“After what they did to you?” Eddie pressed.

“Don’t you think they were right to be nervous?” she said. “They didn’t know if we were terrorists. I wouldn’t trust me, if I were in their shoes. Why do you think they put these GPS trackers on our legs?” Laura pulled her leg up under her and tapped the ankle bracelet.

There was a pause, and then the 3L boy with the strange mechanical affinity pointed to his own bracelet. “They’re not GPS trackers.”

Everyone in the room looked at him. He was maybe sixteen, and extremely skinny and pale. “I’ve been messing with it. They’re not GPS. They’re bombs.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the room erupted in noise. Jack had to force himself to lower his hearing, block out the painful sound.

It was Laura who shouted everyone down. “Get a grip, people! Shut up and let the kid talk!”

He looked at her shyly but gratefully. “It’s a small explosive charge. Probably not enough to kill you, but it’d take off your foot. If you try to cut through the plastic, it will explode. And it can be detonated remotely.”

Eddie glared at Laura. “These are the people who you’re giving the benefit of the doubt?”

She stared back. “Yes. If you had a room of people who were potentially terrorists—who were human weapons that you couldn’t disarm—wouldn’t you take some kind of action to control them?”

Jack didn’t want to think about it. Instead he sat back and tried to block them out. He focused his attention elsewhere. Deodorant and cologne. He could still smell it, fainter, but present. He walked to the door and closed his eyes. The smell seemed to paint a picture in his mind, to leave a trail that filled spaces and marked objects.

The man had left their room and had gone left, his scent leaving a lingering picture of a narrow space—a hallway—before turning . . . was it to the right? Yes. To the right, down another hallway. There was a stronger scent there—a handprint on the wall, then another on a doorknob, and the man entered a large room where his scent spread to fill a much bigger space. Air vents were running through this room, but just churned his smell around, mixing it with the sage and dust of the outside air.

Jack could see it all—or smell it. It was like all his senses were blending together. He knew the shape of the halls by the way the remnants of cologne filled them. Jack knew, without a doubt, that he could walk directly to the man—with his eyes closed.

The man was still there. Jack listened. Water ran through pipes, electrical outlets hummed, as Jack retraced the path from him to the man. He could hear the air ducts in the man’s room—small, whirring, and metal, probably vents in the ceiling.

The man was flicking through the papers. He was marking them, the scratch of his pencil—no, a smoother sound; a pen—making notes every few seconds.

There was a sudden buzz and whir, which died down quickly, and soon the man began to type. Jack could hear each keystroke.

A hand touched Jack’s shoulder and he started. He spun to see the rest of the kids staring at him.

“What are you doing?” Josi asked.

“Listening,” Jack said. “He’s grading our tests.”

THIRTY-TWO

AUBREY WAS IN THE ROOM for three days, and it slowly filled with people. On the first day she was handcuffed to a desk while she took a full day’s worth of handwritten exams. She wasn’t sure what the tests indicated, but on the second day a soldier unchained her and let her roam freely around the room.

She didn’t know anyone there, but they were all like her. They all took the same tests, they all were looked on with the same level of suspicion. Some tried to be studious and alert. There was a boy at the end of the row who acted like he was in the army—saluting and standing at attention and calling everyone “sir.” A girl told Aubrey that he could superheat his body, whatever that meant. She never saw him do it. On the other hand, there was a girl who lay in bed all day and cried. She never got up for announcements or for meals or for anything, and on the third day an army medic came in and gave her an IV. Aubrey didn’t know what that girl’s power was.

It was nearly evening; there were no windows in this room, but there was a big clock on the far wall. The door opened, but instead of dinner, it was an officer in a full dress uniform. He was young, maybe only a few years older than Aubrey, and he held a clipboard.

“May I have your attention,” he said, his voice shaking the tiniest bit.

Everyone in the room quieted down. Aubrey sat up on the edge of her bed.

“The following people are requested to attend a meeting with Colonel Jensen. If your name is on this list we ask that you please exit this room in an orderly manner. There is no need to bring anything with you.”

There were a few murmurs but he ignored them and began to read the names.

“Joel Read, Lambda 5M,” the man said, and the boy at the end of the row shouted out a “Sir, yes sir!”

“That’s not necessary,” the man said, and gestured toward the door. The boy pulled on his shoes quickly and hurried out.

“Michelle Wolf, Lambda 3L?”

A tall girl on the far side of the room stood timidly, hugged a friend, and then left.

“Gary Henson, Lambda 5D?”

“Where are we going?” asked a boy who didn’t stand.

“You’re Gary?”

“Where are you taking us?”

The man looked back down at his clipboard. “You’ll see. Next on the list, Aubrey Parsons, Lambda 4T.”

Aubrey’s chest tightened, but she tried to ignore it. “Here.” She hurried to the door.

There were a lot more teens in the hall than the ones who had just left her room—at least thirty—and they were all heading to the right down a long white corridor.

She was overwhelmed with a strong, terrified desire to disappear. She was in a crowd, surrounded by other kids. She could get away so easily.

Until she ran into another camera. She couldn’t go anywhere.

She was breathing rapidly now, wondering what new fate awaited her, and terrified it would be more of the same: more drugs, more danger, more deception.

A hand grabbed her arm, and she spun.

Jack. He looked like he’d lost weight, and the skin around his eyes was dark and sallow. She grabbed him in a bear hug.

“You’re okay,” she said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you,” she said, pulling away from him enough to look into his eyes. “They caught me.”

A voice from the back of the line shouted to keep moving, and Jack let go of her. He took her hand in his, though.

They both tried to speak, talking over each other. Finally, he told her to go ahead.

“They said you really are a Positive—a Lambda, I guess.”

“Yep,” he said. “I had no idea. It’s nothing flashy—not like you—but I have, like, supersenses, or something. I can hear everything, and see for miles, like I’m looking through a telescope. Other stuff, too. It’s nuts. How did you get caught?”

Ahead of them, the crowd was leaving the hallway and entering a room through thick steel double doors.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said, squeezing his hand.

They took seats in the second row, on metal folding chairs that faced a podium and a large TV. Four military personnel stood near the front, and three more who looked like civilians. Or, more likely, FBI or CIA. Or doctors. They were all very serious.