Jeb started sending me on little errands. Run back to the kitchen for another roll, he was still hungry. Go fetch a bucket of water, this corner of the field was dry. Pull Jamie out of his class, Jeb needed to speak with him. Were the spinach sprouts up yet? Go and check. Did I remember my way through the south caves? Jeb had a message for Doc.

Every time I had to carry out one of these simple directives, I was in a sweaty haze of fear. I concentrated on being invisible and walked as quickly as I could without running through the big rooms and the dark corridors. I tended to hug the walls and keep my eyes down. Occasionally, I would stop conversation the way I used to, but mostly I was ignored. The only time I felt in immediate danger of death was when I interrupted Sharon’s class to get Jamie. The look Sharon gave me seemed designed to be followed by hostile action. But she let Jamie go with a nod after I choked out my whispered request, and when we were alone, he held my shaking hand and told me Sharon looked the same way at anyone who interrupted her class.

The very worst was the time I had to find Doc, because Ian insisted on showing me the way. I could have refused, I suppose, but Jeb didn’t have a problem with the arrangement, and that meant Jeb trusted Ian not to kill me. I was far from comfortable with testing that theory, but it seemed the test was inevitable. If Jeb was wrong to trust Ian, then Ian would find his opportunity soon enough. So I went with Ian through the long black southern tunnel as if it were a trial by fire.

I lived through the first half. Doc got his message. He seemed unsurprised to see Ian tagging along beside me. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought they exchanged a significant glance. I half expected them to strap me to one of Doc’s gurneys at that point. These rooms continued to make me feel nauseated.

But Doc just thanked me and sent me on my way as if he were busy. I couldn’t really tell what he was doing—he had several books open and stacks and stacks of papers that seemed to contain nothing but sketches.

On the way back, curiosity overcame my fear.

“Ian?” I asked, having a bit of difficulty saying the name for the first time.

“Yes?” He sounded surprised that I’d addressed him.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

He snorted. “That’s direct.”

“You could, you know. Jeb might be annoyed, but I don’t think he’d shoot you.” What was I saying? It sounded like I was trying to convince him. I bit my tongue.

“I know,” he said, his tone complacent.