He considered me as we walked, an irritating habit he’d developed in the past year. Self-conscious, I tugged the folds of my blouse closer together and remembered the stain there. Obi Solomon! I would have to fix that first thing. I took the next right, the long way to the library, but we would pass by a water fountain where I could keep the ink from drying into a permanent stain.

Jetson rounded the corner with me, his eyes searching my face. “You’ve lost weight. Does Robin still make you take-away meals when you skip?”

I ignored the question. “How many times do I have to ask you not to mention her in public?” My friendship with Robin had started before I knew better than to befriend workers, and had persisted, despite my better judgment.

Jetson glanced around the empty hall. “You call this public?”

“Students should assume that Teachers are always listening,” I quoted.

“But don’t you and she talk?” he asked, puzzled. “They could overhear that.”

“We rarely talk, and only in secret,” I said. “We’re very careful.” It was true. She hid her treats for me inside my top drawer. And when I bought an orange scarf for her birth month last year, I’d made a show of buying it for myself then giving it to her as charity.

He shrugged. “So then, where’s your secret take-away meal? Did the two of you fight or something?” He opened a dividing door and I walked through.

This wing of the Schoolhouse, a late addition to the basic structure, was regal, with arched openings and soaring sandstone ceilings. I kept my eyes on the lava tile flooring as I answered him. “No, we didn’t fight. Not exactly.”

“Then what’s the vex?” he prodded. He wasn’t going to let it go.

I sighed. “If you must know, she hasn’t been around for days.”

“How many days?”

“Six,” I admitted. I frowned, realizing she’d disappeared on the same day I’d discovered the newspaper clipping—and the nightly Rebel meetings. I shook my head. “I’m sure she’s fine. Besides, I’m too busy to worry.”

I stopped at the fountain and wet a handkerchief from my pocket, dabbing at my aura. Jetson rested back against the wall and stared at me, his brow a rigid cliff of condemnation. Finally, I snapped. “Obi Solomon! Will you stop staring? I have no clue where Robin is.”

He didn’t let up.

My hand shook, smearing the ink. I sighed. “Fine. I have one clue.”

He uncrossed his arms. “What is it?”

I stuffed the handkerchief into my pocket. “It happened last week, when I was leaving the library. You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Promise.”