“He’s a Center official,” Dad counters. “Why shouldn’t he be here? He could be my friend.”

“No, they might be watching him. If he’s involved in the black market, we can’t afford to be linked to him. Not when we’re this close. They’ll get suspicious.”

“They’ll get more suspicious if we don’t open the door soon,” Dad says, rightly enough.

“Where’s Rowan? Did she make it to the basement?”

“I don’t know, but she’s sensible enough to stay out of sight until one of us comes for her. Go have a drink and join us in a few minutes. If anyone sees your face now, they’ll know something’s wrong.”

I hear the heavy tread of his feet as he goes to the front door. The living room is completely still now, and I can hear the sound of my own breathing again. For a moment I think Mom has left, her lighter step unheard. Then I hear a little scratching on the wall just outside my nook. She knows I’m here. Or she thinks I’m here.

Gingerly, I scratch back, once, twice. I hear a gentle sigh from the other side, and I feel a love so overwhelming I would sit down if I had room. Dad has done whatever is necessary to keep me safe, but it’s always been Mom who let me know that everything she did, everything she sacrificed for me, was done out of love, not obligation or fear or necessity.

She walks away with a deliberately heavy step so I will know she’s gone. Still, in this moment, because of her love, I don’t feel alone. I don’t feel trapped. I feel safe.

But it isn’t long before my sense of safety evaporates entirely. I hear the clump of multiple pairs of boots, and though I can’t be entirely certain, I’d bet anything that they’re Greenshirts, the police force of Eden.

Ash always makes a joke of the Greenshirts, telling me how they chase down kids who hijack the public lighting system to spell out rude words like teezak and koh faz, or break into the lichen gardens after hours with their girlfriends. Maybe the Greenshirts are benign to kids pulling childish pranks. But I know that they are really a deadly civil defense squad whose main purpose is to root out anything that goes against the survival mandates of the EcoPanopticon. And that’s pretty much the definition of me.

Greenshirts patrol the streets and investigate any crimes that happen in Eden. They’re more heavily concentrated in the outer circles, far from the Center where people are poorer and more desperate. But they’re here in the inner circles, too. I’ve glimpsed them a couple of times from the top of the wall, stomping in black-booted pairs along the avenues. I always duck down quickly, and usually don’t risk popping my head up again for a few days after every sighting. I’ve never been spotted, though, by them or anyone else. No one on the streets ever looks up, and I confine myself to the uncertain light of dusk and dawn.

Now there are almost certainly Greenshirts in my living room. What if they’re here for me? Did someone spot my peeking head after all and grow suspicious? Could Ash have been careless and let a word drop into the wrong ears? If they have discovered my existence, I am hopelessly, helplessly trapped. There is only one exit out of this hiding place, and simply squirming out would be a struggle. I wouldn’t have a hope of flight. I can picture their black boots waiting outside the grate, almost feel them grabbing me to drag me away to some awful, unknown fate . . .

There’s some kind of bot with them, too. I hear the whir and beep of one of the smaller models. Is it a securitybot come to sniff me out? What is it doing here? Bots are nosy; they can be trouble.

Then I hear a silky voice speaking social pleasantries, its unique upper-class Center accent marking the speaker as one of the Eden elite. The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it until Dad addresses him by his title.

“Please, have a seat, Chancellor,” my father says, his voice more polite and deferential than I’ve ever heard it. As the physician general he is a high-ranking government minister himself, and looks down on most of Eden.

The bot rolls across the floor, coming closer to my hiding spot.

I’ve heard Chancellor Cornwall’s voice on newsfeeds, seen the man himself on vids. I remember that wherever he appears, he has a cohort of Greenshirts standing guard behind him.

What is the head of the government doing in our house?

Part of me is starkly terrified. Another part is almost reassured. A hidden second child might be a serious, even capital offense. But it certainly doesn’t warrant a visit from the leader of all Eden. He’d just send in a Greenshirt strike force to capture me. He wouldn’t be standing in my living room while Dad ordered a servebot to fetch him a cup of fauxchai, the fragrant drink made of algae that is genetically modified to taste like pre-fail tea. He must be here for something really terrible, or really wonderful.

It turns out to be both, I think.

I listen, amazed, as Chancellor Cornwall tells my father that the current vice chancellor is resigning due to medical reasons.

“I’d be happy to examine him and offer a second opinion,” my father ventures, but the chancellor ignores him.

“I believe you would serve Eden well as the next vice chancellor.”

There is dead silence in the room. My father, who came from an outer ring of Inner City, has risen high in the government ranks to become physician general. It was mostly by his skill as a surgeon, I always thought. But apparently Dad has been playing a deeper political game than I ever realized. Why else would the chancellor notice him? My father makes occasional pronouncements about health, monitors public policy on mandatory sterility surgeries and vaccinations, and occasionally provides personal treatment to ranking members of the government and their families.

This is a surprise to me. Perhaps it is to Dad, too. He always seems to keep as low a profile as he can, given his position. By “position” I mean me, his shameful secret. He keeps his head down and doesn’t socialize or network as much as other people in the government. He can’t exactly host cocktail parties with me hiding in the cellar, can he?

But somehow, he’s attracted notice.

The silence hangs too long. At last my father says, “I would be honored to serve Eden in any capacity.” His voice is tight, and I wonder if it’s from humility or nerves.

They speak of this awhile, and I listen, almost forgetting the first visitor, wondering what this will mean for my family. Will Dad have to move to the Center like all the uppermost Center officials? Will we? Impossible. My safety depends entirely on this house.