Someone else. First the girl in the rabbit fields. And now, whoever was killed in the City.

I have to figure out what Orion’s clues mean. He hasn’t told me what choice I’ll have to make or what he’s ultimately leading me to, but it can’t be worse than the rage and fear and anger that’s going to keep growing until the people pull the ship apart—especially once they learn the ship’s not even moving.

I bite my lip, thinking. Orion knew this would happen. He had this planned from the start, from the moment he pulled me back out of the cryo chamber. Whatever secret he’s kept, he knew we’d need it now.

So why the hell did he give me such a confusing clue? Go home? What does he mean by that? Doesn’t he realize that I don’t have a home anymore?

The elevator doors slide open, and I go straight to cryo chambers 40 and 41, just as I have every morning for the last three months. Then I pull out my parents and sit down on the ground. It’s not like they can give me answers, but if I focus my eyes on their frozen faces, maybe I can focus my mind on Orion’s puzzle. Just as I start to sift through my muddled thoughts, though, the elevator dings.

My heart drops.

Someone’s coming.

My first thought: Elder. But no. He’s in the City.

My second thought: My parents. I jump up and slam them back into their cryo chambers, my heart racing. The doors to their chambers click closed just as the elevator doors slide open.

Victria.

“What are you doing here?” I snarl. I shouldn’t—there’s no reason for me to act like that—but I’m on edge.

Victria doesn’t bother answering me—she gives me one quelling look, then strides straight across the room to the genetics lab.

When she reaches the door, I call out, “It’s locked.”

Victria doesn’t bother turning around. She just runs her thumb over the biometric scanner, types in the password, and walks straight into the lab.

“Hey!” I say, jumping from the table. “How did you do that?”

I jog over to the lab door. Victria leans against the workbench where Eldest and Doc used to store DNA/RNA replicators.

“How did you know the password?” I ask. “And how did you get past the biometric scanners? The only ones who can unlock this door are Elder, Doc, and some of the Shippers.”

“And you.” She says this as if it was an accusation. It’s true—but I don’t bother to reply to her sneer. Instead, I wait for her explanation. “Elder gave me access more than a month ago,” she admits.

“He . . . did?”