Charlotte's eyes went wide. "You're even crazier than I thought," she gasped.

For a moment, Kate thought about hurting her. Seriously hurting her. Not because it would serve some purpose, just because it would feel really, really good. But getting expelled would negate everything she'd done to get here.

He'll ship you out of Verity. One way. For good.

"When the headmaster hears about this-"

"He won't," said Kate, resting the knife against Charlotte's cheek. "Because you're not going to tell him." She said it in the same way she said everything: with a quiet, even voice.

She'd seen a documentary once, on cult leaders, and the traits that made them so effective. One of the most important features was a commanding presence. Too many people thought that meant being loud, but in truth, it meant someone who didn't need to be loud. Someone who could command an audience without ever raising their voice. Kate's father was like that. She'd studied him, in the slivers of time they'd had together, and Callum Harker never shouted.

So neither did Kate.

She loosened her fingers on Charlotte's throat, just a little, and brought the knife to the medallion hanging against the girl's uniform shirt, tapping the engraved V casually with her blade. "I want you to remember something, Charlotte Chapel." She leaned in. "That pendant may protect you from the monsters, but it won't protect you from me."

The bell rang, and Kate pulled back, flashing her best smile. The knife disappeared into the lighter and her hand fell away from the girl's throat. "Run along now," she said icily. "You wouldn't want to be late."

Charlotte clutched her bruised throat and scrambled out of the bathroom.

Kate didn't follow. She went to the sink, washed her hands again, and smoothed her hair. For an instant, she met her reflection's gaze, and saw another version of herself behind the stormy blue, one who belonged to a different life, a softer world. But that Kate had no place here.

She took a long breath, rolled her neck, and went to class, confident she'd made a solid first impression.

VII.

August was supposed to be in gym.

Or at least, every other junior was supposed to be in gym, and probably was, but thanks to a health condition-asthma, according to his file-he'd been granted a study hall instead.

August did not have asthma. What he did have were four hundred and eighteen uniform lines running the length of one arm and starting to wrap around his back and chest, and Henry was worried that they would draw attention.

So instead, August was in study hall. Or at least, he had been. He imagined a study hall might come in handy, but it being the first day of school, he had nothing to study, so he'd asked the monitor if he could go to the bathroom, and never came back.

Now he was standing outside the ID office.

On the way there, he'd tried to think up an excuse for not wanting his photo taken-he'd read once about a tribe that believed being photographed would steal their soul-but in the end he didn't need an out.

The office was empty. The lights were on, and when he tried the handle, the door was unlocked. August looked around nervously, then stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him. The ID form was still up on the computer screen, and he typed in his details: Frederick Gallagher, 16, junior, 5' 10", black hair, gray eyes.

An empty rectangle sat waiting to the right of the information. August knew what it was for. He swallowed and hit the delayed action photo button, then stepped in front of the pale backdrop, just like he'd seen the other students do. He looked straight into the camera lens and the flash went off. August blinked the light from his eyes and held his breath as he rounded the counter, but his heart sank when he saw the photo on the screen. His expression was a little too vacant, but his face had almost all the right components-jawline, mouth, nose, cheekbones, hair. An ordinary boy ... except his eyes. Where August's eyes should be, there was only a smudge of black. As if someone had drawn his face in charcoal and then smeared it.

Sunai, Sunai, eyes like coal, sang a voice in his head. His stomach twisted.

Retake? prompted the computer.

He clicked yes. This time he didn't look straight at the camera, but just above it. No luck. The same dark smudge still obscured his gaze. August tried again and again and again, each time cheating his eyes a fraction to the left or the right, high or low, the smudge of black shifting, sometimes thinning, but always there. His vision filled with dots of light, a dozen flashes every time he blinked. The last take stared back at him from the screen, his eyes obscured by the same black streak, but a small, frustrated crease visible in his brow. He shouldn't have bothered, should have known it wouldn't work, but he'd hoped ... for what?

A chance to play at being human? chided his brother's voice.

Sing you a song and steal your soul.

He shook his head.

Bang.

Too many voices.

Retake? prompted the computer.

August's finger hovered over no, but after a moment, he clicked yes. One more time. He stepped in front of the screen, took a deep breath, and readied himself for the inevitable flash, the disappointment of a final failed attempt. But the flash never came. He heard the digital click of the camera, but the light must have glitched. He crossed to the screen, heart thumping, and looked.

His breath caught.

The boy on the screen was standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn't looking at the camera. His eyes were half-lidded, his head turned away, the faintest blur to his edges, a picture snapped midmotion. But it was him. No black streak. No empty gaze.

August exhaled a shuddering breath, and clicked print, and a minute later the machine spat out his ID. He stared at the image for several long seconds, transfixed, then pocketed the card, and slipped out of the office just as the bell rang for lunch. He was halfway to his locker when a voice called his name. Well, Freddie's name.

He turned to find Colin, flanked by a boy on one side and a girl on the other. "Alex and Sam, this is Freddie," he said by way of introduction. "Freddie, Alex and Sam."

August wasn't sure which one was Alex and which was Sam.

"Hey," said one of them.

"Hey," echoed the other.

"Hello," said August.

Colin swung an arm around his shoulder, which was hard to do considering he was a full six inches shorter. August tensed at the sudden contact, but didn't pull away. "You look lost."

August started to shake his head, when Colin cut him off.

"You hungry?" he asked cheerfully. "I'm starving, let's get some lunch."

"... gives me the creeps."

"... party this weekend ..."

"... such an asshole."

"... Jack and Charlotte an item?"

August stared down at his half-eaten food.

The cafeteria was loud-much louder than he'd expected-the constant clatter of trays and laughter and shouts as staccato as gunfire, but he tried not to think about that and instead focused on the green apple he was rolling between his hands. Apples were his favorite food, not because of the way they tasted, but because of how they felt. The cool, smooth skin, the solid weight. But he could feel Sam-that was the girl, it turned out-watching him, so he brought the apple to his mouth and bit down, fighting back a grimace.

August could eat, but he didn't enjoy it. The act wasn't repulsive. It was just ... people talked about the decadence of chocolate cake, the sweetness of peaches, the groan-inducing pleasure of a good steak. To them, every food was an experience.

To August, it all tasted the same. And it all tasted like nothing.

"That's because it's people food," Leo would say.

"I'm a person," he'd say, tensing.

"No." His brother would shake his head. "You're not."

August knew that he meant, You're more. But it didn't make him feel like more. It made him feel like an impostor.

Now, the way other people felt about food, that's how August felt about music. He could savor each note, taste the melody. The thought made his tallies prickle, his fingers ache for the violin. Across the table, Colin was telling a story. August wasn't listening, but he was watching. As Colin talked, his face went through an acrobatic procession of expressions, one folding into the next.

August took a second bite, chewed, swallowed, and set the apple down.

Sam leaned forward. "Not hungry?"

Before August could show her the half-eaten contents of his bag, Colin cut in.

"I'm always hungry," he said with his mouth full. "Like, always."

Sam rolled her eyes. "I've noticed."

The boy, Alex, speared a piece of fruit. "So, Frederick," he said, emphasizing every syllable in the name. "Colton doesn't get a lot of new blood. You get thrown out of one of the other academies?"

"I heard she got kicked out," whispered Colin. He didn't have to say who.

"That's not the only reason people change schools," said Sam, turning to Alex. "Just because you got tossed-"

"It was a voluntary transfer!" said Alex, turning his attention back to August. "Well? Expulsion? Transfer? Bang a teacher?"

"No," he answered automatically, and then, slower, "I was homeschooled."

"Ah, no wonder you're so quiet."

"Alex," said Sam, angling a kick under the table, "that's rude."

"What? I could have said 'weird.'"

Another kick.

"It's okay," said August, managing a smile. "I'm just not used to so many people."

"Where do you live?" asked Colin around a mouthful of pasta.

August took another bite of apple, using it to force down the words rising in his throat. In those stolen seconds, he sorted through his lines, trying find the right truth. "Near the Seam," he answered.

"Damn," said Alex, whistling. "In the red?"

"Yeah," said August slowly, "but it's North City, so ..."

"It's only scary if you don't have a medal," added Colin, tapping the embossed pendant around his neck.

Sam was shaking her head. "I don't know. I've heard bad things happen in the red. Even to those with Harker's protection."

Alex shot a look across the cafeteria. "Don't let her hear you say that. She'll tell her dad."

Colin shrugged, and started talking about a concert-the boy's mind seemed to jump around even more than his-but August followed Alex's gaze. Katherine was sitting alone at a table, but she didn't look lonely. In fact, there was a small, defiant smile on her lips. As if she wanted to be alone. As if the fact people avoided her was a badge. August didn't get it.

"You want to come, Freddie?"

He watched as she picked at her food in a slow disinterested way, as she drew a metallic nail around the edge of her pendant, as she got to her feet.

"Freddie?"

The current of the cafeteria shifted with the movement, eyes drifting her way. But she didn't seem to mind. She kept her head up as she dumped the tray and walked out.

"He's not even listening."

August's attention snapped back. "Sorry, what?"

"Concert, Saturday, you want to come?"

"None of us are going," Sam cut in, sparing August from having to answer. "Because there's a curfew, Colin. And it's practically in the Waste!"

"And we don't want to die," added Alex in a gross exaggeration of Sam's tone. He flailed his arms as he said it.

"My mom would skin me," said Sam, ignoring the impersonation.

"Not if a Corsai did it first," teased Alex. Sam gave him a horrified look and punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"I just think," said Colin, leaning across the table, "that life is short, you know?" His tone was soft, conspiratorial. He had a way of making August feel like he wasn't new, like he'd been there all along. "You can't spend it afraid."

August found himself nodding, even though he spent most of his time afraid. Afraid of what he was, afraid of what he wasn't, afraid of unraveling, becoming something else, becoming nothing.

"Yeah," cut in Alex, "life is short, and it will be a hell of a lot shorter if you go wandering at night ..."

Colin's mouth quirked. "Freddie's not afraid of monsters, are you?"

August didn't know how to answer that. He didn't have to.