Aria inspects the air that flows through her hands and says, “Though you’ve been here such a short time, so many ties bind you to our people.” One dark eyebrow arches high in surprise as she adds, “Including to my brother.” With a quizzical look, her thumb and pointer come together and pull at something invisible. As if feeling the tug, Michael, who is a few yards away, conversing with a bearded and bespectacled old man, turns to glance in our direction. When he sees us, he says some last words to the man and heads over. Aria releases the invisible something and scrutinizes me more closely. She is now exploring the air with both hands, tugging and pulling at an invisible tapestry woven around me.

It’s pretty creepy, and it feels like she’s doing some kind of divination, like maybe she can somehow know things I really need her not to know. I shift my feet uncomfortably.

Aria brings her fingers close to her face and inspects the emptiness between the pads of her fingers. “You have secrets,” she says in a singsong voice, “but don’t worry. I won’t tell. Your intentions do not oppose my own.” I release a tense breath, not at all comforted by her words. “A piece of advice,” she says, meeting my eyes too sharply. “You should be asking more questions about why you needed to be rescued.”

What the hell?

She drops her hands as Michael approaches, gazing at her with a beaming smile and arms outstretched.

“Ari!” He envelops her in a hug that she tolerates more than returns, though her expression is pleased, with the quirk of a smile that reveals she has the family dimple. “I see you’ve met Ada.”

“Yes. She’s fine. I don’t mind her,” Ari replies, and Michael’s grin tells me that this is her version of a compliment. “I need to visit the library,” she says. And then walks off, leaving me with an exasperated but still smiling Michael.

“Well, that’s my sister.”

“She seems lovely,” I respond, and from the way he grins, I feel like I’ve passed some kind of test.

Ugh, that dimple! I remember the feeling of being the one to make it flash. I also remember the feeling of him playing guitar while looking into my eyes the other night.

I want to say something, anything, to reignite that intimacy. But he’s already looking away, nodding at two professorial-looking women, and I remind myself that I’m not supposed to be playing these games.

“I’ll see you when Quorum begins,” he says, walking toward the women. Then he turns, gives me an encouraging smile, and adds, “Stop worrying. I can tell you’re worrying. Just answer their questions honestly. You’re going to be great.”