“Our sources have told us that when the stepped-up recycling program starts next week, government agencies will be raiding the homes and businesses of anyone even suspected of having books or paper. It’s impossible to believe this is anything but a direct attack against us. They are determined to destroy the Stewards and the truth we’ve been protecting.” She takes a deep breath and clasps her hands. “Atlas, your father was against locking down the Lyceum, but I have spoken to the rest of the Engineers and we are all in agreement. The Stewards’ mission must be adhered to and protected. The doors will close and we will wait out this storm as Stewards have always done in the past. If there is no one left in our numbers to read the books we have stored here, or to preserve the truth of what we have lost, we will have failed ourselves, the city, and the entire country.”

“If they’ve taken my dad, we can find him and get him back. We can . . .”

The woman shakes her head. “I know you want him to return, Atlas. We all do, but we have done what we can. Anything else could jeopardize everything the Stewards have worked for. Your father would never want that. If your father has been captured, we can only hope he has done what all of us have sworn to do if they come for us. For the sake of the Stewards and all the work we have yet to do, we have to hope your father is dead.”

Nine

Atlas throws his balled-up shirt on the table and lets out a choked sound. His shoulders slump as the black fabric skids across the dull silver top and then unfolds, revealing the slash of red tie.

Nails dig into my arm and Renu hisses, “Let’s go” in my ear, but I don’t move. The words I hear every night in my dreams echo in my head. We’re sorry. Your mother, Gillian Beckley, is dead.

The blond man steps forward. “You have to accept that he’s gone, Atlas. That’s what your father would want.”

“No!” I shout, yanking free of Renu’s iron grip. “You can’t mean that.”

Atlas whirls around. “What the hell? You aren’t supposed to be in here. Renu, get her out. Now.”

“No one is going anywhere,” the woman with the white-and-black hair snaps. Renu steps away from me as the woman sweeps around the table in my direction. “Atlas,” the woman says in a quiet tone that sets my nerves on edge, “who is this girl? What is she doing here in the Lyceum? Who authorized this?”

“She’s no one, Scarlett. I’ve got this,” Atlas says.

“I’m Merriel Beckley,” I say. “My mother was Gillian Beckley. She was one of you—one of the Stewards.”

“Gillian?” The woman Atlas called Scarlett shifts her gaze to him.

“Folio.” Atlas glances at me. “Here in the Lyceum your mother was called Folio.”

Folio? As in a portfolio of artwork? Before I can ask, Scarlett crosses the room and stops a foot from where I stand. “This is Folio’s daughter?” She’s shorter than I am, but the way she stares at me—as if she can see the thoughts swirling in my eyes—makes it seem as if she is the tallest one in the room. “I wasn’t aware Folio had a daughter old enough to be introduced to the Stewards or that any Engineer granted permission for a ticket to be issued in her name.”