Weeks must have passed, months, maybe even years-I felt the exhaustion creep through me, wrapping itself like a heavy chain around my center. It was dark now; I couldn't place the time of night, though I saw that it was a hotel room, and not a particularly good one. I was staring up at the ceiling, half buried under the covers, when a figure seemed to peel itself out from the shadows of the closet. It was fast, almost too much for me to keep up with. A man in a black mask, the metallic gleam of a gun-I threw my covers off of me and kicked my leg out, sending the attacker stumbling back. The shot went off from his gun with a combustion of light and little sound. The smell of it scorched my nostrils.

I was flipped onto my back, one of the man's forearms braced against my neck, crushing the fragile rings of cartilage. My hands lashed out, hitting the rough carpet, the nightstand, and, finally his face. Not even the terror pulsing through every inch of me kept me from crashing into his mind.

STOP! I felt my lips form the word, but I couldn't hear myself. STOP!

And the man did, with the blank look of someone whose skull had just been cracked open and exposed to freezing air. He sat back, his gun on the floor at his side.

I was coughing and hacking, trying to bring air into my lungs, but I grabbed the gun and stuffed it into the waistband of my pajamas. I stopped long enough to grab my winter coat from where it had been thrown across the room's desk chair, and then I was outside, in the hallway, staring at the place where a man should have been posted outside my door to guard me. And I knew, I knew what was going on. I knew what would happen to me if someone were to find me alive in the morning.

I was running down the hotel's stairs, out through the kitchens, out back past the Dumpsters and through the parking lot. Running, my chest on fire, hearing the sound of voices shouting after me, boots pounding on the pavement. Running for the trees, the darkness- "Ruby-Ruby!"

I came back to myself in Clancy's office bit by bit, with a headache severe enough that I had to put my face between my legs to avoid throwing up all over myself.

"They tried to kill you," I said, when I finally found my voice. "Who?"

"Who do you think?" Clancy's voice was dry. "That man was one of the Secret Service agents who were supposed to be guarding me."

"But that doesn't make any sense," I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut against the dizziness. "If they were carting you around and using you to explain the rehab program, then why...?"

"Because he figured out that I hadn't been rehabbed at all," he said. "My father, I mean. The only reason they let me out of Thurmond is because I made them think that I had been cured. But I got too ambitious. I tried to play my father by influencing him, and I got caught." Clancy trailed off for a moment. "He was worried that the truth about the camps would get out, I'm sure, but he couldn't just take me out of the public eye, not when he'd been the one to thrust me into it. No, I think in his mind, it was easier to just get rid of me altogether, before I could make trouble. I can only imagine what kind of spin he'd put on my murder to get back in the sympathetic graces of his fellow Americans."

I stared at him for a long while, speechless.

How did you survive that life? I wanted to ask. How are you you, and not the monster they would have turned you into?

"After I got out that night I met Hayes, and then Olivia, and then others. We found this place and went to work, and all the while my father couldn't put a bounty out on me, not without exposing the truth about me and his rehab program. He had to make up some lie about me attending college, to get the press off his back." Clancy smiled then. "So, you see, I did win in the end."

He rose from his chair, reaching out a hand. I took it without being conscious of it, feeling some calm wash over me as he squeezed my fingers. My head was silent. I felt myself lean forward.

"When I heard your story, I knew I had to meet you. I had to make sure that you knew the truth about what was going on, so you wouldn't be caught in the dark the way I was."

"The truth?" I looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"

Clancy didn't release my hand; he only sat on the edge of his desk in front of me. "The woman who broke you out of Thurmond-the League agent? What did she tell you about the White Noise they used that day?"

"That the camp controllers had embedded a frequency in it that only Oranges, Reds, and Yellows could detect," I said. He must have known about that-they used the same method to broadcast the location of the camp. "That they were trying to pick out any of the dangerous ones that were still hiding out."

Clancy released my hand and reached back to turn his laptop so it faced us. On the screen was a snapshot of my face on the morning they had brought us into camp, but the text beside it wasn't my history.

"Read the second paragraph aloud."

I looked up at him, confused, but did as he asked. "'Camp Controller Harris discovered the discrepancy in the Calm Control at 05:23 the following morning, after noticing an underlying frequency that had been added without his consent.'" I paused, licking my dry lips. "'Upon further investigation of the recording devices in the Mess Hall, he came to the conclusion that the outbreak of violence there that resulted in the use of the Calm Control at approximately 11:42 was directly provoked by undercover operatives from the terrorist group the Children's League. He believes these same operatives planted an identification frequency in the Calm Control. Psi subjects 3285 and 5312 who were taken from camp boundaries at approximately 03:34 by a Children's League operative, are now believed to have been mistakenly identified as Green upon their initial classification....'"

"Keep going," Clancy said, when my voice trailed off.

"'Subjects 3285 and 5312 are believed to be highly dangerous. Orders have been issued for their immediate recapture and reprocessing'-reprocessing?" My eyes flew up again. "But the way this is written...they didn't know...they didn't... Are you trying to tell me that they had no idea I was an Orange until after I got out?"

Clancy nodded. "It sounds that way."

"Then I wasn't in any danger after all? They wouldn't have killed me?"

"Oh, you were definitely in danger," he said. "They had all of the pieces, and it just took one curious mind to put it all together. But if you're asking whether or not you would have been caught if the League hadn't planted the frequency-then the answer to that is no, probably not."

"Then why did they do it?" I demanded. "It seems like a huge risk to take to only get a few kids."

"A few extremely valuable, rare kids," he corrected. "Kids that would have been killed otherwise."

Seeing my expression, he added, not unkindly, "You didn't really think they let any of the kids like us live, did you? Not Oranges. Yellows, yes, because their threat can be contained, but not Oranges."

I passed a hand over my face. "What about the Reds, then? They were killed, too?"

"No," Clancy said. His voice became quiet, hesitant. "They had a much worse fate."

I waited for him to continue, hands twisting in my lap.

"The president's classified program." Clancy crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back. "Project Jamboree. Dear old Dad's been training himself a special army using all of the Reds they took from the camps. So you can see why..." He cleared his throat. "You can see why the League would be interested in finding any particularly dangerous kids for their own."

I shook my head, dropping my face into my hands. Of all of the scenarios I had imagined-of all the things I thought had happened to those kids-this was too insane for me to have ever dreamed up.

"How could they force them into this?" I asked, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears. "Why did they agree?"

"What other choice do they have?" Clancy asked. "They were made to think that if they didn't cooperate, something would happen to their families. They underwent a special conditioning program to make them think that they were needed and cared for absolutely. Before my father and his advisers figured out I was influencing them, I was able to supervise enough of the program to ensure that they would be cared for-better than if they had been in camps, at least." He shook his head. "Don't be afraid for them. They'll get out from under my father's control one day."

And they're not dead, I thought; there's that.

"Ruby."

I looked up, feeling cold down to my guts.

"Let me show you what I know," he whispered, his other hand rising to brush the hair off my cheek. The clenched mass of nerves in my stomach eased at the touch, and I felt what few suspicions I had left about him unwinding. We were the same, in the ways that mattered. He wanted to help me, even though I had nothing to offer him in return.

"No one will be able to hurt you or change you if you can fight them off," he said, softly.

It wasn't depression that drove me forward-it wasn't even self-pity. It was a pure, distilled strand of hatred, weaving its way through my core. I thought the Slip Kid would be able to help me reclaim my old life, but now I knew that wasn't enough. I needed him to help me protect my future. When I spoke, my words burned the air between us.

"Teach me."

TWENTY-THREE.

JUST BECAUSE CLANCY had all that power, it didn't mean he actually used it. It was strange to me that someone who could influence the thoughts of others had been born with a personality that naturally drew people to him. I witnessed it firsthand, when he offered to give me a tour of the camp.

Clancy waved at the few kids in black around the fire pit. His presence sent a buzz through the air. Smiles bloomed on every face we passed, and there wasn't a single person that didn't wave at us or call out some kind of greeting, even if it was just a quick, "Yo!"

"Do you ever talk to any of them about what you've been through?" I asked.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, as if the question had startled him. I watched as he tucked his hands in the back pockets of his pants, his shoulders slumping with his thoughts.

"They've put their trust in me," he said, with a small, sad smile. "I don't want to worry them. They have to believe I can take care of them, otherwise our system wouldn't work."

This "system" was something else. It's one thing to carve the Psi symbol into the side of buildings and string up banners over porches, but to actually internalize the message?

My first true example of this came when the girl in charge of the camp's gardens stomped up to us on the main trail and demanded that Clancy punish three kids who she believed had been stealing fruit under her nose.

It took me two seconds of listening to Clancy talk the situation out to realize that the way of life at East River wasn't built on a foundation of hard and fast rules, but rested almost entirely on his good judgment and what everyone under him perceived to be fair.

The accused were three Green boys, only a few months out of Cubbies. The girl in charge of the Garden had left them sitting in the dark dirt like ducks in a row. Each wore black shirts, but their jeans were in different states of disarray. I stood off to the side as Clancy knelt in front of them, completely unbothered by the wet earth staining his own pressed pants.

"Did you steal that fruit?" Clancy asked gently. "Please tell me the truth."

The three boys exchanged looks. It fell on the larger one sitting in the middle to answer. "Yes, we did. We're very sorry."

I raised my brows.

"Thank you for being honest," Clancy said. "Can I ask you why?"

The boys were silent for a few minutes. Finally, through some coaxing, Clancy got the truth again. "Pete has been really sick and hasn't been able to come to meals. He didn't want anyone to know, because he thought he'd get in trouble for not coming to Cleaning Duty this week, and he-he didn't want to let you down. We're sorry, we're so sorry."

"I understand," Clancy said. "But if Pete is really sick, you should have told me."

"You said at the last camp meeting that the med stuff was low. He didn't want to take any medicine, in case someone else needed it."

"It sounds like he needs it, though, if he's too weak to come to meals," Clancy pointed out. "You know that when you take food from the garden, there's a chance that it could throw off the meals we have planned for everyone."

The boys nodded, looking miserable. Clancy looked up at the kids gathered around us and asked, "What would you like them to do in return for taking the fruit?"

The girl in charge opened her mouth, but an older boy stepped up and leaned the rake in his hands against the simple fence surrounding the garden. "If they're willing to help weed for a few days, a couple of us will take turns sitting with Pete and making sure he gets meals and medicine."

Clancy nodded. "That sounds fair. What does everyone else think?"

I thought the girl in charge was going to stamp her foot in anger when everyone else agreed on that "punishment." She was deeply unhappy with the outcome, if the red in her cheeks was any indication. "This isn't just a one-time problem, Clancy," she said, walking us out of the garden. "People think they can just come in here and take what they want, and it's not like we can lock it like the storeroom!"

"I promise I'll put it on the agenda at our camp meeting next month," Clancy said with one of his smiles. "It'll be right at the top of new business."

That seemed to satisfy her, at least for now. With one curious look flung in my direction, the Empress of Vegetables turned on her heel and marched back into her domain.

"Wow," I said, "she's a real gem."

He shrugged, absentmindedly fiddling with his right ear. "She has a valid point. If we start running low on food in the storeroom, we have to lean on the gardens, and if that's been picked over, we're in trouble. I think everyone here has come to understand how interconnected life is at East River. Hey-do you mind if I stop by and visit Pete?"

I smiled. "Of course not."

The little boy was buried under a mound of blankets-if the bare mattresses around it were any indication, the other boys had gladly donated theirs to his pile. When his flushed face finally emerged from the covers, I said hello and introduced myself. Clancy stayed to speak with him for a good fifteen minutes, but I waited outside in the fresh air, watching the comings and goings of the camp. Kids waved and smiled at me, like I had been there for years, not a few days. I waved back, something tightening in my chest. I don't know when it had dawned on me, or if it had been a slow, creeping realization, but I had begun to understand that black-the color that I had trained myself to fear and hate-was the same thing that allowed these kids to feel a small measure of pride and solidarity.

"You'll never feel alone here," Clancy said, shutting the cabin door behind him. We walked to the laundry building next, then made a stop by the wash houses to test the faucets and make sure the lights were still working. Every now and then, someone stopped Clancy to ask a question or air a complaint, but he was never anything other than patient and understanding. I watched him unravel a misunderstanding between cabin mates, take suggestions for dinner, and give his opinion on whether the security team needed more kids assigned to it.

By the time we reached the cabin that served as the Cubbies' classroom, I was dead on my feet. Clancy, however, was ready to give his weekly lesson on U.S. history.

The room was small and crowded, but well lit and decorated with colorful posters and drawings. I spotted Zu and her pink gloves even before I saw the teenage girl at the front of the room tracing a finger down the length of the Mississippi River on an old map of the United States. Hina sat next to Zu, of course, frantically scribbling down notes. I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me, but the kids actually cheered when Clancy appeared in the doorway. The girl relinquished the front of the room to him immediately.

"Alllll right, alllll right," Clancy began. "Who can tell me where we left off?"

"Pilgrims!" a dozen voices chimed in.

"Pilgrims?" he continued. "What are those? How about you, Jamie? Do you remember who the Pilgrims were?"

A girl about Zu's age sat straight up. "People in England were being mean to them because of their religion, so they sailed to America and landed at Plymouth Rock."

"Can anyone tell me what they did after they got there?"

About ten hands shot in the air. He picked a little boy close to him-he might have been a Green, but he could just as easily have been a Yellow or Blue. My usual method of distinguishing kids from one another was failing me now that we were all mixed together. Which, I suppose, was the point.

"They set up a colony," the boy answered.

"You got it. It was the second English colony, after the one set up in Jamestown in 1607-not too far from where we are now, actually!" Clancy picked up the map the teacher had been using and pointed out both places. "While they were on the Mayflower, they created the Mayflower Compact, which was an agreement that guaranteed everyone would cooperate and act in a way that would be beneficial to the colony. When they arrived, they faced a lot of hardships. But they all worked together and created a community where they were free from the English crown's rule and could practice their faith openly." He stopped pacing for a moment, casting his dark eyes out over his audience. "Sound familiar?"

Beside me, Zu was all wide eyes. I was sitting close enough to see the freckles on her face, but, more importantly, feel the happiness radiating off her. I felt my own heart lift. Hina leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and her smile only grew.

"Sounds like us!" someone called, from the back of the room.

"You bet," Clancy said, and talked for the next hour and a half about how the Pilgrims interacted with the native tribes, about Jamestown, about all the things my mother used to teach at her high school. And when he had used up all his time, he took a small bow and motioned for me to follow him outside amidst all the groans and complaints from the Cubbies. We were both still chuckling as we walked to the fire pit, where they were just starting to set up for dinner. I felt a number of eyes latch onto us immediately, but I didn't care. I actually felt a small thrill of pride.

"So?" Clancy said, as we stood beside the Office's porch, listening to the bells calling everyone to dinner. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm ready for my first lesson," I said.

"Oh, Miss Daly." A smile curled at the edges of his lips. "You already had your first lesson. You just didn't realize it."

Two weeks passed like a page tearing from an old book.

I spent so many hours of so many days locked inside Clancy's room, pushing images into his mind, blocking him from trying to do the same, talking about the League, Thurmond, and White Noise, that we both fell out of sync with the camp's schedule. He had his daily meetings, but instead of asking me to leave, he had me wait on the other side of the white curtain, where we were now conducting most of our practice sessions.

There were times he had to go out and inspect the cabins, or handle an argument, but I almost always stayed up in that musty old room. There were books and music and a TV at my disposal, which meant I never once had the opportunity to be bored.

I still saw Chubs at some of our meals, but Clancy often had food brought to us. Zu was even harder to track down, because when she wasn't in class, she was with Hina or one of the older Yellows. The only time I really spent with the two of them was at night, before the camp's lights were shut off. Chubs, more often than not, was a ghost-always working, looking for ways to catch Clancy's attention by stitching up the kid who'd split her lip or suggesting a more efficient way of harvesting the garden. The longest I sat with him was when he took out my stitches.

Zu, for her part, delighted in showing me what she had learned in school, and the tricks the other Yellows had taught her outside of it.

After a few days, she stopped wearing her gloves. It only really hit me one night, while she was brushing out my hair. I had pulled away to go switch off the lights, but she beat me to it-she snapped her fingers, and the overhead light blinked out.

"That's amazing," I gushed, but it would have been a terrible lie to say I didn't feel a pang of jealousy in how much progress she had made. I had only been able to block Clancy out of my mind once, and not before he had found out about what had happened to Sam.

"Interesting" had been his only comment.