That must be why he’s started being nice to me—or at least nicer, compared to before. Because while I’ve been discovering new Chinese words on this trip, Cyrus Sui has discovered a new little emotion called guilt.

Anger rushes down my throat, vicious and stronger than the taste of chocolate. He doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to ruin my life and then attempt to assuage his conscience by offering me a few free snacks and vague sentences. Not after all those times I sobbed myself to sleep after I was expelled, all the dirty looks my classmates shot at me across the room, all the lunches I spent eating alone.

I don’t care how guilty he feels. It’ll never be enough, not without me getting my revenge.

* * *

It’s almost midnight by the time we stagger into our new hotel in Anhui Province.

“I’m so tired I feel seasick, which doesn’t make sense because we’re on land,” Oliver says with a groan, slouching against the side of the elevator, his head rested against the digital signage offering special discounts on massages. I would pay double the price for a massage right this moment.

“I’m so tired it sounds like someone’s whistling off-tune in my ear,” Sean complains.

“Oh, sorry—that was me,” Lydia says, yawning. “I like to whistle to keep myself awake.”

I’m so tired I don’t have the strength to say anything. My eyes are almost as heavy as the bags weighing down on my shoulders, and my knees keep wobbling, even though I’m standing still. When the elevator arrives on the eleventh floor with a shrill ding, I’m ready to doze off in the middle of the corridor.

“Come on,” Daisy says, tugging at my arm. She looks more alert than any of us. But then, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her not alert before; it’s like she’s constantly braced for something to happen, even if she doesn’t know what. “You can shower first.”

I shake my head. Remember how to open my mouth. “You always offer for me to shower first. You go. It takes thirty minutes just to blow-dry my hair.”

We walk past countless identical doors, the sound of our rolling suitcases muffled by the maze-patterned carpet, until at last we reach our room. Daisy swipes our key card, the tiny light flashing green before letting us in, and I half drag, half kick my luggage through the entrance. I feel a little seasick too—or at least like I’m tipsy, the beige walls swaying around me. I seem to be moving on autopilot as I tug off my boots, grab a new bottle of water from the bedside table, downing half of it in a few gulps, and sink onto the couch by the balcony.