Clancy nodded. “It sounds that way.”

“Then I wasn’t in any danger after all? They wouldn’t have killed me?”

“Oh, you were definitely in danger,” he said. “They had all of the pieces, and it just took one curious mind to put it all together. But if you’re asking whether or not you would have been caught if the League hadn’t planted the frequency—then the answer to that is no, probably not.”

“Then why did they do it?” I demanded. “It seems like a huge risk to take to only get a few kids.”

“A few extremely valuable, rare kids,” he corrected. “Kids that would have been killed otherwise.”

Seeing my expression, he added, not unkindly, “You didn’t really think they let any of the kids like us live, did you? Not Oranges. Yellows, yes, because their threat can be contained, but not Oranges.”

I passed a hand over my face. “What about the Reds, then? They were killed, too?”

“No,” Clancy said. His voice became quiet, hesitant. “They had a much worse fate.”

I waited for him to continue, hands twisting in my lap.

“The president’s classified program.” Clancy crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back. “Project Jamboree. Dear old Dad’s been training himself a special army using all of the Reds they took from the camps. So you can see why…” He cleared his throat. “You can see why the League would be interested in finding any particularly dangerous kids for their own.”

I shook my head, dropping my face into my hands. Of all of the scenarios I had imagined—of all the things I thought had happened to those kids—this was too insane for me to have ever dreamed up.

“How could they force them into this?” I asked, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears. “Why did they agree?”

“What other choice do they have?” Clancy asked. “They were made to think that if they didn’t cooperate, something would happen to their families. They underwent a special conditioning program to make them think that they were needed and cared for absolutely. Before my father and his advisers figured out I was influencing them, I was able to supervise enough of the program to ensure that they would be cared for—better than if they had been in camps, at least.” He shook his head. “Don’t be afraid for them. They’ll get out from under my father’s control one day.”

And they’re not dead, I thought; there’s that.

“Ruby.”

I looked up, feeling cold down to my guts.

“Let me show you what I know,” he whispered, his other hand rising to brush the hair off my cheek. The clenched mass of nerves in my stomach eased at the touch, and I felt what few suspicions I had left about him unwinding. We were the same, in the ways that mattered. He wanted to help me, even though I had nothing to offer him in return.

“No one will be able to hurt you or change you if you can fight them off,” he said, softly.