He jumped to his feet, stared at the door as if he did it long enough he’d magically see through the wooden slab. Keisha stirred from her position on the opposite wall, rubbing her eyes, still asleep. Newt didn’t want her to wake up. He couldn’t explain why. Against every instinct that screamed at him from the human depths of his former, rational, reasonable mind, he ran to the door and ripped it open, not bothering with a small crack to see who their intruder might be. Even more irrationally, before he could see who’d come inquiring, he stepped out of the cabin and closed the door behind him. The paramount goal of his life appeared to be letting Keisha and Dante sleep, a notion that made as little sense as his actions.

He’d surprised the knocker at their door, a shadow of a person who’d taken several steps backward at his appearance. When the door clicked shut, a silence like the vacuum of outer space overtook the trees and open areas surrounding them. There was no wind, no insects, no rambunctious owls or other nocturnal creatures, no voices, nothing. Newt said the first thing that popped in his head, whispering with conspiratorial angst.

“It was empty. We can leave if we need to. We don’t want any trouble.”

More silence. Newt was emerging from the grogginess of sleep, felt refreshed but mortally hungry. His stomach growled, the first sound since he’d spoken. Staring at the dark figure before him, he decided to wait it out, use patience as a weapon. A solid minute passed.

“Is it true?” the stranger whispered, the harsh, gravelly voice of a man who seemed to have chunks of rock stuck in his throat.

Newt didn’t know what he’d expected—maybe a raging Crank who stabbed him as Newt heroically fought him off, even as he took his last breath, to save the kid—but someone asking him if it’s “true” was not on the list. He decided on a little more patience and didn’t respond.

“Well, is it?” The stranger was not one for proper introductions and the exchange of pleasantries.

“Is what true?” Newt finally asked, rather needlessly, he thought.

“Are you... ya know. One of them?” The bloke desperately needed to clear his throat or get emergency surgery.

A testy annoyance overwhelmed Newt’s curiosity. “Can you please just ask me whatever it is you’re wanting to ask me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Sorry.” An apology was yet another thing Newt hadn’t expected—the man was full of surprises. “It’s just a rumor that’s running wild all over the Palace. I had to know. I... have reasons. Are you one of the kids that WICKED has been testing? You wanna talk about rumors—there’re all kinds of rumors about that, now.”

Newt felt a chill. His entire hopes for safety in this place had depended on anonymity, staying quiet, off the beaten path. He also had no idea that the general public knew about the things WICKED had been doing to him and his friends.