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two?
    Why hadn’t they died before the others?

5
    Compass Room memories are slipping from me. Every day, another hour or so has evaporated. I should consider this a blessing, but people are locked away in those memories. They’ll never get the chance to breathe again. I’m most afraid of losing Jace.
    I begin by washing the background of a canvas with deep blue. No, turquoise. Wouldn’t turquoise be more Compass Room appropriate? The color starts to dry as I fill up a drink. I down it.
    I take a hair dryer to the paint because I can’t wait any longer. I start sketching out Jace’s body. She’s going to be staring up at the sky in awe. The turquoise color is her last glimmer of hope, after all.
    The hope for extraction. The hope to make it out alive.
    Mom texts me. Miss you. So does Todd. He’s working on his trees. They’re getting really good!
    My nose stings as I text her back. I’d rather not think of Mom and my little brother. I feel like I’ve abandoned Todd and given up my only chance of healing my relationship with Mom. Life’s a bitch like that. Life makes me want to
drink
.
    Drinks are becoming necessary for my survival. Three screwdrivers in the morning just means a crash in the afternoon. But at least it’s passing the time.
    I drift off the moment I shut my eyes.
    In the Compass Room clearing, glittery sunlight winks between the leaves. We’re seated at a long table—all ten of us. Gordon sits at the end. He wears a crown on his head.
    In front of everyone is a cheerfully colored teacup filled to the brim with blood. I dip my finger into the cup in front of me. It’s warm like bathwater.
    Stella sits across from me, slurping loudly. Pulling her cup away from her lips, she grimaces and says, “I asked for black currant with just a hint of honey. They always get it wrong.” Her teeth are stained red.
    The blood thickens inside my cup and begins to bubble. “Do I have to?”
    “It’s an elixir.” Jace picks up her teacup, lifting it high above her. She tilts it until the blood trickles onto her head and streams down her face. “You take the elixir and they let you out of here.”
    “Whose blood?” I ask.
    “That one man.” She waves her hand in the air indifferently. Her fingers catch on the rivulet of red running from her chin, spraying droplets across Valerie’s face. Val licks her lips and Jace clarifies, “The one whose head you shot off.”
    I swallow the thick spit in my throat and watch as the blood in front of me froths and bubbles over the lip of the cup.
    A loud crash sounds at the end of the table, and I look up to see a smashed teapot in front of Casey. He lifts his crimson covered hands, gaping in horror at the ceramic shards sticking out of his flesh.
    Tanner sighs. “How many times did I tell you to control your temper?” He pushes his glasses up, leaving a red thumbprint right on his lens. “You can’t let their blood mix with your blood. Now you’ll never get out.”
    Tanner starts to cry, followed by Casey. Soon everyone at the table is sobbing into their own teacups, except for Gordon, who sits tall and adjusts the crown on his head. And me, who watches the thick river of crimson roll across the tabletop, sweeping up cups as it goes . . .
    . . .
ping . . .
    . . . ping . . .
    . . . ping . . .
    My eyes flutter open to the chime of my tablet, my stomach rolling. When I swallow, I taste iron.
    . . . ping . . .
    . . . ping . . .
    “Jenna,” I slur. “What’s the notification?” Rubbing my pounding head, I think of all the drinks I could make and the one that sounds best. Something with tonic . . . gin, vodka . . .
    “One message from The CR Collective. Shall I read?”
    I roll over and sit up so quickly that I almost fall off the bed. “What message?”
    “I know who you are.”
    With images of blood and teacups and a banquet table of criminals still lingering in my head, my first reaction is that I’m still dreaming. I have