Whatever the Assembly decided, the new barometer would be no less arbitrary than the measures currently in place to separate the First Brothers from the Second. The illogic of the law could no longer be denied. I knew, firsthand, the Second Brothers’ capacity. Voltaire, for example, was a genius. More intelligent than the sweet but nonsensical twins who were classified as First Brothers. I had nursed the village workers, and eaten with bandits in the oasis. I spoke with the young and old alike. I had friends or family in every political faction and I, myself, was a Keeper. This much was clear: what separated my class from the ferals was not intellect or design, but the Rebirth. They were subject to it, and we were not. Who knew what the workers could achieve intellectually, if they could only recall who they were before the Compromise?

As I mounted the top level, my doubts circled around the dark figure who set the Rebirth in place—Obi Solomon. All revered the name, but the man himself was obscure, draped in shadows and legends. I had, at least, some evidence that the Great Obi Solomon was not a loyal Kongo. The ancient tales needed, once and for all, to be untangled. The Omen regarding the mighty One needed research and verification. Was there a Kongo savior? Was he—or she—coming? I would search for the truth at Hasting.

I stopped walking, abruptly, at the door of the testing suite. I stood there a long while, catching my breath. After speaking to the younger students, I knew I needed to face my peers. We would need each other in the upcoming days. Somehow, I had to bridge the rift between us.

I entered the room. Relief washed over me as I counted their heads. One, two, three, four, and the twins! Five females, one male, and all intact—for the most part. Jetson had a patch on his chin, Hannibal had a wrist brace, and all appeared more haggard than I remembered. But, they were alive!

To my credit, I didn’t shrink from their scrutiny. I met their eyes in turn. Jetson’s were cold, Hannibal’s blank, the twins glared daggers along with Covington.

East Keep’s squinting expression was inscrutable. She stood, hands clutching her sides. “What are you doing here? We thought you were dead!” East Keep said.

I stepped further into the room. “As you can see, I’m very much alive.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” she said, harshly. “We wish you weren’t. Hannibal’s wrist is broken. She’ll walk with a limp for the rest of her life because of you.”

I bowed my head. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“It’s not enough!” East Keep declared. She stormed out of the room.