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Lawrence?” I asked.
    “He stopped calling so regularly once he became a teenager,” Mr. Hulse said. “Last time we spoke I think was…” He paused, scratching his head. “Maybe four months ago?”
    I drew in a breath. Another lie from Atticus. Lawrence had been involved with the hunters all along, and it sounded like Atticus had been too… “Was Atticus also a hunter?”
    “A hunter?” Mr. Hulse frowned.
    “Oh, I mean an IBSI member,” I said quickly. We in The Shade were so used to calling them hunters that I forgot that wasn’t the term the rest of the world used for them.
    “As far as we are aware, yes,” Mr. Hulse replied. “Georgina did tell us that much. Though, as odd as it sounds, that is pretty much all we know about our son-in-law. Their visits as a family were always… superficial.”
    “Why did Georgina join the IBSI?” I couldn’t help but ask.
    Pride shone in the couple’s eyes.
    “Our girl was always a fighter,” Mrs. Hulse replied. “Always filled with courage and the burning desire to contribute to society. She wasn’t satisfied with just any old profession. She wanted to be of service to humanity. Of course, the logical career was with the IBSI.”
    Of course. I smiled bitterly to myself. To the outside world, that was exactly how the IBSI made themselves out to be—fighters for good, protectors of the world—and that was how they attracted so many young people. They genuinely believed that the IBSI was a force for good, and the highest form of service was to join their ranks.
    Mr. Hulse stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece. He took down a small framed photograph and handed it to me. “That’s her,” he said, pointing to a pretty, smiling blonde young woman in the picture. She had rosy cheeks and brown eyes, the same shade as Lawrence’s. And in her arms she cradled a sleeping baby. Baby Lawrence.
    “So now are you going to tell us how you know our Lawrence?” Mrs. Hulse asked.
    Replacing the photograph on the mantelpiece, I moved back to the sofa before starting from the beginning. Although the couple appeared anxious and taken aback by the end of it, I had expected them to react more strongly. I had been expecting their jaws to be hanging open in utter shock. I’d just told them that Lawrence had been used as a test experiment and had been on the verge of losing his life. After my story had sunk in, Mrs. Hulse simply said, “Well, I’m sure that Lawrence had his reasons for volunteering. And I’m sure that whatever experiment they had been in the process of was important, otherwise he never would’ve done it.”
    I stared at them, taken aback. I was tempted to tell them what I really thought—that there was no glory whatsoever in serving the IBSI—but I bit my tongue. It wouldn’t be sensitive, given that it was a cause their deceased daughter had given her life to. They seemed to worship the ground IBSI walked on. Brainwashed.
    I paused, swallowing my words. Then I asked, “So, um, your daughter… she came to stay with you, just before the accident, right?”
    “That’s right,” Mrs. Hulse replied. “She had been visiting their old home in Scotland with Lawrence, but then she came alone to visit us. She said that she wanted a break to get some headspace and some work done. She had left Lawrence with his nanny. She wasn’t able to spend much time with us at all, which was disappointing. She locked herself up in her old room here, glued to her laptop the whole time—very busy with work. Though we were used to that.”
    “So you didn’t detect anything odd or out of the ordinary with her?” I asked.
    They shook their heads. “Nope. She just seemed preoccupied, but that was nothing unusual. She lived a demanding life, had a demanding job,” Mr. Hulse replied. Then in a more somber tone she said, “We did consider the idea that she might have committed suicide. But neither of us could bring ourselves to believe that she would. She was far too full