“You’re right. It was disgusting.”

“Exactly,” she says. “Anyway, they said they’d research. I didn’t know the stuff about the garden woman. We’ll update them when we get home. And don’t worry,” she adds, bumping her shoulder into mine. “They’ll help us figure out what to do next.”

We take a turn onto our street. Leandra paid in advance for three months on an upstairs apartment near Ridgeview Prep. It’s a modest three-bedroom, two-bath that came furnished. But we’re all hoping we’re out of here before the three months are up.

None of us like it here. Not this town, not what we know of Ridgeview Prep. But every second that Innovations Academy exists is another second that girls are being held captive there, even if they don’t realize it. We’re going to wake them up. We’re going to shut down the corporation. I just hope we can figure out how to do it quickly.

Aside from a brief obituary for Dr. Groger, Innovations Academy hasn’t been in the news. And during the last update from Leandra, she said Mr. Petrov still hadn’t discovered that we’ve escaped.

Right now, we have to stay on task. To make that easier, I devised a rule to keep us safe—no new friends. I made the girls promise not to tell anyone who, or what, we are. It hasn’t been that difficult. After what we’ve been through, it’s hard to believe anyone would understand except another girl. Another one of us.

So we’re keeping our distance. Just like I’ve kept my distance from Jackson. Thinking about him weighs down my heart. I wonder some nights if he waited for me at his house. If he worried when I didn’t show up. If his leg is still broken and getting worse. But realistically, Quentin probably confronted him, and Jackson knows I betrayed his trust. He probably hates me.

Either way, Jackson’s out of my life. And I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t miss him.

“We’re home,” I call out as we walk inside our apartment. The place smells like banana bread, something Brynn has been baking daily, promising to do it until she gets it perfect. It’s already pretty close to perfect, but she says baking helps calm her mind. A familiar part of her programming that she can still indulge in safely.

There’s no one in the kitchen, and I turn back to Sydney as she enters and closes the door behind her. She glances around with me.

“Girls,” she calls. There is soft chatter from the other side of the apartment, and cautiously, Sydney and I head that way.

“I hope Brynn is all right … ,” I murmur.

Brynn has been taking the adjustment to the outside world hardest. She’s wracked with survivor’s guilt—that’s what Marcella called it after finding the term online. I know how deeply Brynn loves others—a programmed caretaker—but it’s more than that. She’s all heart in a way that we’re not.

Then again, Brynn has only lived once. The academy put the rest of us through even more—rebooted and reused us when we didn’t behave, or when we were destroyed by abusive men. I try not to think about it, but every so often … a piece of memory leaks through and I end up crying on the bathroom floor. It’s why I sleep with the lights on.

There’s a small laugh from Annalise and Sydney’s room. Sydney scrunches up her face and pushes open the door. Her breath catches.

Annalise and Brynn are sitting on the bed, smiling, while Marcella stands near the window. When she notices us, she winces apologetically.

Because sitting in the chair at the desk is a person I don’t recognize. The stranger turns around, examining us without smiling. She looks about nineteen or twenty with olive skin, her dark hair buzzed underneath with a deep part. Her brown eyes are lined with black, making them look almost hazel. Red matte lipstick.

She’s captivating in an unusual way.

“What’s going on?” I demand, ignoring the training I’ve had in greetings. “Who is this?”

“Raven,” the girl says before Annalise can. Her voice is deep with a hint of amusement. “And you are … fascinating.”

She betrays her first smile before straightening it. Her eyes glisten with what looks like admiration. I turn back to Annalise, who is beaming.

“Isn’t she adorable?” Annalise asks.

“Annalise … ,” Sydney warns.

“It’s okay,” Annalise says, waving us off. “Raven knows all about us.”

My stomach hits the floor, and Sydney takes another step into the room.

“Now be nice,” Annalise says. “Raven’s our new friend and the best hacker you’ll ever meet. She’s going to help us.”

Raven turns back to me and grins.

The Hack Daily

An electromagnetic pulse—EMP—can be instrumental in slipping past most basic software protections. With a quick pulse, systems will be temporarily distorted, thus allowing for a new program to install and/or take hold. It is especially effective at close range, although modifications can be made in order to use for long-range targets.

The US government is taking precautions against such threats in their software, but everyday citizens are seeing a rise of EMPs disrupting their cell coverage, computer systems, and their smart cars. There is even conjecture that the future of AI could be compromised by hackers using EMPs to interrupt systems.

But hackers around the globe are perfecting not only ways to infiltrate systems using EMPs, but also how to protect against them. An interesting situation, where creating a problem to which you’re also the solution can be very lucrative.

7

We move into the living room with our newly announced friend. I keep my eyes on her as I pace back and forth, listening to Annalise try to explain. I can’t believe she didn’t follow the rules. She’s put us all in danger.

“… and then Raven said we should meet,” Annalise continues. “So I told her to come here.”

Sydney slaps her forehead and then drags her palm down her face. “Seriously, Annalise?” she says. “We’ve been out of Innovations for a few weeks, and even I know you don’t invite strangers from the internet to your home.” She looks at Raven. “So … what?” Sydney asks her. “Are you a serial killer or something? Because I should warn you”—she crosses her arms over her chest—“we fight back.”

At the other end of the couch, Brynn lowers her eyes. Her expression sags with guilt.

“I’m not a serial killer,” Raven says. “And after what Annalise told me, I believe you. I can’t imagine what you had to do to get out of your situation.”

Sydney withdraws. None of us want to think about what had to be done. In fact, I’d be glad to have the entire escape erased from my memory.

“I’m not excusing Annalise,” Marcella says, giving her a pointed look. “But I did check out Raven before she got here. She doesn’t seem to be connected to Innovations in any way. Then again”—she looks at her with suspicion—“she doesn’t seem to be connected to anything. She’s a ghost.”

Raven shrugs. “Trust me, in my line of work, it’s best to be invisible. You won’t find any records of me.” She crosses her legs, leaning back against the couch. She’s wearing heavy black boots with thick stockings. “I’m good at what I do,” she adds. “I can erase anything. I can get in anywhere.”