Layla weaves in and out of the creepily quiet students. The glances I get are so subtle that if I weren’t looking for them I would assume the other students didn’t even notice me. There’s none of the openmouthed new-kid ogling that goes on at my school.

I shiver. There’s something unsettling about this place, making me further question Dad’s decision to send me here. It feels like a test, a way for him to prove the point he’s always trying to make about me being too trusting. I can almost hear him saying: “Look, look at this place and tell me I’m not wrong—people always have something to hide.” The strange part is, even though we had our disagreements when it came to trusting people, underneath it all I got the sense that he was secretly proud that I looked for the best in everyone. Maybe I was wrong.

“Layla,” says a guy walking toward us, and I snap out of my thoughts. He looks remarkably like her, other than his height. Where she’s three inches shorter than me, he’s three inches taller. But they both have the same regal presence and the same pointed expression. “I’m surprised,” he continues. “I would have thought you’d be at the assessment office by now.” He winks at her.

Judging by his comment, it occurs to me she must have told him I was here early this morning. Either that, or they somehow knew I was coming, which worries me more. There’s no phone or Internet here for communicating, so the only way they could have known was if this was arranged days ahead of time, days before I knew myself.

“Extenuating circumstances.” Layla looks at me like I’m an unidentifiable cafeteria food. “Ash, this is November, my new roommate. November, Ash.”

“Layla with a roommate. Who would have thought this day would ever come?” He looks directly at me and I involuntarily take a step backward. There’s something about his gaze that makes me feel instantly exposed, as though he shined an unforgiving light on the pimple I was hoping no one would notice. Where Layla’s cold, he appears warm, and yet there’s nothing welcoming about his welcome.

“You didn’t have a roommate before me?” I ask. Blackwood did say there were only a hundred students and this school is huge, so it’s not surprising there might be singles. But it does seem like a lonely choice in this gray place.

“We’re not all suited for it,” Layla says, and it feels like a warning as much as an explanation.

“I imagine Layla’s taking good care of you?” Ash says before I can respond. The more he speaks, the more I notice the similarities he shares with Layla—the way they move their eyebrows, their strong cheekbones, and even the curve of their hairline.

“She’s an excellent tour guide,” I say. “But so far I’m a terrible tour-ee. I’m mostly badgering her with questions.” I pause, piecing together what little I know about him. “Is Ash short for…Ashai?”