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threats.”
    â€œDude. I’ve already proved otherwise, and yet still you doubt me?”
    â€œAnd,” I continue as if she hasn’t spoken, “I don’t want you to try. I mean it. You’ll only get yourself into trouble.”
    â€œTen—”
    â€œNo. No arguments.” I may be confused about my future, but I’m not confused about my present. I’ll never place my well-being in the hands of someone else. Once, I trusted my parents. They sent me here. I trusted James. Since his death, I’ve been stuck with a terrible sense of loss. I trusted Marlowe, who’d been pro-Troika, but ultimately, she was so desperate to leave the asylum and enter the realm, she hung herself. She also abandoned Clay, who loved her.
    Now I don’t know if she’s actually in Troika or Many Ends—if it’s real. Suicide is expressly forbidden by both realms, and it can even render a contract null and void.
    I trusted Clay, too. He managed to stay clean and sober until Marlowe’s death. Afterward, he spiraled, doing I-don’t-know-what to buy “happy” drugs from a nurse.
    His mind roilin’ and boilin’, he asked me to escape with him. Said he’d paid the guards to do what they’d done for James. I’d already lost my boyfriend and couldn’t bear the thought of losing another friend, so I turned him down and begged him to give me time to figure out a better way.
    The next day, he was gone.
    That was three months ago. Where is he? Free? Or was he caught? Is he somewhere within these horrible walls?
    Sometimes I think I hear screams rising from my concrete floor.
    â€œThat boy...he’s Myriadian, you know,” Bow mutters.
    She says Myriadian with the same inflection she might use with cancer . Does she hate him just because he signed with the other realm? “Have you ever heard of HART?”
    â€œHumans Against Realm Turmoil? Yep. They like to protest the war between the realms in front of the House of Myriad, the House of Troika, and the White House.”
    â€œRight.” From my History of the Worlds class, I know their ultimate goal is a treaty between the realms and the Land of the Harvest. I also know the first members got together soon after the realms revealed themselves...again.
    Apparently, the realms did the whole “Hi, we’re here and we’re real” a few times over the ages, but humans—being human—romanticized the truth. Myriad has been called everything from Valhalla to Mount Olympus, while Troika was once known as Paradise. Then, around the 1500s, both realms began to insert themselves into everyday human existence, drawing us out of the dark ages.
    â€œWhy?” Bow asks, her tone cautious.
    â€œWell, I’m wondering why members of the realms haven’t agreed to a peace treaty. Or, you know, just hugged it out. I’m wondering why you hate a boy just because he’s different. Or because he’s hurt you for some mysterious reason. You Troikans claim you’re all about forgiveness, right?”
    â€œForgiving someone isn’t the same as letting him crap all over me. Dude. Have you ever heard the Myriad pledge of allegiance? We won’t rest until Troika is nothing but ash in the wind of eternity. Also, the HART campaign is ridiculous. Light and darkness cannot coexist. A house divided cannot stand.” She pushes her tray to the middle of the table, as if she’s lost her appetite. “We’d be a two-headed beast, and we’d consume ourselves.”
    Speaking of consumption, she’s eaten so little since her arrival I’m beginning to worry about her health.
    â€œDistract me,” she says.
    â€œEat,” I reply.
    â€œNo. Distract me,” she repeats.
    â€œWant me to sing and dance for you?” I ask drily.
    â€œYes!”
    â€œNo way, no how. Not happening.”
    â€œFine.” She sighs with disappointment. “Just... I