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were you?”
    Had she seen the satchel? “My caretaker, David . . . he was Taken.” My gaze wavered, and I hoped that she wouldn’t see the sorrow that inflated inside me.
    But Chalice didn’t seem to notice. She moved back and peered out the window. Then she said in a voice not much louder than a whisper, “Why? He wasn’t very old.”
    “The Examiner didn’t tell me why,” I said. “He only gave me the inheritance.” I clamped my mouth shut before my voice could betray my emotion. I had only read a couple of pages last night, stopping when the fear in my stomach pinched into nausea.
    Chalice turned from the window, and it was then I saw the deep red mark on her left arm.
    “What happened?” I asked.
    She brought a finger to her lips and shook her head.
    I crossed to her and reached for her arm, but she pulled away. “They might be listening,” she whispered.
    “Listening?”
    She clamped a hand over my mouth. With her other hand, she pointed up. I looked at the ceiling, but didn’t see anything.
    I stepped away. “No one can hear us,” I said, hoping it was true.
    “In Detention, they told me . . .” Her voice faltered, and I couldn’t help staring. Something in Detention had changed her. She shook her head again and pointed at the ceiling.
    “Are there listening devices up there?”
    She nodded. I examined the ceiling from all angles, but still didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Maybe they just wanted to scare Chalice.
    “Sorry about David,” she said.
    I exhaled, believing that she truly was sorry. Chalice was like that. She expressed her private thoughts without the blubber of emotion that always seemed to cloud mine. I nodded, unable to speak for a moment. She pressed something into my hands and I looked down to see the silver ring—a boxy emblem stood out from the simple band. “They let you keep it?” I whispered, more for Chalice’s peace of mind than mine, because I actually thought someone was listening.
    “Not exactly,” she replied, her voice barely there. “This is a new one. It will bring you comfort.”
    Comfort? “It won’t be comforting when I’m in Detention.” Why did she insist on so visibly breaking a rule? My gaze strayed to her right shoulder where a semisquare scar was obvious beneath the cutoff sleeve of her thin night shirt. The Harmony implant was secure.
    I looked up at the ceiling again, but saw no sign of a listening device. I didn’t understand the risk she was taking by wearing another ring. I handed it back. She took the ring with a shrug and slipped it beneath her pillow—like that was any type of hiding place.
    “What was it like in Detention?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
    She looked out the window. “Quiet.”
    “And your arm?” I whispered.
    She blinked rapidly, but didn’t answer. I watched her closely, looking for signs of emotion. Even if the Harmony implant wasn’t compromised, would a very intense experience cause emotion to surface anyway?
    “They didn’t read the rules to you or question you?” I asked.
    “They did some of that.” Her eyes shifted their gaze to me, but I couldn’t see anything beyond their steady blue.
    “And . . . ?”
    She tugged on the short hair curling around her ears, her fingers trembling slightly. “They asked me how I made the rings, how I learned about the symbols, and if you had helped me.”
    My breath stalled.
    “Don’t worry.” Her eyebrow lifted slightly. “I told them you were upset that I was wearing the ring and had threatened to turn me in.”
    “That’s not exactly true,” I whispered, my heart thudding.
    She reached for the ring again under her pillow. “If you change your mind and want to wear it, just let me know.”
    I shook my head—an automatic response.
    Disappointment brushed her face for just an instant. Or had I imagined it? She slipped the ring on her finger and examined it. “I don’t know why the Legislature is so worried about archaic religious