaging in actual literary analysis, discussing themes of censorship and institutional control and the dangers of complacency.
Leyla is annoyingly insightful. She makes thoughtful points about Bradbury’s use of fire as both destroyer and purifier, about how the firemen in the novel have been convinced that burning books is protecting society.
“It’s like they’ve been gaslit on a cultural level,” she says, gesturing enthusiastically. “They genuinely believe they’re the good guys, that they’re protecting people from dangerous ideas. When really, they’re just enforcing control.”
The parallel to our situation is so on-the-nose that I have to look away.
Erik tries several times to steer the conversation in directions that might allow him to communicate with Luna, but Leyla’s presence makes it impossible.
Every meaningful look, every careful word choice, has to be filtered through the awareness that we’re being watched—not just by Selena’s cameras, but by a potential informant sitting right at our table.
When we finally wrap up, agreeing to meet again, I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for an hour.
“This was so great,” Leyla gushes, packing up her things. “I’m so glad you let me join. Same time next week?”
“Depends on how much homework I’ll have,” I say quickly before Luna could put her foot in her mouth again.
“Sounds good.” Leyla bounces off, humming that same cheerful tune, leaving the four of us sitting in uncomfortable silence.
“Well,” Max finally says, “that was unexpected.”
“She seems nice,” Luna offers, but even she sounds uncertain now.
Erik looks at me, and I know what he’s thinking. We need another plan. The book code is compromised—I can’t leave messages in texts that Leyla might see, might report back to Selena. We need a new method of communication, and we need it fast.
“I should go,” Luna says, glancing at her phone. “I have some actual school work to tackle.”
After she leaves, taking the clean copy of The Handmaid’s Tale with her, Erik leans forward, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Is it true?” he asks. “All of it?”
I nod once, sharply.
“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his pale blond hair. “I don’t think Luna has any idea. She thinks we’re safe here. She trusts Selena.”
“I know.”
“We have to tell her.”
“We will. But carefully. Somewhere private.” I glance around the library, hyperaware of all the places cameras could be hidden. “Not here.”
“Where, then? If Selena’s watching everything—”
“Outside,” I interrupt. “The cliffs where it’s loud and isolated.”
Max touches my hand under the table. “What about Leyla?”
“What about her?”
“Do you think she’s… working for Selena? Or is she just an over-enthusiastic book nerd who showed up at the worst possible time?”
I consider the question. Leyla Clark, with her dolphin backpack and her perpetual smile and her family connections to organized crime. Is she an innocent bystander, or is she another set of eyes in Selena’s network?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But we have to assume the worst. Which means the book club is useless as a communication method now.”
“So what do we do?” Erik asks.
I look at both of them—Max, who’s been by my side through everything, and Erik, who’s just learning the true depth of the trap we’re in. “We adapt. Always and constantly. We find new ways to communicate. And we figure out how to warn Luna before it’s too late.”
“Before what’s too late?” Erik presses.
“Before Selena decides we’re more trouble than we’re worth.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implications. We all know what happens to people who become problems for powerful institutions. We’ve seen it firsthand—our parents, their associates, everyone who stood in the way of the network’s goals.
“We need to get off this island,” Max says quietly.
“I know. But we can’t just run. Selena will be watching for that. We need evidence first. Proof of what she’s doing, proof that she’s The Architect. Something solid enough that when we expose her, she can’t make us disappear.”
“And how do we gather evidence when everything we do is being monitored?” Erik asks, his voice barely audible.
“Very, very carefully.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our situation pressing down on all of us. Then Erik stands, gathering his books.
“I’ll talk to Luna,” he says. “Find a way to warn her. Even if I can’t tell her everything, I can at least make her more cautious.”
“Be subtle,” I warn. “If Selena realizes we’re onto her—”
“I know.” His gray eyes are hard, determined. “I’ve gotten good at pretending everything’s fine while everything’s falling apart. We all have.”
He’s not wrong. We’re all experts at wearing masks, at playing roles, at surviving in hostile environments. Our experiences trained us well.
After Erik leaves, Max pulls me close, his forehead resting against mine.
“We’re going to get through this,” he murmurs.
“Are we?”
“We have to. I didn’t survive everything we’ve been through just to die on this fucking island.”
I want to believe him. Want to believe that love and determination and strategic thinking will be enough to beat Selena at her own game. But I’ve learned the hard way that sometimes the house always wins, that sometimes power is too entrenched to topple.
Still, we have to try. Because the alternative is staying trapped, staying controlled, becoming exactly what the network wanted us to be all along. And I didn’t survive this long just to give up now.
“Come on,” I say, standing and pulling Max with me. “We need to act normal. Go to dinner, do homework, be the perfect students Selena expects us to be.”
“While secretly planning a revolution.”
“Exactly.”
We leave the library hand in hand, two students who just had an innocent book club meeting. Nothing to see here. Nothing suspicious.
But inside, I’m already planning our next move. Already thinking about how to communicate without words, without books, without anything Selena can intercept.
Because if literature has taught me anything, it’s that every prison has a weakness. Every dystopia has its rebels. Every Big Brother has a blind spot.
I just have to find ours before Selena finds us.