Why me?

I’m not Ester, who’s descended from one of the school’s founders. My family isn’t rich or powerful or famous. The Dakkars have been at HP for generations, yes, but so have a lot of families. I’m not the only one in the group who may have lost a sibling in the attack, either. Brigid Salter’s brother is—was a junior. Kay Ramsay had a sister a year older than us. Brigid and Kay look like a gentle breeze would be enough to make them both topple right now, but neither of them has a bodyguard.

Dr. Hewett sits in the front row, staring at his control pad. The sweat blotches on his dress shirt have expanded into alien continents.

I can only hope his drones find survivors at HP.

I had no luck texting Dev. That doesn’t surprise me. The whole area is still a cellular black hole, but I had to try. Now Hewett has confiscated our phones and locked them in a strongbox, which makes me feel like I’m trying to function with one arm duct-taped behind my back.

Hewett assures us his drones will alert local emergency services. I keep waiting for ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks to scream past us on the way to HP. This is the only road they could take. So far, nothing. The school is so isolated that unless Hewett calls the authorities, it could be hours before anyone notices a giant chunk of the countryside has disappeared into the sea.

I have been fearing an attack like this for two years.

Then why didn’t he warn us?

Maybe it’s a coincidence that two years ago, my parents died on a scientific expedition for Harding-Pencroft. A tragic accident, the administrators told us. Whenever I asked for details—why Tarun and Sita Dakkar were on that expedition for HP, what they were looking for—the faculty at HP seemed to get selective amnesia. I assumed they were trying to spare my feelings, letting me work through my grief with Dr. Francis.

Now I’m not so sure.

I have a sudden image of Amelia Leahy, my house captain, Dev’s girlfriend, lounging in the sunlit quad this morning. She smiled and wished me good luck.

Amelia was so excited about graduating. She had big plans: the US Marine Corps, fast-track to comm school at Twentynine Palms. In her five years at HP, she’d learned twelve languages. She could break linguistic codes that stumped our professors. Her goal was to become the youngest intelligence commander in corps history. Now she’s gone.

I try to keep the oxygen going in and out of my lungs. I’m not doing a great job with it.

I start to cry. I’m shaking with anger. Why is it that I can keep myself together when thinking about Dev, but I break down at the thought of his girlfriend dying? What is wrong with me?

“Hey, babe…” Nelinha rests a hand on my shoulder. She doesn’t seem sure of what else to say. She just hands me a pack of tissues.