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what I’m talking about. Getting out of here.”
    “They’ll kill us,” William says plainly. “You heard what he said to you back there. He’ll lock you up somewhere and kill you.”
    Lathan starts crying again, begging for his parents through choked, ragged breaths. Jack puts his arm around him, and scrawny Lathan pushes him away and buries his face in the mattress.
    Aiden chimes in. “William is right. There’s too many of them, we’re not strong enough. Besides, we can’t run and leave the girls.”
    Braylon ponders this. He moves to the door and slides his hand along the doorjamb, squinting, trying to see through to the hallway. Cupping his hands, he puts his ear to the door and listens.
    “I think they’re gone.”
    “They’re not gone. They’re going to kill us.”
    “They’re not going to kill us,” says Jack. Everyone turns and looks at him. “They would have done it by now… right? Why would they bring us all the way here just to kill us?”
    William’s mind wheels with murderous conspiracy. “What if they kill us tonight at that ceremony they talked about?”
    They look to Jack, who remains silent.
    Aiden sinks to the floor and buries his head in his hands.
    “So were just supposed to sit here,” Braylon spits, accusatory. “Sit here and wait for them to come back?”
    “Where would we run?” asks Creston from the corner. “We don’t even know where we are. There’s nothing but forest. Does anyone even know how to get back to the village?”
    Braylon swivels to face him. “The village is gone . It’s burned and gone, and so are our parents.”
    His words cut deep and Creston withdraws, tears welling up all over again.
    “Don’t do anything stupid, Braylon. Maybe we’ll have a chance to run, but this isn’t it.”
    “Jack, what do you think?”
    Jack works the puzzle in his mind, playing out different scenarios. None look promising. “I think our best chance is to do what they say. At least till we know what’s going on.”
    “So none of you want to fight?”
    The boys are shamefaced at this. Braylon glowers at them and kicks the edge of his bed, splintering the wood and knocking out one of the crosspieces. It flies across the room and chocks off the wall. The door bursts open immediately and Nisaq storms in, flanked by two warriors. He seizes Braylon and jerks him toward the door.
    “Let me go.”
    “I don’t like doing it this way. I warned you.” Nisaq shouts in his face, nose to nose. “You’ll go in the pit tonight and see how you like it. Would anyone like to join him?” He cocks his head around with wild eyes flaring.
    There are no volunteers.
    He passes Braylon rudely to the warriors, who grab his arms and whisk him from the room against his curses and protests.
    “This was your first test and you’ve failed. Any more talk of escaping and you can join your friend. Have I made myself clear?”
    The boys gawk at him, mortified.
    “When I ask you a question I expect an answer. Have I made myself clear?”
    “Yes…” they mumble.
    “Good.”
    Nisaq pivots and leaves, slamming the door shut.
    They plant themselves on their bunks and fixate on the door, beyond which they can hear the cries of their friend become a faint echo. They sit immobile and listen to each other breathe, afraid to even look at one another.
    After an eternity, Nisaq returns and finds a room full of obedient boys. Bolts of anxiety ricochet through their guts as they see the cadre of warriors standing at attention in the corridor, a brilliant crimson stripe painted straight down the center of each one, like a holiday ribbon bisecting their heads and torsos. The sashes they wear no longer contain utensils of murder—they are decorative, embellished with bits of shiny ornate metal.
    “Stand up.”
    They obey.
    “In just a moment you are going to follow me,” says Nisaq, his sonorous voice full of warmth and honey. “I expect you to carry yourselves with respect and dignity. I will show you