The old store’s wood shelves were painted a dour green, but stuffed with a rainbow assortment of canned food and bags of chips, pasta, and even marshmallows. Liam let out a low whistle at the sight of the boxes of cereal stacked high over our heads.

I thought Chubs might cry.

We left the fruit on the floor in a shady corner of the room, near a girl with cropped blond hair and a midriff-baring black shirt. She was still clapping her hands in delight, bouncing on her toes. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen and seemed to have as many piercings in the cartilage of each ear.

“I knew you’d be happy, Lizzie,” Mike said, tossing her a grapefruit.

“We haven’t had fruit in ages,” she said, her pitch rising with every word. “I hope this all keeps for a few weeks.”

Mike led us out of the room, leaving Lizzie to coo over the pineapples and oranges. “Let’s go upstairs. He should be done meeting with the security team by now. Hayes handles hits, but Olivia—you’ll meet her—coordinates watch duty around the perimeter of the camp. If you want, I can talk to her about getting you assigned there.”

He looked down at Zu. “But unfortunately for you, my dear, everyone under thirteen has to sit through lessons.”

That caught Chubs’s attention. “What kinds of lessons?”

“School stuff, I guess. Math, a little science, some reading—depends on whatever books we were able to scrounge. It’s important to the boss that everyone gets the basics down.” Mike stopped at the top of the stairs and looked over his shoulder. “I know you never liked using them, but there are lessons on how to use your abilities, too.”

Chubs cleared his throat behind me. “I’m fine with what Jack taught me.”

“Jack…” Mike’s voice trailed off. “Man, I miss that kid.”

On our walk over, he had explained that there were five kids from Caledonia living in the Slip Kid’s camp. Mike was the only one from Liam’s old room, but there were two Blue girls, one Yellow boy, and a Green who had somehow made it all the way to eastern Virginia.

The second story of the building was more of an attic; the entire floor was one open room, but it was a nice one. Mike knocked on the door, waiting for the “Come in,” before daring to twist the handle. I heard Chubs let out a nervous squeak, and I was surprised to feel my own heart skip a beat.

The door opened to the middle of the room. To the right was a white curtain, drawn all the way over to hide what I thought was probably the living area. The window behind the curtain let in enough afternoon light to hint at the shape of a bed and dresser.

The other half of the room was set up like an office. There were two bookshelves filled with binders and books of every shape and size. An old metal desk with peeling black paint sat in between. There were two simple chairs in front of the desk, and a long table pushed to the far left wall, with all sorts of electronic equipment. A TV was on, set to one of the news channels. President Gray’s face filled the screen, flanked by two American flags. His mouth moved, but the TV had been muted. The only sound, aside from Chubs’s sharp intake of breath, was Clancy Gray’s fingers striking the keys of the sleek silver laptop.

I would have recognized him even if he had shaved his head of thick, wavy black hair—if he had tattooed his cheeks, or pierced his long, straight nose. I had spent six years staring up at every single one of his portraits at Thurmond, memorizing every mole, the shape of his thin lips—I was even intimately familiar with the peak of his hairline. But it was nothing like seeing the real thing. Those portraits hadn’t captured his dark eyes, and they certainly hadn’t been able to predict how striking he’d turn out to be as he aged.

“Just a sec—” He glanced up from his screen in our direction and immediately did a double take.

“Boss?” Mike said. “You okay?”

The president’s son rose slowly, shutting the lid of his laptop. The rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt slid down his tan arms.

This is the Slip Kid? I thought. Him? Surprise was an understatement. Brain-numbing shock, the kind that reduced my train of thought to an inching crawl, was an understatement. I didn’t even have a second to collect myself before the next three words passed his lips. There was no way I could have, because Clancy Gray looked straight at me and said the very last thing on earth I expected.

“Ruby Elizabeth Daly.”

My reaction was way too strong for something as innocent as my full name. It wasn’t like he had spat out three vile cusswords or screamed “Kill them now!” or “Lock them up!” I shouldn’t have stumbled back, tripping over my own boots, but I was nearly to the door before I even realized it.

Clancy took a step forward, but Liam pushed him back, hard.

“Lee!” Mike sounded scandalized.

Clancy held up his hands. “Sorry—I’m sorry! My bad. I should have realized how that would sound. I was just surprised to see you.” He leaned around Liam with an apologetic smile, and I paused at the door, momentarily stunned by how white and straight his teeth were. “I’ve read your file so many times on so many different networks that I feel like we’ve already met. There are so many people out there looking for you right now.”

“And which one do you plan on turning her over to?” Chubs snapped.

I stood still, letting Zu keep one arm wrapped around my waist. Clancy’s face flushed at the accusation, his dark eyes flicking back over to me. “None of them. I just collect information, watch the networks to see what everyone is buzzing about. And that just happens to be you, Miss Daly.” He paused, rubbing a hand absently over his shoulder. “Let’s see if I remember all of this—born in Charlottesville, Virginia, but raised in Salem by her mother, Susan, a teacher, and her father, Jacob, a police officer. Attended Salem Elementary School until your tenth birthday, when your father called into his station to report an unknown child in his house—”