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  I ignore him, arms folded. I watch the gate slowly opening, hoping this will go to plan. The car, its windows blacked out, stops at the gates and doesn’t drive in. The others look in my direction nervously. I remain strong. Chin up. This has to work. The car door opens.

  Evelyn steps out. She closes the door behind her and runs to her mother, who falls to her knees sobbing. Cordelia calls out so that I will hear her.

  “You got her. You got her back,” Cordelia says, through heaving cries. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  The town car reverses and drives back the way it came. The gates to the facility close again. There are no tricks; everyone is safe.

  “How did you do that?” Lennox asks.

  “Yeah, how did you do that?” Carrick repeats.

  They’re all looking at me, stunned. Unsure. In awe.

  I like it.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “I’M IN,” ROGAN says suddenly, shouting up from the courtyard.

  “Us too,” Adam says, firmly nodding at Carrick in apology.

  “Right, let’s get this started,” I say, adrenaline surging. “Let’s all pack up and get out of here. It’s time to move on.”

  * * *

  Back in my cabin, my hands are trembling as I throw my few possessions into my backpack. I throw it over one shoulder and reach out to the door handle. Instead of turning it, I lock the door and huddle down in the corner of the room. Head down on my knees, I cry as it all sinks in.

  Art is a Whistleblower. Mary May is training him. He came here to capture me. My head pounds with all the thoughts racing through my mind. There could be no greater betrayal. Carrick knew about Art being a Whistleblower the entire time. That’s what he’d meant when he suggested using Art to get to Crevan, after what Art had done to me. He wasn’t trying to use me; if anything, he kept the truth from me so I wouldn’t be hurt.

  “How did you do that?” Carrick asked me over and over after Evelyn’s release. They were all looking at me like I was some kind of god, and some kind of freak. I didn’t tell him how. I will when we are alone. I think the shrouded mystery is on my side at the moment, when inside I feel like a bag of rattling bones.

  The truth is, I was terrified when I made the phone call that led to Evelyn’s release.

  The truth is, I’m still shaking with nerves now.

  THIRTY

  ONE HOUR EARLIER

  “HELLO?” I PACE the small cabin. “Judge Sanchez?”

  Sanchez is one of the three judges who sit alongside Judge Crevan in the Guild. She was responsible for my Flawed verdict, too, but spent the entire trial trying to undermine Crevan. I just happened to get caught in the middle. Sanchez caught me on the run and tried to make a deal with me to help her bring down Crevan. I didn’t trust her, but she let me go, to prove that I could. I told Granddad about her and he told me to tread carefully. Getting involved with her could get me in more trouble.

  “Sanchez speaking.”

  “Celestine North.”

  Pause. “Well, well, well. She surfaces. I hear you escaped him again. I must say I’m enjoying this little game of cat and mouse. Can’t say the same for Crevan.”

  “You told me two weeks ago that you’d help me.”

  “In return for something else, I recall.”

  She has no idea what exactly I have against Crevan, she just knows that he is panicking about something and is sending Whistleblowers out left, right, and center to find me. She drew her own conclusions.

  “I’ll work with you on that. But first do something to show that I can trust you.”

  “I believe I already did. I let you go, don’t you remember?”

  “But things have changed. You’re holding my granddad in your cells. That doesn’t seem very trustworthy to me.”

  “My, you’ve learned fast. What can I do for you?”

  “A little F.A.B. girl was taken from the CCU facility an hour ago. They need her back.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Then so is my helping you. Good-bye.”

  “Wait.” She pauses. “Give me an hour.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  NOW, AFTER MY magic trick, they all await my next move, believing in me, trusting me. I can’t tell any of them that the weapon Carrick thinks I have, which is the footage of Crevan losing control and in a psychotic episode illegally branding me for the sixth time, is not in my possession. Nobody can know that I don’t have it. It’s the only power I have. It’s the only thing that any of us Flawed have—without it we have nothing.

  For now, people believing in me is all I have to go on. And I’m lying to them all.

  But what else can you expect from a Flawed?

  THIRTY-TWO

  MY NEXT MOVE is to search for an angel. Naturally.

  Raphael Angelo.

  The only defense lawyer to ever have a Flawed verdict overturned.

  The first time I heard that name was when my granddad mentioned him during the trial when he visited me in Highland Castle. I dismissed his ramblings as nothing but hopeless conspiracy theories. At that time I thought it was all a big misunderstanding, that Crevan would get me out of the mess. I didn’t know that I would now be basing my only hope on that conversation.

  After hunkering down in the corner of my cabin feeling like the world is too great for me, that everything is too large, overbearing, and overwhelming for me, I refocus, wipe my eyes roughly, and formulate my plan. I have people waiting for me.

  I call Judge Sanchez again.

  “Thank you,” I say as soon as she answers.

  “Pound for a pound, Celestine. Now let’s meet.”

  “Not yet. I need an address from you.”

  “Another favor?”

  “I’m helping you, remember?” I say, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. “The next time we meet will be in the Guild courtroom, and you’ll know exactly what to do. I intend to get my conviction overturned. I intend for everything to be undone so that I can return to my life, return to my school, return to my family, and everything can be as it once was.” My voice cracks.

  “Oh, Celestine.” She sighs. “I was hoping for so much more from you. You know the odds are not on your side. A Flawed verdict has never been overturned.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “Jessica Taylor.”

  She goes quiet.

  “How did you know about her? That information wasn’t made public.”

  “I know lots of things that you don’t think I know.” I find my confidence again, almost to the point of cockiness. “I also know lots of things that you don’t know. Why do you think Crevan is so worried?”

  “Who will be your representative in court?” she asks.

  “Not Mr. Berry, considering he’s missing. Along with all the guards who were present in the Branding Chamber, and Pia Wang, who started asking questions.”

  She’s silent for a moment. She knows this already. “Yes. What did happen in that Branding Chamber, Celestine? I’m eager to know.”

  “Maybe they’re all on a team-building trip. Feel bad you were left out?”

  “Crevan can never know that we’re talking. It can’t look like we’ve planned anything. I’m protecting you, but you need to protect me, too.”

  “We haven’t planned anything. You’ll know when it happens, and I’ll need you on my side.”

  “Whose address do you need?”

  “Raphael Angelo.”

  She chuckles. “Now this just got interesting. But unfortunately I can’t help you, Celestine. That would be aiding a Flawed, which, as a leading judge in the Guild, would be an unspeakable act. You’ll have to do the next part on your own. Call me when you’ve got something for me to work with.”

  Considering she has just helped me to release an F.A.B. child, the hypocrisy drips from her every word.

  I immediately want to return to huddling in the corner of the cabin again—it worked so well for me the first time—but I don’t. Instead, I curse, throw my phone on the
bed, and pace. Outside I hear everybody waiting for me, voices on the balcony. Their bags are packed, they’re ready to go, prepared to follow my next instruction. Which is what?

  Think, think, think, Celestine. Use what you have. Use what you have. There is a problem, find the solution. I go back to my mathematics skills. What have I got on my side? Who have I got on my side? Boom. I grab my phone again and search the Highland Castle website. I don’t need to move far; right on the homepage is the flashing hotline number for people to call with information and sightings on the most wanted evader, Celestine North.

  I call the number.

  “Highland Castle Hotline,” a woman answers.

  I roll my eyes at the name, and I alter my voice, assuming these calls are recorded.

  “I’d like to speak with Whistleblower Kate, please. I have information that I would like to share only with her.”

  “Connecting you now.”

  It couldn’t be that easy.

  The phone rings and she answers, out and about, probably searching for me.

  “Kate speaking.”

  I’m assuming the Whistleblowers’ cell phones are also being monitored.

  “It’s the girl from the tree.”

  She’s silent. I hear her move away from wherever she was. The background noise changes. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. This is a bad line—let me call you back from a landline. Can I have your number?”

  I pause. “No.”

  “Fine. Call me on this number in two minutes.”

  I rummage through Mona’s things, looking for a pen. I can’t find anything but makeup. I use a red lipstick and write on the wall.

  Kate hangs up and I pace. Two minutes.

  Agitated, confused, I don’t know why I do it, but I put the red lipstick to the white wall again and draw the red V from the Vigor logo that equals a square root sign.

  √

  I study it for a moment, wondering for the thousandth time where I’ve seen it before.

  Someone knocks on the door.

  “Just a minute.” I hear the tremor in my voice and take a deep breath.

  The door opens anyway. Mona, Carrick, Lennox, Kelly, Adam, Rogan, Cordelia, and Evelyn are lined up in the corridor, bags in their hands, ready to go. Bahee, squeezed tightly between Fergus and Lorcan, looks like he’s not there by choice. The tension is thick. Even Carrick looks nervous, and I’m sure his relying on somebody else to take control isn’t easy for him. I fear he’s losing his faith in me already. I fear that he might be right to.

  “The other evaders are all gone; they scattered. We need to move, Celestine,” says Mona. “Eddie is about to kick us out any second. We have one chance to get away with their help, or that’s it.”

  Everybody stares at me with expectancy, such hope, such reliance. I can’t function like this. I can’t lead a team.

  I clear my throat and will myself to be more authoritative. Problem, solution—this is the stuff I should be good at.

  “We need to split up,” I say. “Fergus, Lorcan, and I can’t travel together. Our faces are too recognizable.”

  Everyone agrees instantly.

  “Carrick and I will take the next step alone. The rest of you will wait somewhere safe until we give you further instruction.”

  They look at one another uncertainly.

  “Where do you suggest we wait?” Mona asks, the doubt in my leadership already growing.

  Think, think, Celestine. Problem-solve, that’s what you’re good at.

  “What the hell did you do to my wall?” she says, eyes narrow.

  “Who cares, Mona? It’s not your wall anymore,” Carrick says, but I can hear the impatience in his voice. They’re all getting tired of standing around and waiting … for me to make a decision.

  I turn around and see the phone number scrawled in red lipstick, with the Vigor logo beside it, and suddenly something clicks into place so clearly, my heart starts pounding.

  I recall a conversation from a couple of weeks ago with Professor Lambert. His wife, Alpha, who was my math teacher, brought me to their home for a meeting disguised as a support group for families affected by Flawed issues. It was more of a rally, an attempt to raise support for the Flawed cause, and it was raided by Whistleblowers. In hiding, I met her husband, Professor Lambert, who is Flawed. He’d been a prominent scientist; he had photographs of himself with important people in gold-framed photographs all over his wood-paneled walls. He even had a photo of himself with Crevan in happier times. They’d been old acquaintances, until Crevan branded him. I knew he was an intelligent man, but he’d also had a few too many whiskeys and so hadn’t thought any further of his parting advice. It’s only now, as I struggle to find a solution, that his words mean something to me.

  “Are you familiar with George Pólya?” he’d asked.

  “Of course,” I’d replied. He was a mathematician; my mom had bought me a book of his for my birthday. Strange gift for most kids, but I’d loved it.

  “I liked his philosophies. Pólya advised, if you can’t solve a problem, then there is an easier problem you can solve: You just have to find it.… Like I say, look to your strengths, look to your heroes for guidance. I’m a scientist.”

  Professor Lambert gave me that advice, and now he can help me in more ways than one. I never thought to ask how he was using his being a scientist in his own favor, but I know the answer now because the Vigor logo is the very logo I saw in Professor Lambert’s secret office in his home, stamped on his work, on the backs of his photographs, on stationery, on plaques. It’s Professor Lambert who’s in charge of this facility.

  “The owner of this facility will help us; he’ll take you in,” I say, the adrenaline kicking in again as my plan comes together.

  Bahee snorts. “You don’t even know the owner. Nobody does, apart from me, and Eddie just told us that the owner is no longer interested in helping us.”

  “I know him personally,” I say confidently. “His name is Professor Bill Lambert.”

  Carrick looks at me in surprise.

  “He may not want you to stay here anymore, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t help. He and his wife, Alpha, are awaiting your arrival at their home as we speak.” Or they will be a few minutes from now. Alpha will be more than happy to do this, especially if there are two F.A.B. children in the group.

  “But how did you know about Professor Lambert…?” Bahee splutters. “He is anonymous … he…” Bahee looks at me, surprised, confused, angry, impressed. It all flashes across his bruised face as he looks from Carrick to me in surprise.

  “How does she know this?”

  “I told you: She’s powerful,” Carrick says smugly.

  “Now excuse me for one more minute, I have to make an important phone call,” I say, and close the door in their faces.

  I press my back up against the door and take a deep breath before dialing the number I wrote on the wall.

  Kate picks up on the first ring.

  “It’s me,” I say.

  “Our conversations are being listened to on our mobiles. This is a secure line. How can I help you?”

  I almost want to cry with relief. “Are you on my side?”

  “I should have reported you as soon as I saw you; why else would I leave you there?”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “You got away, didn’t you? You’re a tough cookie; I knew you’d be fine.”

  Which is apparently the message I give out to most people when, in fact, the opposite is true.

  “Two things. There’s another Whistleblower on our side. His name is Marcus—he’s Professor Bill Lambert’s Whistleblower.” Marcus helped Granddad hide from the Whistleblowers at the Lamberts’ house; he made sure we weren’t seen. “I have to get in touch with him. There are some people here who need hiding in a safe place.”

  Kate is silent.

  “Hello?”

  “He’s my husband,” she says quietly.

  I smile with surpris
e and punch the air, grateful for life’s wonderful coincidences.

  “So he can get my people to the right place?”

  “Yes, I’ll call him right away.”

  “There’s another thing. I need an address for someone called Raphael Angelo.”

  “Raphael’s your next move?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can get it, but no one has seen him for years. Crevan scared him off a long time ago.”

  “Well, then we already have something in common.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  RAPHAEL ANGELO LIVES in the mountains, a two-hour drive from Vigor, deep in the forests, on mountainous terrain. He is more than off the beaten track: I wouldn’t have found him in a million years. Even finding our way there with Kate’s specific directions is difficult.

  While the others use the Jeep from Vigor to get to Alpha and Bill Lambert, Leonard gives Carrick and me the use of his car. I will never be able to repay him for his help, especially as this is aiding a Flawed and carries a prison sentence, but I plan to try to do all that I can for him.

  This drive through the mountains is the first time Carrick and I have been alone since the early morning hours. I’ve barely had time to think about it, but now that we’re away from the city and safely in the mountains, mostly Whistleblower-free, we both relax. He rolls down the windows, puts the music on low, avoiding the radio stations that are announcing to the country how I once again evaded the Whistleblowers.

  If it’s a Crevan-owned station, the story is that I’m a fugitive to be feared and avoided. If it’s regular stations, then the discussion is why an eighteen-year-old woman is so hunted, and is it that easy to evade the system? Is the system itself flawed? Is there any reason at all for Flawed to be so monitored, if I’m living quietly and not causing trouble? What is the Guild trying to prove? All good questions.

  Except that each discussion is shot down by the Crevan media, who pinpoint me as the cause of every single riot that has broken out around the city, using footage of the supermarket riot where I stood up to the police officer as proof.

  “Are you okay?” Carrick asks, reaching across and holding my hand in my lap.