Theo and I leave the bathroom and return to the main living quarters. Hazel is still sitting in the same position, staring off into space. Probably not the best time to question her on creating chemical explosions and the likelihood of dying. Lucie is pacing back and forth.

I sit on a seat of my own. Lucie’s eyes follow me. She stops and sits beside me. Her eyes hold a thousand questions.

“You can ask,” I tell her. If the situation were reversed, I would want to know. After all, it was only a couple of hours ago that I was talking to her friends.

“Who was it you saw?”

“I don’t know who, but three girls and then a guy.”

She presses her lips together. “Leo.”

“The guy is Leo?”

“Yes. We were friends. I like him more than a friend, though, and I never had the opportunity to tell him.”

I want to tell her that the feeling appeared mutual when I met him, but that seems cruel since she’s stuck in here.

“You can do that as soon as we get out.”

She tilts her head and deadpans, “You think we’re getting out? They’ve been doing this for over a year, and you think we’re the ones who will escape? People have tried before.”

“They couldn’t have tried everything, or they would be out,” I say.

Lucie rolls her eyes. “You’re a fool.”

“No, I’m just not giving up.”

“How do you do that?”

“Not give up, you mean?”

She nods.

“I’m still breathing, Lucie, and I have people I love at home. You do, too.”

“People come in here, get tortured, then fight to the death. Where are you finding the hope in that?” She sighs sharply. “Wait until you’ve been in one of those rooms. If you come out and retain that positive attitude, I’ll join you.”

She stands and walks into the bedroom.

Theo, Kevin, and Priya watch my reaction. They were listening to the whole thing. I don’t blame Lucie. We all react differently, and maybe I won’t be the same if something bad happens to me, but I’ve always been of the opinion that although I can’t always control what happens in my life, I can control how I react to it.

Perhaps I’ll change my mind, but for now, I’m sticking with that.

“She doesn’t mean to be rude, but she was in her first room yesterday,” Kevin says.

“God,” I whisper. “Which one?”

He shrugs. “She won’t talk about it. She didn’t come out with wet hair, so not room five, and she was only in there for the day, so that rules out room four, too.”

“Right,” I reply. So, she was either tortured with sound, light, or temperature.