“We need to avoid the windows,” he says, shifting our conversation. “And don’t turn on any lights. Let’s get our searching done before the sun sets.”

“Definitely,” I say, aware of the time restrictions. I drop the false bottom back into place and close my drawer.

“What can you tell me that will help me search?” he asks, and I scan my room, trying to figure out how to explain to him what could qualify as unusual in my house.

“The way you were just looking at my room…,” I start. “It seems haphazard and messy to you, doesn’t it?”

“It seems lived-in,” Ash says, and there is something in his voice that almost sounds like longing.

“But I’m willing to bet it’s also not the typical bedroom for a Strategia. You keep your space sparse and meticulous, right?” I ask.

“I do. But how do you know that?”

“Because my dad does the same thing. His room is like walking into a stage set. And after seeing how everyone behaved at the Academy—so structured, so exact—it makes sense. So why don’t you start in my dad’s bedroom? You’ll probably understand it better than any other room in the house. Look for anything that might be a message to me. Dad always had a thing for making me search out my birthday presents. So whatever the message is, it’s probably a puzzle.”

Ash nods and leaves me to my bedroom. For a second I just stand there, nostalgic for my once-normal life. I move to the silver jewelry box on my dresser, which was my mom’s, and pull out her gold ring that looks like knobby bark with delicate leaves. I slip it on my pointer finger and sigh. There is no time for me to go through my special things one by one the way I want to. There is just no time, period.

I begin to pace, focusing on the task at hand and trying to remember everything that happened from the time Dad told me about the school until the moment we walked out the door with my duffel bag. My thoughts immediately go to the popcorn bowl and I move quickly into the living room. He left everything exactly as it was. No one but me would know if something changed…no one but me. I scan the room.

Next to the bowl is the open magazine I was reading, exactly where I plopped it down when my dad said we needed to talk. The blanket is draped haphazardly where I tossed it before packing. The matches he used to light the fire lie open on the mantel. The area rug is in its place. The furniture is the same. There is just as much wood stacked near the fireplace as there was when we left.