“The only thing I’ve thought about since I was ten years old was finding my dad. We got separated, and he told me to meet him at the Farm—he promised—but he wasn’t there. Not because he got arrested or killed or in some kind of memory-wiping accident, but simply because he didn’t show up. Do you have any idea what that feels like? When your whole world decides you’re just not worth the extra gas of turning the car around? When you learn your life is a lie from strangers who pity you, but not enough to keep you?”

“Listen, he sounds terrible,” I said. “But if you find and keep that key, you’ll forfeit the deal, and they will send you back Downstairs. You’ve already worked your way up from the Downstairs once, Cal. Even you can’t survive another round. They will break you; they will make you drink the water. They will make you forget all of this. Just like me, you will forget who you are. And for what? Some story your dad told you? You have to know that’s all it is. He was a liar.”

Cal shook her head, but I went on.

“You’re so close—we’re so close. We can get out, start over. He ruined your life once, but you’ve got to let it go. You’re not the only person in Hell with a mean dad.”

My voice shook as I spoke, and I realized I hadn’t said a truer word in longer than my body could remember. Sincerity was like a foreign antibody. Or perhaps it was a vaccine. I could feel it coursing through my veins, making me sick as it made me better.

“There is no ‘out,’ Pey. Not with some magic key, not with ritualistic scars, not even with your supersecret loophole. Even if you do somehow cheat the system, you’ll never be out, not for long. This is who you are. This is where you wind up.”

“That may be true,” I said, my hands out. I wanted to touch her, but I didn’t know how, so I settled for touching the air around her. “But I have to at least try. And you can too. Please don’t sacrifice yourself for him.”

Cal laughed.

“Do you call it a sacrifice when you spit out the pit?”

She held up her tablet’s light to the next nameplate and slapped the wall in victory.

“I know my purpose,” she said. “If you still feel like you need to find yourself, by all means, prove me wrong. Become a full-blown saint. Repent, heal. But don’t put your existential nasal drip on me. I’m not here for the key, or any promised escape. I am nothing if not familiar with consequences, and still I am here for one thing. To kill him.”

LILY