At eight o'clock the next morning, the folk tune from the night before crackled from the speakers and echoed down the corridor. As the singer belted out the final "Be free," the cafeteria doors swung open.

Southies jostled through the doors, sweeping me with them. I peered past bobbing shoulders and heads at the Northerners spilling into the opposite end of the cafeteria, searching for the face I most wanted to see. When a hand snatched my forearm, I jumped.

Puffing out a breath, I grinned at Rekkan. "Good morning."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're tense. What happened?"

I darted a glance around me. Northerners filed into chairs around the long, black-steel tables closest to the door they had entered, and Southies claimed the identical tables on our dormitory's side. Bezan, evil-grandma, and the rest of the crew from the storage locker crowded the table nearest the door. Uzmed was nowhere to be seen.

My fingers twitched, itching to rub the tiny scab just beneath the collar of my shirt, but I forced my hands to relax. "Nothing. Everything's wonderful."

His growl cut through the hubbub around us. "Bullshit. What did those fucking Southies do?"

The nearest Southies glanced our way before ducking their heads.

My stomach clenched, straining my voice. "Nothing."

His brow furrowed and mouth opened, but Ivogg interrupted.

"Good morning, good morning! What a beautiful day." Ivogg straightened his checkered orange bowtie that matched his shorts. "Can I interest you two in joining our table?"

Rekkan and I chose adjacent chairs at the center table with Ivogg, Zhina, Mekkar, and the elderly from the cupboards, Figgel. Three bulky Northern women with braided pigtails and white lab coats filled the remaining seats.

On my right, Rekkan scowled at the flowery placemat as though it had burned down his fortress — or maybe even murdered a cockroach. A silver spoon, fork, and knife flanked each ceramic plate. Remembering the night before, I touched the butter knife.

Plastic.

On my left, Ivogg fluttered fingers over the edge of the table, smiling at the open space between the placemats at the table's center. Had he noticed the disappearing utensils? Did he know the Southies were crafting weapons?

Were the Northerners doing the same?

Creaking metal interrupted my thoughts, and the center of the table plummeted, leaving a gaping black hole. Around the cafeteria, more metal screeched, and more table centers dropped. Below our feet, something clunked, whirred, and sloshed. Seconds later, the center of the table popped back into place, covered in platters of steaming food.

Rekkan and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance.

Mekkar chuckled. "Works like magic, doesn't it?" He snatched a handful of strawberries from the nearest platter. "I helped build it, and it still amazes me."

Figgel squeezed Mekkar's shoulder and flashed a toothy smile. "You amaze me."

Mekkar's eyes pinned to the hand on his shoulder, and his smile faded. "Well, I wasn't the primary designer." He nodded at me. "Our best ideas came from Zafaru's mother."

My eyes dropped to the fluffy lab-produced scrambled eggs on my plate, and a lump in my throat curbed my appetite. My mother had the kind of genius to feed hundreds... but she never shared a meal with me.

Figgel rubbed Mekkar's arm. "So humble. And can I just say, your hygiene is impeccable! I can hardly even smell you."

Mekkar pulled his arm out of her grasp to itch the back of his head. "Your smell is also inoffensive, Figgel. Unfortunately, I'm married."

Figgel scowled and snapped up the tongs. "I thought the Implanted took her out?"

"Well, she, uh..." Mekkar's voice dropped quiet. "I just can't believe Serigg's really gone."

I studied Mekkar's face, trying to reconcile the pursed lips and somber eyes with Zhina's revelation. They say he should have fought harder to save her.

Figgel clamped the tongs over a piece of bacon, hard enough the crispy faux-meat snapped and crumbled. "Don't know why you can't let go. The moment I smashed in my husband's head, I flung the bracelet at his head. 'What was that?' I told him. 'You wanted a topping on your omelet?'" She cackled and stuffed the bacon in her mouth.

When the rest of the group stared, she swallowed the bacon and cleared her throat. "Anyway, Mekkar, I heard you two used to argue all the time." She flipped up fingers to count disputes. "About the Peace Project, about the Noble Forces, about some crazy nephew..."

Mekkar crushed the strawberry and gulped, eyes darting to Rekkan.

Figgel gasped. "Oh, that's your nephew? My apologies. Lucky you worked everything out, or this could be awkward!"

Silence. Silverware stilled and mouths froze around half-eaten food as everyone at the table eyed Mekkar and Rekkan. Only Rekkan moved, plucking up a flaky croissant and tearing off a hunk with his teeth.

Mekkar wiped his hand on his napkin and cleared his throat, eyes still on Rekkan. "Not... not crazy. Serigg and I definitely never used that word. We disagreed on how to best meet your needs, perhaps, but we never would have called you —"

Rekkan spat out the half-chewed bread and shot to his feet, knocking over his chair. "What the fuck are they doing here?"

I followed Rekkan's gaze to the Northerner entrance.... and I choked on my eggs. The redhead and his two hench people strolled into the cafeteria. The hench people sported baseball caps with cat ears — blue for the woman and yellow for the man.

The redhead headed toward our table and smirked at Rekkan. "Fancy meeting you here, Recluse. Though I can see why you decided to join the Refuge; your fortress was becoming quite a mess, wasn't it?"

Rekkan's knuckles cracked with each heave of his chest.

The henchman side-glanced the henchwoman. "Megg, the Recluse is staring at us."

"Must be the hats," she whispered back.

The redhead's smile broadened. "Take it easy, big guy. Time to 'let past be past' and all that, right?"

Mekkar rose from his chair slowly, palms raised. "Lekk, why don't you go sit down and mind your own business, hmm? Rekkan clearly does not want you here."

"Fine." The redhead — Lekk — wiggled his eyebrows at me, lodging bitter disgust in my throat. "We have plenty of time."

The three pivoted and strode away, but Rekkan stared after them, jaw ticking. I laid a hand over one of his fists.

"Rekkan, they want a reaction. Don't give them one."

With a vocalized exhale, Rekkan sank back into his chair.

Doctor Ivogg grinned. "Remarkable. Anger defused with a simple touch. It's simply —"

When both Rekkan and I glared at him, he swallowed his words.

"You should make that group leave," I told Ivogg. "Have you seen what the Cutthroat Crew is like? You don't want them here any more than we do."

Ivogg frowned. "It's not that simple, Zafaru. Everyone here gets a fresh start, and they've given us no reason to doubt their good intentions. They've been quite compliant during Mediation and have helped in the lab during Contribution. Isn't that right, lab experts?"

The three pigtailed women obliged him with a nod.

I sifted a fork through my cooling scrambled eggs. "By the time they're not compliant, it will be too late. They've already killed many people, you know."

Ivogg shot a fleeting glance at Rekkan. "Zafaru... they are not the only ones here who have killed people."

I snapped my mouth shut and forced my attention to my eggs.

While I ate, Ivogg introduced us to the lab experts. Then Figgel weaved a tale about the time her coworker wouldn't stop clicking a pen. Realizing he must be Freshly-Baked — though I was not entirely clear how this realization came about — she jabbed the pen through his eye. She snuck eager glances at Mekkar while she spoke.

Mekkar focused on his food.

When the clock struck nine, the folk tune blared through the cafeteria speakers. "Freedom. Freedom at last..."

"Fuck." Rekkan dropped his face into his hands. "I already hate this song."

Ivogg clucked his tongue. "This is one of my favorite singers — a visionary who believed in true equality! Unfortunately, she perished during the Implant Era."

"Thank Ether," said Rekkan.

Ivogg's mouth flapped open. "This is not a joking matter. It was awful! The Implanted tore out her vocal chords first."

"Good choice."

Ivogg dropped his face into his hands with a snort halfway to a whimper. When his hands fell, he spoke brightly. "Rekkan, I hear you like to garden. You can help in the greenhouse during Contribution. Lots of nice plants. No vocal chords." He turned to flash me a smile. "And Zafaru, I was hoping you could help me in the kitchen."

I grimaced. "Actually, I can't cook."

"If you can't cook, that's all the more reason to learn," said Ivogg. "It's a skill everyone needs to develop!"

I started to protest, but Uzmed's voice infiltrated my mind. Don't rely on others.

"Actually, you're right," I told Ivogg. "I should know how to feed myself."

Ivogg gave an approving nod, but Rekkan stiffened. Something flickered in his eyes — something I could not read and did not like. Was he angry I would not be working at his side?

"Rekkan, what's wrong?" I said.

"Nothing, Zaf." A smile like dented metal. "Everything is wonderful."

* * *

After an hour, my cooking had really transformed.

Transformed the kitchen into a murder scene.

Tomato sauce splattered the floor. Charred chunks of stew slung to the stove, and bits of food crawled up my arms like gangrene. Flour dusted my hair and even clung to my lashes.

Somehow, Ivogg appeared utterly unconcerned. While baking soda clouded the air, he blabbered on about the upcoming mingling-hour festivities. After I melted the plastic spatula and splintered the wooden one in a blender, he told me about the Refuge's grand opening a month ago. And when I successfully cracked lab-produced eggs into a bowl — along with several delinquent eggshells — he cheered.

"Terrific progress, Ru! Sorry, I should ask — is it alright if I call you that?"

My heart skipped a beat. "That's... that's what my mother used to call me."

"Oh, I know. She talked about you all the time."

My crusted fingernails bit my grubby palms. "She did?"

"Indeed! To listen to her, you were already delivering theses while still wearing diapers."

"Well, I was a bit slow to move on from diapers."

He wiped his hands on his rainbow-striped apron with a chuckle. "Of course, the reason I was most excited to meet you was because I so admired your mother. I was just fifteen when the Peace Project started, but seeing my determination and excitement, your mother decided to take me under her wing."

I fought an irrational stab of jealousy. I had been the same way at fifteen. Why did my mother invite Ivogg to join her team but not me?

Instead, I asked, "Were there always Seven Sentries?"

His fingers crimped the apron. "Why do you ask?"

I dipped a finger in the bowl to fish out an eggshell, which glided away from me. "Just thought the group would want half Northerners and half Southies."

"Right you are. That was an important part of the vision."

I abandoned the egg shells. "Three is not half of seven. Unless... unless one of the Northerners is actually half Southie?"

A heavy sigh. "Ru, the North and South have been at war for most of the last century. Have you ever heard of anyone half Northerner and half Southie?"

"Well... no. I guess not."

He clapped my shoulder, sending up a puff of flour. "I admire your imagination, though. I hope the children can lead us toward the kind of future where that could happen. Which reminds me — a Northerner child got into a fistfight with a Southie kid yesterday. Would you mind counseling them during Mediation?"

"You don't want me to attend an adult mediation session?"

A slow shake of his head. "You have too much value for that. Don't tell everyone I said this, but... the adult mediation sessions are really just gauging sentiments and doing damage control. The kids are the ones who can truly change."

I hesitated. "But I don't know anything about counseling."

"You've got more power than you realize, Ru." He cocked his head and smiled at me. "I might even say you've got the magic touch."

I raised eyebrows at the crime scene surrounding us. "My cooking disagrees." Remembering Rekkan's unsettling expression, I bit my lip. "I think I need a different Contribution task. Maybe I can help in the greenhouse later today?"

Ivogg sucked in one cheek and studied me. "Ru, can I ask you something? Are you a quitter?"

"Am I — what?"

"What do you do when your food doesn't turn out right? Do you sit down and cry? Or do you clean it up and try again?"

A chill squeezed my spine. He's cooking up a new recipe. Could the "he" refer to Ivogg? What if he was slipping something into the food? I had been so focused on what I was doing that I barely glanced at him.

"I just don't want to put anyone's health at risk," I said. "What if Nezuli's allergic reaction was caused by contaminated food?"

"No, no, I don't think so. She just had a skin allergy. You know, spots and itchy skin."

My breath caught. "Purple spots?"

He cocked his head, frowning. "I didn't notice the color. Why do you ask?"

That feeling of wrongness grew stronger. Zhina had said Nezuli was in better spirits than ever. The friendly woman at the Ether temple had also been in fantastic spirits... as she devoured fly-infested stew beside the rotting body of her husband. Could this be the Head Chef's next recipe?

"Just curious," I said, forcing a smile. "Anyway, you're right—I can't give up yet. I'm not a quitter."

His brow smoothed, and his smile returned. "Terrific. I'll see you here again after Mediation."