“Pigpen ciphers,” she says, setting the book on the table, “are a series of grids and dots based on the ciphers used by the Knights Templar in the twelfth century…”

She shows me the Templar cipher system of shapes arranged around the Maltese Cross and what letter each shape corresponds to. “Commit this to memory, and you’ll have the basis for breaking many substitution ciphers.”

“There’s no letter J,” I notice.

“Very observant.” Pressing her lips together, she nods. “The letter J didn’t exist when this was created—it came later, in the sixteenth century. One of the ways you can recognize a Templar cipher is that it only has twenty-five symbols.”

“It’s going to be impossible to learn all of this.” I sigh.

“You’ll get it.” Allard pats my shoulder. “We’ll take it a little piece at a time. All I ask is that you try.”

Sitting at the table, I start memorizing the ancient symbols. I’m grateful for a focus for my thoughts, but I can’t shake my weird reaction to Garrett-the-Energy-Boy that had me tingling a few minutes ago. Maybe it was fear of being recognized. It’s probably best to keep my distance. From everyone.

Loneliness descends, but I bury it, concentrating on the codes that are probably destined to be my only friends.

Chapter Four

September 20X5, Keystone

Three Months Later…

The pain is an ever-present ache that pricks the corners of my mind, but these days the debilitating waves of grief knock me off my feet less often. Routine has become my lifeline. I’ve been focusing hard, waking at dawn to study decoding, ciphers, Morse code, lock picking, escape, and evasion. Breaking only for meals, I’ve collapsed in bed exhausted every night. The distraction, along with Allard’s kindness, has made life bearable. Keystone has become familiar, if not yet home, and today I nervously greet the returning Disconnects, uncertain if I’m prepared to enter their ranks, dreading the inevitable disruption to my new life.

After entering the Lodge through a trapdoor in the forest floor, I walk through a tunnel until I emerge in the pine-scented room through the back of a rock fireplace. I’m the first to arrive, and I cross the stone floor, taking a seat in the last row of cane-back chairs that face a small stage. Slouching, I pray I go unrecognized as my fellow trainees file in. They appear, clustered in twos and threes, wearing boxy green jumpsuits like mine, chattering about their summers. I examine them from under my bangs. How am I ever going to fit in? As a homeschooled only child, it’s always been hard for me to act like kids my own age. Deena was my only friend until I was sixteen, and even with her guidance I felt like a misfit. But at least I knew how to talk like an Influencer. Disconnect kids are a total mystery. And clearly they all know one another. I must stick out. My cheeks burn like I’m lit by a spotlight, though nobody acknowledges me.