Amy starts down the path toward the Recorder Hall, leaving me to go left, to search for rabbit holes when we both know Orion’s next clue is probably in whatever book she’s thinking of. She looks so . . . defeated, with her hood pulled up, her shoulders hunched, and her eyes on the ground.

“No.” I stride forward and in a few steps am by her side. I grab her by the elbow.

“No?” she asks.

“I know you’re still mad at me,” I start.

“No, not really—”

“You are, and that’s okay, I deserve it. And I know you’re trying to show how strong you are, to prove that you don’t need me, but there’s no reason for us to split up. You’re being stubborn. And listen.” I falter, and my voice drops. “I also know you’re not telling me something. And it’s fine—keep your secrets. But whatever it is that you’re not telling me scares you, and I’m not going to let you be scared and alone. So you’re sticking with me, and I’m sticking with you.”

Amy opens her mouth to protest.

“No arguments,” I say.

And for the first time in a long time, her smile reaches her eyes.

We visit the rabbit field first, even though I’m fairly sure Amy thinks we’ll find the answers in the Recorder Hall. We don’t talk after my outburst, but somewhere between the soy and the peanuts, we ease into a kind of mutual, friendly silence. It’s not awkward or weird or anything—we’re just strolling along the path next to each other.

The path narrows just before turning off to the rabbit field, and we both move toward the center at the same time. The back of my hand brushes hers. I snatch it away too quickly and shove it into my pocket, to make sure I don’t accidentally touch her again. When I glance down at Amy to see if she noticed, she glances up at me at the same time. She smiles, and I smile, and she bumps into my shoulder, and I bump into her shoulder, and we both sort of laugh without making a sound.

Then we see a rabbit hop across our path.

“That’s odd,” I say. “How did this one get loose?”

“The fence has been ripped down,” Amy says, pointing to where the flimsy chicken wire has been ripped from a post and trampled, leaving a gap in the fence wide enough for a man to just stroll through.

“Do you think something’s happened?” Amy whispers.

I don’t answer her. I don’t have to. The body sprawled out in the middle of the field is answer enough.

18

AMY

THE RABBIT FARM WAS WHERE I FIRST FELT HORROR. NOT fear—I’ve been scared many times in my life, both on this ship and on Earth. But I didn’t know horror until I looked into the eyes of the girl on the rabbit farm and realized that she was empty inside.

Now, when Elder rolls the body in the field over so we can see the face, I can see that, once again, the girl at the rabbit farm has empty eyes.