"You accept our conditions, I presume?" Pris asks, her voice sterile and clipped.

Being allowed to reenter society with Mizpah as our probation officer? I've heard of worse fates. It's not like we have a choice anyways.

"Yes, Civilizer Pris," we both answer in unison.

"Then you will be released immediately. The Enforcers will ensure you receive any necessary medical treatment and are returned to your quarters. If your classmates are curious as to your absence, you may inform them you were being trained for your new duties. Jayse has been expelled."

It suddenly makes sense—we haven't been promoted to trainers because of our qualifications but as a cover up for the time we've spent in interrogation and to keep us under their thumbs. Orrick and the others must have put pressure on the Civilizers to explain our absence, so their excuse is our training. I fight off a grin and feel a surge of confidence.

"That will be all," Pris adds and then exits with Cile, the clicking of her heels echoing down the hallway.

A pair of Enforcers enter and unchain us; my Intellect choker is returned to my neck and Ryke is given his Justice armband. With this token of identity, my life and clearances have been returned to me and maybe even my personhood. I touch the band around my throat, drawing strength from it. I'm a civilian again. But what does that even mean? Do I want to be a civilian after this? Is this choker a symbol of my identity or my slavery?

The Enforcers escort us to the Medical floor at subzero one, and I find the strength to trudge forward on my own two feet. Even though I've barely moved for days, every muscle feels spent and exhaustion aches through my bones. The Medical floor is pristine and sterile, all white-washed walls and stainless steel tools. The Enforcers take Ryke and I into two separate rooms where I sag onto the metal gurney waiting for me.

A Medical Intellect in a white coat enters, a stethoscope wrapped around his neck and a minipad in his hand. He eyes me clinically for a moment and then taps the minipad, inputting some sort of information about me. Female, five feet four inches, peak physical condition, Tier 2 clearance. To the Civilization, that's all I am. Another cog in the machine. I don't know how I never saw this before.

The Medical orders me to remove my clothing which is already filthy and torn from days of torture. I strip to my underwear and toss the clothes onto the floor, leaving behind every trace of this interrogation. I return to the gurney, shivering as the cold metal touches the backs of my thighs.

The Medical Intellect begins to examine me, his hands cold and clinical as they explore my body. I wonder how many Medicals know about these interrogations. How many other people have been sent in here after an interrogation to be patched up and sent back to the real world? How many people are keeping the Civilization's secrets? He listens to my heartbeat, runs his hands over my ribs to see how malnourished I am, and checks for broken bones or torn muscles. As his hands probe over me, I try to use my alerted senses to gather my bearings.

"Excuse me, what day is it?" I finally ask, my voice still weak.

The Medical's facial expression does not vary as he answers, "4th quarter, day 85."

Six days. I've been locked up and interrogated for six days. No wonder I'm weak from malnourishment and dehydration. This means that Jayse has been gone for over a week. I've lost someone who I thought was one of my closest friends, the person who was supposed to love or at least like me. A discord in my mind tells me that I should be sad or depressed, but I'm not—I'm furious. Jayse knows that I've always been curious about what's outside the Civilization; that's why I've been so anxious to see the Curator. I want, need, to know what's out there. And Jayse, my boyfriend, my match, has left me behind for the unknown.

Perhaps he thought I was just another Intellect. Perhaps he saw me as the background music to his melody. Perhaps I accepted that role. Perhaps it's good that he's gone—now there's no one to stop me from learning everything I need to make it out of here.

"Intellect Renna, you've been approved for release."

I refocus on the wiry man standing before me. I survey myself and see that he has bandaged the two spots below my collarbones where the electrodes were attached and rubbed balm on the chafed skin on my wrists and ankles. Those burn marks and bruises are the only evidence of six days of torture. There's nothing he can do for the invisible damage inflicted.

He gives me an energy pill, and I accept it and choke it down before rising to my feet and staggering forward. Every step forward strains my muscles and makes me want to collapse in my bed and sleep for a thousand years. The Medical hands me a new set of insular and a pair of plain pants and a t-shirt then leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.

Left by myself, I rest my hands against the gurney and let my weight fall against it. I survived. I can't say that I'm safe or even out of the woods, but I'm alive. I draw a hoarse breath into my aching lungs. With slow, creaking movements, I pull on my insular. Insular is a translucent body suit worn beneath our clothes that protects us from the cold. Because of the arctic temperatures outside of the Civilization Center, the Civilizers can't keep the temperature warm enough to be comfortable, so we are forced to wear insular to keep us warm. I slip on the clothes over top, the t-shirt hanging loose over my ribs and the pants nearly falling down. How much weight have I lost?

FInally, I limp out of the examination room to the hallway where a group of Enforcers and Ryke await for me. When Ryke sees my stumbling gait, he slips an arm around my shoulders. I sag against him, grateful for his strength. Ryke, over six feet of solid muscle, doesn't seem nearly as weakened as I feel. The Enforcers deposit us in the elevator and a red laser scans Ryke's armband and my choker. Ryke silently selects the button that will lead us to our residency floor far above ground.

We are silent, and I turn to Ryke and his glowing gold eyes. I may be exhausted, but my curiosity is still ravenous.

"Are you going to tell me what you know?" I ask, my voice scratchy and low.

He turns to look at me, his pale face shadowed by long dirty blonde hair. His expression gives nothing away, but I know him. The fingers of his left hand thrum against his thigh, and I can tell he's lying.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ryke, I know you..."

His voice grows hard. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He glares at the four corners of the elevator, and my foggy mind grasps his message. Of course. Idiot. In my delirium, I've forgotten about the surveillance cameras. Of course they're watching us; the Civilizers are always watching. I've spent hours on the surveillance floor, watching for anything suspicious in the Civilization Center, and I've memorized almost every camera location. I berate myself for my stupidity, blaming it on the exhaustion and weakness. I can't risk our newfound freedom--not yet, at least.

We both grow silent and look straight ahead. Ryke is mistaken, however, if he thinks that I won't find out what he knows. Tier 3 and 4 Intellects and Justices don't have surveillance in their personal quarters, so I'll corner him in his room and force him to tell me the truth if I have to.

The door slides open and Ryke and I turn towards the third branch of the Tier 3 residency floor, the branch designated for Advanced Trainees. Ryke walks me to my room, leaning an elbow against my doorframe.

He gives me a roguish half smile. "Get some rest, Ren. I'm sure I'll see you soon."

-----

A few hours later, I've managed to get the first few hours of restful sleep that I've had in nearly a week. As soon as I stretched my body on my narrow bed, I fell into unconsciousness, a sleep so deep even disturbing dreams couldn't interrupt it. My telemessenger, the small touch screen device used for communication and scheduling, woke me up with an insistent dinging, indicating that I'm expected to be at dinner at six o'clock. I rouse myself from the bed, my limbs stiff and weakened. I walk to my narrow closet and open it, revealing my monochromatic black and white wardrobe. I select black leggings and a loose black shirt to wear over my insular. The collar is high enough to hide my burn marks and the shirt baggy enough to disguise my emaciated form. It's amazing what six days can do to a person.

When I walk into my washroom and face the mirror, I hardly recognize myself. My face is pale and my eyes are shadowed by dark bags. My dark shoulder length hair is tangled and greasy. The only part of me that looks the same are my eyes. Though I'm neither beautiful nor breathtaking, my dark bluish-purple eyes are my one distinguishing feature. The Nuclear War decimated the world in so many ways. Everywhere around us has become the arctic—snow, ice, subzero temperatures--but the war did more than just change the climate; the Nuclear War also disrupted basic genetics. The Civilization still hasn't figured out all the ways our genes have been changed, but eye color is one of the most obvious differences from our mysterious predecessors.

I tie as much of my hair as I can wrangle into a tie behind my head, and I trace the Intellect choker around my neck. It used to be a badge of honor, but now it feels like a manacle.

My telemessenger beeps from where I left it on the dresser next to the bed. "Ten minutes until dinner."

I sigh, reaching for my telemessenger and opening my thin metal door into the Residency Floor hallway. The last time I left this room, I was going to finish my final tests for Tier 3 Advanced Training. I wonder what dangers await me today. I join other Intellects and Justices who are lining up in front of the elevator to descend to the dining branch of the recreation floor. They all turn to watch me, some with curiosity and others with malice. Regardless of whatever story the Civilization has been feeding them, they all know that our absence had something to do with Jayse's rumored expulsion. They don't know that he wasn't killed, that he's still alive and out there somewhere, leaving havoc in his wake.

The eyes trained on me fill me with unease; I can't remember the last time this many people stared at me. You can't stay in the background forever. I summon false confidence and square my narrow shoulders as I join the line of people, not looking to the right or left.

Someone steps beside me, and I hear a low, cool voice. "I'm glad to see that you're back."

It takes everything within me not to turn and throw my arms around Orrick. The tall Intellect stands to my right, suave in black pants and a collared white shirt. His black hair, shaved on the sides, is partially dyed pale blue to match his hooded eyes. Despite his reputation as one of the best Technologists in the Civilization, Orrick is still the subject of prejudice because of his ancestry, just like me. His parents weren't Intellects or Justices; they were commonplace Workers, amongst the people who live outside of the Civilization Center in the bunkers. Though the school entry tests are supposed to evaluate children fairly, those of us who are Worker-born find it much more difficult to qualify for Justice and Intellect positions. It doesn't help that he speaks Asiatic.

"I've missed you," I whisper to him as we swarm into the elevator and descend.

He reaches for me and squeezes my hand. "We'll be fine, Ren. We always are."
I smile at his reference to our long friendship. The Civilizers asked me if I trust Jayse and I couldn't answer, but I trust Orrick. I would trust him with my life, and I owe him for my freedom.

The Dining Room is so full of people that few notice Ryke's and my return. I stay in the shadows and find a table in the corner. Orrick fetches our food portions, carefully allotted based on our height, weight, and physical exertion as determined by our telemessengers. Our dinner is collard greens and mashed sweet potato today, and my plate is fuller than usual thanks to how little I've eaten for the past week. I scarf down every bite even though the greens are the bitter and the potatoes bland. I almost consider using some of my points to buy something a bit tastier, but my points are lower than usual since I've been incapacitated for six days. Points, earned through work and good behavior, can buy you almost anything—food, clothes, tattoos, weapons—and I need to save mine for later.

I am finishing my last bite of sweet potato when I see Elz coming towards us. Elz is the third member of our trio, my oldest and truest friend. I've known Elz longer than anyone still living; if the Civilization believed in family, she would be mine. She smiles at me softly and slides into the seat next to me, slipping her arms around me in a hug. Her embrace is warm and familiar, and for the first time since all of this happened, I feel an emotion other than fear, pain, or anger. I start to feel grief for what they've done, for the trauma I've survived, for Jayse and his betrayal.

"I know you're not okay, but you will be," she whispers in my ear, and my body trembles.

She always knows exactly what I need. I briefly wonder what she and Orrick know about my six day disappearance, but I know better than to tell them in such a crowded room. My mind races for a way to tell her that Jayse is still alive, that nothing's ever going to be the same again, that I have a thousand questions that need to be answered, but Elz stops me. Again, she knows what I need as she squeezes my hand and smiles.

Elz brushes a strand of her long hair, white-blonde with pastel pink, blue, and purple highlights, behind her ear as she begins to eat. Her hand remains in mine under the table, offering the silent encouragement I need right now.

She's right; I've already survived Jayse betraying me and six days of torture and interrogation. Now I will survive the Civilization.