I tried on the scrubs. They were a bit baggy, but the elastic waist kept them up. I had to keep adjusting the top to stop it from slipping down one shoulder or the other. But the shoes were the right size once I put the socks on. I could run in these shoes. I tried it out, running from one wall to the other, back and forth, back and forth, until I realized I was sweating up my new clothes.

“Be presentable, French. Be presentable,” I repeated. I stripped down to my socks and underwear and folded the garments, placing them on my pillow, then made my bed without the blanket and went right back to running. I had to get in shape. Outside, you had to be quick, both in your body and in your mind. It was never one or the other. One or the other slowed you down enough to get caught. Like I had been, like I still was.

The rest of the day was for sit-ups and thinking. By the time I fell asleep under my still-damp blanket, I thought I might just be ready.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

First there were tests: sense-based tests, reaction time tests, math tests, which I was sure I’d failed, and physical stamina tests. I must have run on the treadmill for an hour before it slowed to a halt. Then I was put in a small room no bigger than a closet and exposed to extreme temperatures that almost broke me—so cold I could have snapped my hair in two, if I’d still had any, then so hot I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I was never given any feedback.

“I did okay?” I asked the man in a full hazmat suit who handed me dry scrubs to change into after the closet torture. He didn’t even bother to nod.

“Okay, then, I’ll take that as an A plus, if it’s all the same to you,” I shouted after him as he walked away with my sweat-soaked clothes held out from his body.

After that, I was escorted down endless hallways and left to sit in a meeting room like the one where I’d talked with Mitch before I knew he was Mitch…which was before I knew he wasn’t Mitch at all. The blinds were open, and sunlight poured in over the empty top of the desk. I wasn’t restrained, and for a minute, I thought I should try some of the drawers, maybe open the laptop sitting in the corner. But what if there were cameras in here? Maybe this was just another test. So I folded my hands on my lap and sat still. The door opened behind me.

“Stand up,” a woman’s voice commanded.

I stood, not turning to look.

She walked around my chair and took her seat behind the desk. She opened the laptop and began typing. Still I remained standing. She wore a black suit with a slim tie. Her red hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She wore no jewelry, no accessories other than the dark tie.