He smiles thinly and mumbles something to his friend Reid, who laughs.

I nudge Leah, and when she sees what I’m looking at, she shakes her head. “New kid’s going to get a reminder of who owns these hallways too.”

I frown. Technically, the state does. Or Better Futures, the private company that controls Hope. It’s where the none-too-subtle name comes from too. Hope for Better Futures. But if you ignore that, it’s Hunter and his friends. And they have hungry smiles.

I hate it.

I take a step closer to Leah, and she reaches for my hand again, her fingers brushing mine. “Keep your head down,” she whispers.

I do.

This is a part of the routine too. The guards flexing their muscles. Hunter and his friends showing theirs. Leah told me the best thing anyone here can do is not draw attention to themselves.

Eventually, the guards release Emerson, and the tension in the cafeteria fades slightly. Everyone is ready to return to breakfast, until one of the guards throws a last comment in Emerson’s direction, and Emerson flinches.

A girl a few places in line behind us sighs heavily. “They are nonbinary, and their pronouns are they and them.” Her voice echoes in the quiet room.

When I turn, I see it’s Grace Richardson, from the south wing. She rolls her eyes and picks up her tray again, though she must know what’s coming. She is at Hope for aggravated assault. I believe she did it too. She’s been here longer than Leah and me, longer than pretty much anyone, and she intimidates me.

Leah groans. “Come on, I want to eat.”

A moment later, Grace’s tray clatters on the floor when the guards grab her and pull her out of the line. Emerson stands forgotten, and they do the smartest thing they can—they fade into the background.

One of the guards who grabbed Grace shoves the line forward to get us all moving again, and I nearly get pushed off my feet. “Eyes forward!” he says. “You won’t get any extra time to eat.”

That’s enough of a threat to get everyone focused on breakfast again, but I wish I could ignore the sounds of the struggle going on behind me. Grace’s tray as it screeches across the floor. The guards’ angry grunts when Grace struggles—and her muffled compliance once they’ve cuffed her. By the time Leah and I have gathered our breakfast, the guards have dragged Grace out of the cafeteria.

* * *

“She tried to help,” I sign at Leah, once we’ve sat at our table. “She didn’t do anything. She corrected them.”

Leah stabs at her pancakes. “The guards don’t like making mistakes. And they like it even less when someone points those mistakes out to them.”

I take a bite of chewy cereal. I don’t like the texture but being hungry is worse. “It makes no sense.”

She shrugs. “I know.”

“Are you like, psychic or something?” The voice comes from close behind me, and I swirl around.