Do you want to join me in the next word? Okay, everyone all together now:

Again.

It wasn’t like the other times, when we had to mobilize our forces and piece together clues and leap out into the air on a rescue mission.

This time, we only had to read the note.

Dear Flock and Max and Dr. Martinez and Jeb and Dylan,

You guys are wrong about Dr. Hans. He wants to help us, and for us to be the best we can be. You don’t trust him because you don’t trust anybody. But I want to be more powerful. I want to know what he’s working on. I’ve gone to work with him. Please don’t follow me. Things will only get messy if you do.

Love,

Angel

P.S. I just want to remind you that Fang’s time is about up. Him being there puts the rest of the flock in danger. I’m sorry, Fang.

Chapter 68

68

“CAN’T WE PUT a boot on her, like a little car?” Gazzy asked, rubbing his hair in frustration so that it stood straight up.

“Yeah, maybe we should start locking her in at night,” I said wryly.

“Could she have been … kidnapped?” my mom asked.

We all quickly looked around. There was no sign of disturbance; everything was still locked. And the note was in Angel’s handwriting.

“No, I think she decided to go,” I said. “As much as I wish that weren’t true.”

“What does she mean about Fang’s time being up?” Jeb asked.

“She said that in Africa,” said Nudge. “She said Fang was gonna die.”

“Die?” My mom’s eyes widened.

“She was just trying to get attention,” said Fang. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

I suddenly had a thought, one of those awful thoughts that you hate right away and yet you can’t ever unthink it. I felt my heart start to pound as I stood up.

“Fang? Let me see the back of your neck.”

Those of us who graduated from (or, I should say, escaped from) the School have expiration dates, like milk. We first noticed them on some Erasers, after they had … expired. Dates, like little tattoos, showed up on the backs of their necks. They seem to become visible about a week, maybe less, before the built-in expiration gene kicks in. Do we have long, full lives ahead of us, or are we living on borrowed time? No clue. It makes retirement planning, like, impossible.

Fang stood up. In the past year he’d gotten taller than I was, so I had to stand on tiptoe a bit to see his neck. I didn’t want to look — didn’t want to know. I couldn’t even let myself think of what it would mean if I saw a date there.