“You’re awake and just fine. See, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Dr. Winston sat in a corner chair in my room, a binder of paperwork in his lap.

My mouth dropped open, wide enough that a glassfly could have flown right in with no problem.

Was he on crack? My father had definitely snorted something, and God only knew what kind of substances the world had now. “You lied to me,” I hurled at him.

A pitiless and unrepentant look crossed his face. “If you hadn’t acted out, there would have been no need to sedate you.”

“So it was my fault.” I sighed, giving up the argument. I would never win. I couldn’t do anything about it now. Whatever they had done was done. My eyes glanced to the binder of papers, and I squinted my eyes, trying to get a better look. I swear I read something that closely resembled my name.

He gathered the paperwork together, shifting it so I couldn’t see what was on top. “Well, now that it is over, let’s get back to it, shall we?”

I kept my lips sealed and hopped off the table. Until I gained control of the fury inside me, I would say nothing, because if I did, two things could happen. I might cry, or I might go off the deep end. Neither had a positive outcome.

My two guards were posted outside my door as we stepped into the hall. Trist and… I didn’t know what the other man was called. My eyes slid to the nameless guard. Outwardly, he showed no signs of mutation. He stood taller than both my father and Trist. The Night’s Guard uniform brought out flecks of blue in his hazel eyes. There was a twinkle in them that led me to believe he found me amusing for reasons I couldn’t fathom.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Raze.” What a voice. It was smooth and sexy.

“Raze?” I echoed. “Like maze with an R?”

His lips twitched. “Hot, right?”

A crazy, I’m-losing-it laugh bubbled up my throat, but I covered it with a cough. “If you think so.” I crossed my arms.

The two guards and my father sent me a look.

I took a deep breath, telling myself to get a grip. You need to keep your wits, Charlotte. That I did.

Dr. Winston gave me a long, level stare, as if I was exhausting him. “We should have the blood tests back tomorrow, but overall, you’re as fit as a fiddle.”

“Wonderful.”

“There is one more thing I would like to show you. It will give you a chance to see what the Institute is really about.”

We took the elevator to the ground floor, which opened to a lobby that split into two halls. The sheer mass of this place was impressive, but I was about to find out the size of the building wasn’t it’s only notable feature.

Dr. Winston stopped at a large double door. To the right hung a control panel on the wall with a keypad and a series of lights. He punched in a combination that turned the lights all green before the doors made a clicking noise. “Welcome to the combat room.”

My eyes went wide as I took in the sight before me. I’d had ideas of what the training facility might look like, but this exceeded even my wild imagination. There was so much to see that I couldn’t take it all in at once, my gaze ping-ponging over the room. It wasn’t how large the space was; it was huge, possibly bigger than a football field. It wasn’t how many people there were. It was what they were doing.

Matters of light zoomed through the air like rainbow-colored shooting stars, all different shapes and colors. There were humans covered in animal hair—some all over their body, others just their hands or ears. A chorus of growls, squawking, fists hitting flesh, claws swiping in the air, and about a hundred other sounds I couldn’t identify filled the training room. My mouth gaped as a young boy disappeared only to materialize again on the other side of the room in the bat of an eye. Wonder after mind-boggling wonder occurred in front of me.

“How many Gifted live here?” I muttered, managing to form coherent words through my shock.

Dr. Winston blinked, pride flickering in his eyes. “At the moment, over four thousand. Then there are those of us who aren’t Gifted and those like you, who somehow slipped through our safeguard measures.”

I pressed my palm into the wall, leaning my weight into it. Whoa. That was more than I’d anticipated. It seemed unlikely that they could keep that many people here against their wishes.

“We give them a place to learn how to control and explore their newfound abilities without having to worry about hurting anyone in the process. The combat room is set up into sections, depending on the results of their blood work. We’ve been able to categorize people based off the mutated DNA cells, and narrow down where someone’s abilities might fall. For example, firebending: those who can summon, control, or manipulate fire. Your sister is a firebender.”

Go Ember, I thought dryly but kept the comment to myself.

As we walked down the length of the room, he listed off the classifications.

Cryokinetic: creating frost, ice, snow, cold fronts.

Poison generation: deadly saliva, disease, and a bunch of other horrifying traits.

Aquatic adaptation: breathing underwater, creating hurricanes, and swimming like a fish.

Enhanced abilities: strength, sight, hearing, endurance.

War powers: ability to kill (like someone I knew), armor, weapons.

Mind: telepathy, visions, teleportation, illusions.

The list went on and on, until it came to the point that I would never remember them all. “I should have brought a pen and paper.”

He laughed. “It is not necessary for you to memorize them all. There are many that can cross over into one or more categories, like a firebender who can also produce ice. The categories are guidelines but in no way limit a person. The possibilities we’ve found are endless. Like a fingerprint, no two gifts are identical. And quite often we are discovering new skills.”

Wow. Someone’s geek juices were flowing. Both my parents had been on the lame side growing up. While I’d been dedicated to shaking my pom-poms at cheerleading, my parents had been dedicated to their boring jobs. I never understood how they could spend so much time in a lab. It was what had drawn them to each other in the first place.

Normal families had dinner conversations about school, the family pet, or a book they’d read. Nah. Not at our table. The hot topics consisted of the periodic table, atomic mass, and chromosomes. Riveting. It was probably where my fast eating habits stemmed from—to get away from the dinner conversation as quickly as possible.

Dad had been a chemist in his former life. The memory of it almost put me to sleep.

I shook my head, trying to remember what he had last said. Right. Mutations. “You said there are two floors for training?”

Dr. Winston nodded, pleased I’d been paying attention. “Yes, the second floor is for our younger Gifted—those under the age of ten. Our goal is to make the world safe again.”

“And that’s it? You’re trying to make the world a better place, a safer place?” I didn’t buy it, not completely, but I couldn’t deny that I’d seen some incredible things.

“Yes, the mission of the Institute, the reason we’ve worked so hard to build it was not only to adapt to this new world, but to flourish in it. Humans, like animals and plants, have the ability to acclimate. To do so, we need to study the habitat and the effects it had on not only humans, but on the environment.”

“So you’re not building a supernatural army?”

“God no,” he chuckled. “Do any of them look like they don’t want to be here?”

I wasn’t sure. Other than the two guards shadowing me, I’d seen less than a handful of guards walking around, and I’d talked to even less people. Somehow I’d expected this place to be heavily armed and guarded. “Then why have the Night’s Guard?”

“The Night’s Guard serves multiple purposes. They patrol the holding houses that we’ve been able to locate. They are trained to deal with the natural threats of the world now; the plants, the animals, and the land can all be deadly. Everyone at the Institute has a purpose, and working together is the only way we stand a chance.”

He was making way too much sense, and it muddled my brain. “What about the ones you throw out? The ones who fail to be special enough?”

A dark tone crept into his voice, his eyes slanting and deepening. “There are rules and laws, just like any successful governing city. They must be obeyed and upheld, otherwise chaos ensues. The world had enough disorder during the years of the mist. It is our job to put it back together.”

“And you want me to do this?” I said, sweeping my arms over the room. “To learn to fight and control this curse I’ve been burdened with?”

Dr. Winston put his hand on my shoulder, standing beside me. “I want you to thrive in this new world. The only way to survive is to dominate the land. Do you understand?”

I wasn’t entirely sure that I did, but if answering like I understood got me out of my locked room, it was a no-brainer. “Yes.”

“Good.” He smiled and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Your mother and I are happy to have you home. This is what we have been dreaming about: us being a family again.”

“When can I see her?” It had been so short, and I’d been unconscious for most of it.

“She is working at the moment. Now that you’re home, we have all the time in the world.” He straightened himself as if to leave.

My own mother was too busy to spend time with her daughter? It had been a hundred years. I’d expected a little more enthusiasm. I didn’t need them to throw me a welcome home party or bomb me with confetti, streamers, and balloons, but the distance felt oddly cold. The memories I had of my parents were warm and loving. Would I ever feel that again?

* * *

To my utter disappointment, I wasn’t given free rein to wander on my own as I so wanted to do. Trist and Raze escorted me back to floor seven, where the lock on my door quickly clicked into place the moment I stepped inside. Oh hell no. Not this again.

“Wait!” My fist pounded on the door, but it was useless.

Trist’s satanic laugh sounded from the other side.

I was still a prisoner in the white city. It didn’t matter how plush the room was, or how decadent the food. I was as much trapped here as the criminals and thieves in the dungeon.

How could my parents do this to me? Didn’t they trust me?

What did they expect me to do in here until someone decided to let me out?

I thumbed through a dusty old book near the bed, desperate to hear any kind of sound outside my door. TV was a no-go. My only entertainment was sitting by the window and watching the activity below in the courtyard.

Having no concept of time, I relied on the setting sun and moon. It felt like a lifetime before Star came in with a tray of dinner, not that I was hungry. Since I wasn’t feeling chatty, she left with only a few words. I nodded once or twice, feeling anything like myself.

I couldn’t remember the last time I felt depressed, real depression—the kind where you just want to crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head, and wallow in some good self-pity.

That was me at the moment.

There was something degrading about being shut away in a room as if I didn’t matter.

However, I couldn’t shake what I’d seen today and how much of it contradicted what Dash had led me to believe about the Institute, but I knew he hadn’t made up the pain he had suffered from their hands. And they had imprisoned him. Twice.

Dash was no criminal. A killer, yes, but only because the Institute had made him one.

I lay in a strange bed that was undoubtedly the most comfortable place I’d laid my head since my awakening, and yet I would give a month’s worth of rations to be with Dash out in the dangerous Heights.