He sounds like he expects all of us to follow his lead, and by the looks of it, he might be right. Logan and Leah are already walking toward their wing, and at Hunter’s command, the others begin to spread out too.

Emerson clears their throat. “We should wash our hands first.” We all turn to them, and they swallow hard. “You know, just in case.”

Maverick narrows his eyes and takes a step in their direction. “You think we might be sick?” A whole, complicated range of emotions passes over his face. From confusion to fear to disgust. It makes the lines of his face look harder.

“I don’t know,” they say. “But I don’t want to risk it.”

My shoulders drop.

“Do you think it’ll help?” one of the other boys asks.

“I don’t know that either.”

Emerson’s words fall heavy in the silence around us. Three boys of Hunter’s crew exchange glances. Logan steps closer to Leah and reaches for her unharmed hand.

“But we should try,” Emerson adds, as an afterthought.

Hunter unexpectedly graces them with a smile. “New kid has the right idea. Wash up. Wake the rest of those rejects. We’ll meet in the recreation room in fifteen.”

I lean a hand against the wall and use that to keep myself upright as I walk back to my room.

* * *

The last time I stumbled through the hallways of Hope with my head pounding and bruises all over was an initiation night too. Mine. I wasn’t saved by the end of the world. I let Hunter and his friends beat me, and it was vicious and measured and purposeful. I answered their curious questions and their invasive questions, and no one put a stop to any of it. It was part of life at Hope as much as the unannounced room inspections, the schoolbooks that were held together with tape, and the days in solitary.

That night, when I stumbled back out of the recreation room and began to learn how to avoid the guards, Casey waited for me in my room. He wasn’t a threat. Not quite a friend yet either. Simply Casey, who, on my first day, set his lunch plate at my table and claimed the seat next to mine, like it was the first day of high school instead. Casey, who wanted to make sure I was okay.

When I get back to my room now, I’m not okay, and there’s no one waiting for me. I’m shivering. It’s almost as chilly here as it was outside, and when I wash my hands and the cut across my eyebrow, the water is near freezing. At least the cold numbs the pain.

I press a wet washcloth against my face. Does Casey feel safer here? Do any of the others? Or am I the weird one out?

I set my jaw. I pull on an extra shirt and walk to the recreation room, where I’m surrounded by yawns and confusion, and Hunter’s crew acts like they’re the traffic wardens of Hope, rushing everyone until we’re all gathered. Counting us in.