“Yeah,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “And I know that people spend that much time there voluntarily—”

“Wait, what do you mean?” I jumped in. “You weren’t there voluntarily?”

“No” he said through his teeth, picking at the edge of his coffee cup with his bony fingers.

“Then how…” I started, not sure how to ask or even if I should ask. But Damien had said he wanted to talk freely, which to me meant that I could ask questions freely too.

Thankfully, Damien seemed to know what I was trying to get out and heaved a great sigh before telling me his whole story. His whole, COMPLETELY BUCKWILD story.

“I was attacked,” he said.

“What?” Lemme tell you, I had NOT expected that particular hard turn in the conversation.

“By another Atypical.”

“What?” I was louder this time, unable to keep my shock in, and Damien looked around like we were being watched and leaned in close to me, lowering his voice. At such a short distance, it was easy to see the deep bags under his eyes, his chapped lips, greasy hair—like he hadn’t been caring for himself for weeks. Or, as I now suspect, no one had been caring for him at the AM.

“I … I got mixed up in some stuff,” he said in a low voice. “A bunch of Atypicals who—things went sideways, that’s the important bit. And it got out of hand, I got pummeled into the ground and the AM scooped me up.”

“Wait, so”—I started trying to piece it together—“you didn’t go to them yourself after you got hurt? I mean, isn’t that what they’re for?”

“I knew I couldn’t trust them.” He sneered. “I would never have gone to them for help. But I ended up there anyway.”

“So, they just … took you? Like, grabbed you off the street?”

“I guess,” he said. “All I know is, I was just going about my life, then I get assaulted out of the blue, then I woke up and it was two weeks later and I was handcuffed to a hospital bed in their basement.”

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

“And that was just the start,” he said darkly. “Once I was awake again, they started doing experiments on me, testing my ability.”

“What kind of experiments?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach. “I mean, when I was there, they tested the limits of my ability too, but they never … I mean … did they hurt you?”

“Not…” I could see him searching around for the words and I wonder if he was looking at me—a nineteen-year-old stranger—and thinking that he should censor himself.

“They didn’t physically hurt me,” he said eventually. “But I don’t know what would have happened if they had kept me longer, which I’m sure they would have if…”