Unrolled beneath my gloved hands are cures for genetic diseases, infections, cancers; references to Bioscience surgical procedures utilizing Sire healing. I don’t know how I’m going to manage to get my phone in here, but I’m going to have to find a way. This information must be shared.

The words before me blur together as I think of packed children’s wards, overflowing intensive care units, of global pandemics that have killed so many. The Makers could stop it all. I guess I’ve kind of known all along. But now I know for sure. And that makes it so much worse.

My anger grows until my hands tremble so hard that Hypatia takes the pointer from me before I accidentally gouge the sensitive parchment.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” I snap. “Actually, no.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m not feeling too well. I think I should go.”

“Of course,” she says. “We’ll come back another time. I’ll get Xander to help me put everything away. You go lie down. You look pale.”

I stand frozen for a minute. Then stalk out of the glass room.

I need to talk to someone about this.

We’re slaves to viruses and disease.

Kor warned me that the Makers were hoarding more than I could fathom, but even being here for months, I didn’t understand how right he was. I’ve been wasting valuable time. I remove my gloves and leave them on the desk, ignoring a startled Xander. I hurry down the stairs past Simon, who chases after me and returns my things, but I don’t even thank him as I storm directly to the Spring wing.

I bang on Michael’s office door, my eyes burning from unshed tears. Not everyone here knows about the rest of the world, but he does. Plus, he’s a master and close to Headmaster Bloche; he has the influence to make change.

Michael opens the door. “Ada? What are you doing here?”

Kaylie is there too. “Are you okay?” she asks, rising from the ridiculously colored sofa. “Come sit. You don’t look well.”

I make direct eye contact with Michael and, without masking the accusation in my tone, I say, “I looked at the Alchemy testament.”

“And?” Kaylie’s expression is open and concerned, but Michael looks down. He knows why I’m upset.

“How can you let so many people suffer when you have the means to help them?”

“Help who, Ada?” Kaylie puts a calming hand on my shoulder.

I turn to her, softening my tone. “The world,” I say. “Everyone else. There’s so much wrong with the provincial world that could be solved with Maker knowledge. But you just stay in your bubble, helping only yourselves.”

Kaylie looks at me with pity. “It’s not so simple—” she says.

“That’s not how it works—” Michael starts at the same time.