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"Yes!" I say, rushing to the co the web address of the news site I’ve deee to load The old computers, combined with the slow internet here, are the bane of oes white and, line by line, the page fors One nore the bell, even at the risk of being punished At this point I don’t really care "Five e is now up, revealing the top of John Smith’s face, his upturned eyes, which are dark and confident, though within them there’s a sense of discoe ofup insidemy hands to tre in vain to hurry it "Come on come on come on"

"Marina!" a voice barks from the open doorway I jerk around and see Sister Dora, a portly woers at ers at everyone alks through the lunch line holding a tray, as though our needing sustenance is a personal affront She presses her lips together in a perfect straight line, then narrows her eyes "Co I have no choice but to go I clear the browser’s history and close it, then follow Sister Dora down the dark hallway There was so new on that screen; I just know it Why else would John’s face have taken up the entire page? A week and a half is long enough for any news to turn stale, so for hinificant new piece of information

We walk to Santa Teresa’s nave, which is huge Towering pillars lead to a high, vaulted ceiling and stained glass s line the walls Wooden pews run the length of the open room and can seat nearly three hundred people Sister Dora and I are the last to enter I sit alone in one of the center pews Sister Lucia, who opened the door to Adelina and me e first arrived and who still runs the convent, stands at the pulpit, closes her eyes, lowers her head and presses her hands together in front of her Everyone else does the sains in soa y nos proteja en su amor"

I tune it out and look at the back of the heads before me, all of which are bowed in concentration Or just bowed My eyes find Adelina, sitting in the very first row six pews in front of ht She is on her knees, deeply ht braid that falls to the middle of her back She doesn’t look up once, doesn’t try to findour first few years here, a covert s our shared secret We still share that secret, but so it So the way the plan to bide our tih to leave has been replaced with Adelina’s desire to simply stay--or her fear to leave

Before the news of John Smith, which I’d told Adelina about when it broke, it had been months since we last talked about our mission In Septe that said another Garde has died and that she and I are one step closer to being hunted and killed by the Mogadorians, and she had acted like it didn’t exist Like it didn’tthe news about John, shein fairy tales

"En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo An of the cross in unison with this last sentence, myself included to keep up appearances: forehead, chest, left shoulder, right shoulder

I had been asleep, drea down a mountain with ht, when I had been awoken by the pain and glow of the third scar wrapping itself around irls in the rooht I had a flashlight and athe rules of curfew On the bed next to mine, Elena, a quiet sixteen-year-old with jet-black hair she often sticks in her , had thrown a pillow at un to bubble, and the pain had been so intense I had to bite on the edge of my blanket to remain quiet I couldn’t help but cry, because somewhere Number Three had lost his or her life There were six of us left now

Tonight I file out of the nave with the rest of the girls and head to our sleeping quarters filled with creaky twin beds evenly spaced apart, but ina plan To compensate for the hard beds and the concrete chill of every room, the linens are soft and the blankets heavy, the only real luxury we’re afforded My bed is in the back corner, farthest froht after spot; it’s the quietest, and it took irl left

The lights are shut off once everyone is settled in I lie on h ceiling An occasional whisper breaks the silence, followed i whoever it ca impatiently for everyone to fall asleep After a half hour the whispers fade, replaced by the soft sounds of sleep, but I don’t dare risk it yet Too soon Another fifteen er

I holdto the rhyth beside me My feet find the icy floor, and turn cold instantly I stand slowly to keep the bed fro and then tiptoe across the roo careful not to bump any beds I reach the open doorway and rush out into the hall and down to the computer room I pull out the chair and push the co for the co towards the hallway to see if anyone has followed I’oes white, then two pictures take shape in the center of the page, surrounded by text with a top headline in bold black letters too blurry to read Two ied since I tried to check earlier And then, at last, they come into focus:

INTERNATIONAL TERRORISTS?

John Sy dark blond hair, and blue eyes, fills the left side of the screen, while his father--or ht What’s there isn’t a photo but a black-and-white artist’s sketch done in pencil I skim the details I already know--demolished school, five deaths, abrupt disappearance--and then co reported: