When the meal ended, our tablemates purposely crowded around Jonah and me as we waited to return our trays, allowing me to make the syringe pass. After that, it was literally out of my hands. I had to trust that Jonah would find a way to mix the solution with water on his own and inject himself before they came for him.

The rest of the day crawled, especially art class. He didn’t show up, and worry filled me as I wondered what brainwashing he was enduring. Duncan, who’d treated this as a joke and told me numerous times how foolish I was, shared my tension.

“Jonah’s a good guy,” he said. “I really do hope your plan works. I’ve seen what they can do to people. Some come back pretty bad.”

Remembering Duncan’s long tenure, I was hit by a startling revelation. “Did you ever know a guy named Keith here? With one eye?”

Duncan’s expression darkened. “Yeah, I know him. We weren’t that close when he was here. He was one of those . . . one who came back pretty bad.”

Reflection time followed, and Jonah returned. He looked cowed and said nothing as our usual session ran its course. Sheridan left him alone and instead drew out the rest of us, who were nearly as subdued, our moods darkened by the knowledge of what had happened to him. I almost hoped she would force him to talk so that I could get a sense of where he was at, but she must have decided he’d more than done his time today. He simply sat and listened with glazed eyes, his expression changing little. My heart sank.

When the session ended, and we were dismissed for dinner, his attitude didn’t change. Duncan ordered him to sit at our table, just as I had when Renee had returned. Jonah said nothing as the rest of us chatted about things we didn’t care about, all of us too nervous to ask what was truly on our minds. This behavior was right in line with what happened after a hardcore dose of compulsion re-inking. The question was, was Jonah faking or not? If he was, interacting with him might draw attention to him. If he wasn’t, he might very well report us.

Dinner wound down quietly at our table, and Duncan finished the last of his dessert, a cherry crumble that looked like it had been microwaved. “That actually tasted better than I expected,” he remarked, more to himself than us.

“You know what else is better than expected?”

All of us looked up, surprised to hear Jonah for the first time since his re-inking. Chimes sounded, signaling the end of dinner and spurring a collective rising of everyone in the room. Jonah stood as well, tray in hand.

“Me,” he said in a soft voice. “I feel great. Not a bit different.” He shot me a smile that was gone as quickly as it came. “You saved my life, Sydney. Thanks.” He strutted past me to join the line by the garbage bins, leaving me gaping.

I followed a few moments later, still stunned. He didn’t say anything to me for the rest of the night, but I’d seen that gleam in his eyes when he smiled. He was still there. His personality and mind were intact. They hadn’t gotten to him—and my formula had helped protect him. That realization stayed with me for the rest of the night, empowering me. For months, my captors had scored victory after victory on me, making me feel as though I could never fight back. Tonight, I had. It was a small victory, but it was real, and I had pulled it off.

I was so proud of my own cunning that I wasn’t paying attention to much else when I got ready for bed later on. I was in the girls’ bathroom, with a handful of others, still patting myself on the back. I was too oblivious to see Emma coming or make any defense when she slammed me into a corner of the wall. For a moment, I couldn’t believe she’d dare do it under surveillance. Then, I realized she’d positioned me under the camera, out of its view. Amelia and a couple of their other friends started talking loudly, drowning out Emma’s low and menacing voice as she kept me pinned in the corner and leaned forward.

“Jonah was re-inked today,” she said. “A major one—the kind that can make people forget their own name. And yet people are saying it didn’t affect him. And they’re saying it’s because of something you did to him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped back. “He seemed out of it to me.”

She pushed me harder than I expected her capable of since she was smaller than I was. “Did you or didn’t you do something to him?”

I glared. “Why? So you can report me and get out early for good behavior?”

“No,” she said. “Because I want you to do it to me too.”

CHAPTER 12

ADRIAN

IT HAD ONLY BEEN A FEW WEEKS, but I felt like I’d been away from Palm Springs for months. I had no idea what to expect when I walked into my apartment and wondered if I’d find Angeline cohabitating with Trey. I should’ve known better, though. For all his swagger, Trey cracked down when push came to shove, and I found him sitting in the living room with textbooks spread out around him. It was so Sydney-like that for a moment, emotion threatened to overcome me. Then, my new resolve took hold, and I pushed any distracting feelings aside.

Trey looked up, surveying me and my suitcase. “You’re back, huh? How was the vacation?”

“Illuminating,” I said. “I got a lead on Sydney. Everyone’s on their way.”

His eyes widened. “You what?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer because I was already halfway down the hall, headed toward my old bedroom. When I stepped inside, I saw that Trey had taken it over, which I supposed was his right in light of my abrupt departure. With a shrug, I toted my suitcase back out to the living room and tossed it in the corner. I was happy to take a spot on the couch for now—if I even ended up staying here. I didn’t really know where the search for Sydney would lead me or how long I’d be hanging out here.