The chair he’s not standing behind would put my back to the door. I don’t know if it’s a feng shui thing or not, but it’s always bugged me to sit with my back to an exit. However, there’s no way I’m going to sit in the seat he’s standing two inches behind. I glance around, and instead of choosing, I sit on the floor with my back against the wall where the chairs originally stood.

I don’t bother to explain my actions and he doesn’t ask. No “I gave you a choice” speech this time, either. He just jots down more notes.

After a moment, Conner hands me a piece of paper with eight squares of color on it. “Please mark each color with a number, one being your favorite and eight being your least favorite. No need to overthink it. Just choose which colors you enjoy the most.”

I stare at him. First all those odd questions, and now a color test?

Conner offers me a pen and a pencil.

I take the pencil and mark a 1 next to yellow and a 2 next to green. They remind me of the sun and the trees and are exactly the opposite of being in this gloomy gray building. I mark a 3 next to red and the pencil breaks in my hand; the entire point comes off. I look up at Conner, who is watching me carefully and without surprise. He makes no effort to offer me the pen or a different pencil.

Is he waiting to see if I’ll ask for help? Screw that. I stick the pencil in my mouth and bite into the wood. Then I pull bits of it off with my fingernails until the exposed lead forms a crude tip and I continue marking the colors. Conner watches my every move.

I stand up when I’m finished and hand it back to him.

He nods at the paper, like it’s telling him things he already knows. “You may go,” he says over his shoulder as he walks back to his desk.

“Can I ask you something?” I say. “Was that food you offered me okay to eat?”

Conner turns around and pulls a small vial of something from his blazer. “The antidote,” he says, and smiles.

I stare at him in horror. I figured the food might be part of the assessment, but I didn’t actually predict that the guy who’s been charged with making sure I acclimate here was going to poison me.

He takes a seat at his desk. “And now you must go,” he says. “I have a schedule to keep.”

I grab the door latch. I can’t get out of his office fast enough.

I RUN MY fingertips along the cold, uneven stone walls as I follow Layla down the stairs in silence. I asked her about the seat choice and the pencil thing, but she only asked me what actions I took. Which in turn had me wondering what information I would be giving away if I told her. So I shut up.