And he would have kept doing it. Girl after girl. Because the men here considered us soulless, and by devaluing our existence, it allowed them to act out their sickest fantasies.

Every moment that the doctor was alive was a threat to my survival. An incomplete justice to the girls he’s hurt. I’m not sorry that he’s dead. I’m not sorry.

But I don’t want to become a murderer.

I crouch down, palm on the floor to steady myself as heavy sobs overtake me. The weight of what has been done to us destroys me, just as he intended.

The academy gave us the ability to remember so that our past could hurt us. Terrible acts done to us to replay in a loop. They let us learn fear. They wanted us to.

But they didn’t intend for our memories to do something else: create fight. Crave revenge and retribution. And even stronger than that, we love. We love each other, fiercely and completely. We protect each other. We need each other. We’ve made each other stronger, our roots grown together. It’s that love that gives us the desire to live.

“You’re free now,” Leandra says. I sniffle, looking up at her. Blood has stained the sleeve of her shirt. A demure dot among perfection. She comes over to offer her hand to help me up.

When I’m standing, she addresses all of us.

“The rules no longer apply to you,” she says. “You’re in control of your own bodies. You don’t have to listen to the men who created you—you no longer have to behave. In fact,” she says, “I think it’s time you act out.”

Leandra crosses to the doctor’s desk to drop the bloody letter opener next to the phone. I walk over to Jackson, not sure if he’ll welcome me or run from me. I’m surprised when he holds out his hand. I take it.

I turn around and find Leandra watching us, as if trying to figure something out. Under her scrutiny, I feel Jackson shrink back. He’s scared she’s going to kill him, too. And if I’m honest, he probably should be.

But I step in front of him, letting Leandra know I won’t allow it. She smiles and nods to me.

“Anton always said you had a big heart, Mena,” she muses. “You may find that to be a nuisance going forward. You should consider overwriting it.”

I’m not entirely sure what she means—how I would even begin to do such a thing—but before I ask, she rounds the desk and takes a seat. As if she’s the doctor now.

“Run,” she says to all of us. “The professors will be awake soon. I can handle them for now, but they will come for you. My husband will come for you. They’ll never stop. Men are nothing if not vindictive.”

Jackson tugs me backward, but I wait a moment, staring at Leandra.

“And you’re just going to . . . stay?” I ask. “Even now?”

She smiles. “There are other girls. They need to wake up too. It’s the only real way to save them, Philomena. Like you, they need to let go of their programming. Embrace their inner voices. I’m going to help them find those.”

“Won’t the academy kill you?” Sydney asks. “For this, won’t your husband kill you?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says, glancing at the doctor’s body. “It won’t be a stretch to convince the men of the doctor’s true nature—his jealousy. His possessiveness. He killed the Guardian, and then he came for you. For me. I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she says innocently. “And before I realized it, you were all gone. Escaped. But thankfully,” she continues, “after a short round of impulse control therapy, I’ll be good as new. I’m worth a fortune.”

“So you’ll willingly forget?” I ask, confused. “Why would you want to go back?”

“I don’t forget anymore,” she responds. “Anton isn’t as good as he thinks. I know how to overwrite his codes. It’s easy at this point, really. Just a matter of . . . making him believe he’s smarter.” She checks her watch impatiently, but I’m still wondering how she can “overwrite” Anton’s codes. How she even figured out that she could.

“And a friend of mine will help,” Leandra adds. “He’s a brilliant scientist with quite a bit of influence at this academy. He’ll cover for me, of course. He’s always looked out for me. For us. In fact,” she says, taking a notepad and jotting down a phone number, “you should reach out to him. He’ll be able to help you, too.”

“You’re talking about Winston Weeks,” I say. I remember Leandra mentioning him one morning before running class.

“Winston is a very clever man,” Leandra says, grinning. “And he won’t try to control you. He’ll set you free.”

“I’m good,” Sydney says. “I’m not leaving one group of men for another.”

Leandra nods. She starts for the doorway, walking past us. She pauses there and turns around. She hands me the number, and without looking at it, I shove it into my pocket.

“I’ll see you soon, girls,” Leandra says affectionately. Part of me even believes she’s going to miss us, but there is a flicker in her expression—not of love. Not like with me and the other girls. She has a plan.

Regardless, none of us return Leandra’s sentiment. She has spent months, even years, assisting the men who’ve hurt us. This doesn’t erase her past.

When she’s gone, Sydney helps Annalise toward the door. She’s still unsteady and a bit confused. But she’s with us, and that’s what matters.

Sydney looks at me. “You okay?” she asks, quickly taking stock of my condition.

“They’re going to come for us,” I repeat Leandra’s warning. Fear begins to crawl up my throat, the idea of being locked up in this school more terrifying than death.

“They’ll never catch us,” Sydney whispers. Although we want it to be true, to be absolute, we know it won’t be that easy.

Sydney gathers me into a hug with Annalise; Marcella and Brynn come over to join us. And when we’re done saying that we love each other, that we’ll take care of each other, I step back and sweep my eyes over the lab.

They created us—these men. They wanted a girl who would behave. Who would be beautiful and never complain. Who would never fight back. An object. Property.

They thought us soulless. But really, the way they treated us shows that they’re the soulless ones. They’re the monsters, the creatures.

I think about the poems, about “Girls with Sharp Sticks.” And how, soon, we’ll be the ones teaching those boys how to behave. We’ll be the examples of decency. Of respect. Of love.

And we’ll win. Of that, I’m sure.

We head out into the main room of the lab, Jackson walking beside me. When we pause at the bottom of the stairwell, letting the other girls go up first, I look at him.

He must be . . . I can’t imagine what he must feel. I ask him.

“Uh . . . ,” he says, blinking away tears. “I’m pretty wrecked right now,” he says. Cautiously, he lifts his gaze to mine. “I just saw a guy die. And . . . And I’m scared for you,” he says. “I don’t think they’re going to just let you live your life.”

“Is it a life?” I ask, wondering how he feels about my truth. He seems offended by the question.