Maude walks up beside me. “We’ll deal with Ransom,” she says in my ear, low so the others can’t hear. “But, Emma, think about it.” We hold out our arms so Principal Fleischer can scan our plums—rendering them useless except for buzzing our families and checking school-approved feeds—and then walk inside the chapel to claim seats. “If we refuse to participate in his experiments, he’ll have no reason to want us here anymore. He’ll send us back to Castor Island. And then what? We may never be able to come back to the States. You said it yourself—we aren’t citizens. We can’t come and go as we please.”

We cram next to each other in a pew, amid the buzzing student body.

“Couldn’t you apply for a visa?” I ask. But I know that’s a naive suggestion. Gravelle would have to sign off on that. And what if he refused?

“We aren’t eighteen. Gravelle is still our legal guardian,” Maude reminds me. “Once we set foot on the island, all bets are off. Emma, try to understand what it’s been like for us. Why it’s not as simple as you want it to be. It’s why we can’t prosecute him for keeping Levi there, even if we wanted to. Gravelle is his legal guardian.”

“He isn’t Ollie’s guardian. Or Pru’s,” I remind her. “And he kept both of them prisoner last year too.”

“I know. And Jane Ward has chosen not to pursue this with the authorities,” she says, her eyes gazing forward, at the podium. “She thinks it would only make Gravelle more vindictive. And you know Jaeger. He’s going to make things right via the Quarry. His underground activist group can take care of things far better than the legal system, anyway.”

She’s right. This is a lot more complicated than I’d like to admit. Gravelle is practically untouchable when it comes to the law. Especially now, since he likely hasn’t stepped off his micronation in years. As long as he’s there, he’s immune to the laws of other countries and can create his own. My mind spins, making it hard to concentrate on the assembly. It’s the same old generic speech Ransom gave last year, minus the fanfare around the Similars’ arrival and the sixty seconds of silence in honor of Oliver. Speaking of Ollie, he’s found me and has slid into the seat next to me. His presence warms me up by proximity.

“Hey,” Ollie says quietly, in that way he has of making me feel like the only person on the planet, even in a room filled with hundreds of our peers.

“You’re late,” I whisper back. “You just missed the tediously boring part where Ransom drones on and on about excellence and identity, blah blah blah.”

“No, I think that’s now,” Ollie quips.