Orange replied with a condescending glare. “What do you think? It’s called an artillery suit.”

“Not a lot of artillery where we come from,” Trish replied. “Not many Bergs or giant machines with spiked wheels, either.”

Isaac found himself completely mystified by the artillery suits, himself. Why would you walk around with pockets stuffed to bursting with explosives? Seemed slightly dangerous, call him crazy.

“Artillery.” Sadina sounded out the word in contemplation. “So . . . are you guys, like, living bombs? Do they shoot you out of a cannon?”

Skinny started to say something but Orange cut him off. “Enough of this. No more talking. You have ten minutes so I would hurry if I were you.”

“I thought you said fifteen?” Isaac asked.

“You just wasted five of them. Now get on with it. We’ll be right outside. And don’t worry. We’re . . . we’re friends. It’s going to be okay.”

She and the skinny boy with the unfortunate nose left the room and closed the door.

The Orphan—that’s what he insisted on being called because Minho would get him into trouble—had asked her plenty of questions so far, none of them very memorable. About the island, about the boat and Kletter, about each person who’d come from the island. Jackie gave him all the details he wanted because none of them seemed to matter all that much. And when it came to Sadina—about whom he was particularly interested—she could be honest and say she didn’t know much. Because she didn’t.

But there had been something odd in his questioning. He didn’t put much sincerity into the effort, as if he didn’t care one whit about the answers. And he kept widening and squinting his eyes, tilting his head in subtle ways, fidgeting with his hands. She guessed that he was trying to send subtle clues, but the only thing she got out of it was that this guy either had a serious neurological problem or that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t in league with the people who’d taken them. An attempt to show that he was on her side.

But she had her own goals. Learn what she could. If she had to be buddies with this Orphan fellow, then so be it.

He opened his mouth to ask away again but she held up a hand to stop him.

“No. If you want me to keep going, then I want answers to some of my questions.”

He didn’t seem to like that, his eyes flickering to the door as if his bosses might barge in at her audacity. But nothing happened.

“Okay,” the Orphan said. “Go for it. Um, some things I might not be able to talk about. Just letting you know.”

She dove in. “Where are you from? And these people you work with?”