That was dumb. A single dot of blood wells up from the pinprick and drips onto the wood side of the box. I immediately try to wipe it away, but the wood wall pops open.

Did my blood just open the box?

I’m not sure it matters considering that, apparently, the box is empty. I look inside, examining the reverse sides of the six different walls. There’s nothing there. I try playing the music notes, but now that the box is open, they don’t work. Frustration bubbles up within me. If there’s another step to this puzzle, I will scream.

My brewing tantrum is interrupted as my phone buzzes, and my temper recedes, replaced by trepidation when I see that it’s an email from the Genesis Institute admissions office. I tap the message open to a letterhead with a logo of an androgynous figure, clearly based on the Vitruvian Man—da Vinci’s drawing of one human body superimposed on top of another, four arms, four legs, in supposedly perfect proportions. The email reads:

Dear Ada Castle,

We are pleased to notify you of your acceptance to the Genesis Institute. Tuition and room and board will be included as part of a full scholarship for the duration of your studies. We eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,

Master Michelangelo Loew, Community Liaison

I tap to their website. “The Genesis Institute: for exceptionally gifted pupils” is splashed across the page with the same logo. The site looks completely mundane, like a regular private school. But I know better.

For an instant I consider deleting the email and hiding the box at the bottom of the trash. No one needs to know I received an acceptance. I could go upstairs right now and fill out those college applications. A worthless liberal arts degree and a lifetime of student debt could still be mine.

And I wouldn’t have to think about stealing anything from anyone.

The memory of how I felt when I saw Michelangelo’s prisoner statues rises in me. I look at the newspaper on the coffee table, headlines full of calamity. I watch the steady rise and fall of Grandfather’s chest, knowing his health is declining by the day.

Or I could decide to stop being helpless.

A tingling warmth prickles the scars on my palms, and this time I don’t let myself suppress it.

6

Three days later I’m wandering around one of the Families’ contemporary art galleries as I wait for my ride to Genesis. I spent a grueling morning in the offices upstairs receiving rushed instructions from Family members who all treated me like a kid who shouldn’t be trusted with any information. As if they could do any of this without me.

I’d also been up half the night with Kor, who had given me a completely separate set of instructions from the Oculus.