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home and visit approved (read: educational) sites. But no social networking, no gossip pages. It would probably be easier to find information on how to build a homemade bomb than watch a movie trailer or look at shoes. Of course, if there’s something that you particularly want to peruse that is behind the firewall, you can make your case to Ezra and maybe he’ll let you have a peep. Supervised, usually. Because Ezra knows that once there’s a chink in the armor, a leak in the dam, before we know it, the whole world will come crashing down on our shoulders. And what are we, here, if not protected from the world?
    Of course, one does not run a school full of geeks and freaks and expect that someone won’t try a hack or two. Oh yes, there have been many. But Ms. Lasillo is extremely good at her job and takes a personal pride in staying two steps ahead of her pupils. According to what Marcia picks up (or what I pry out of Mr. Flynn), most of the time she’s successful, and when she’s not, it’s mainly because she wants to see just where the hacker will go. She tracks them because that’s all useful information to make the security tighter and, crucially, knowing what makes that kid tick.
    Yeuch. I think it’s all rather creepy, and even if I were clever enough to do it, I’m happy to stay put in my cage. The drug of aimless surfing is a hard habit to break, but you certainly have a lot of time on your hands for worthwhile stuff.
    No messages for me. I’ll wait until this evening and see if either of the parentals has fired off an email to me. I doubt it.
    What with Art Coma and the prospect of the Summoning, I’m too buzzed to be hungry for lunch. But I’ll show my face. Pushing some pasta around a plate is one way to kill time before I have to head down to the caves. I shut the door to my study and head back toward Main House.
    The sun is out, but there’s a chill in the air, and the smell of salt hangs heavy. I breathe it in deeply. I ease earphones in and crank up the volume. This feels great. So very great to wander around this place and actually have something happening.
    The buses depart just as I pass through the courtyard, and there’s not another soul around. But I know my fellow assassins are here—somewhere. I watch the last bus disappear down the road that leads to the causeway. A bubble of excitement fizzes up inside me, and I quiver with nerves and delicious anticipation. I turn and head for the Main House—
    â€”and walk into someone standing directly behind me.
    He yells; I yell, partly from shock, partly with embarrassment. I drop my bag and actually fall forward on to my hands on the gravel, bum in the air, earphones popping out.
    I crouch, brush the grit off my palms, scrabble to collect my stuff.
    A hand appears. I look up, and see a stranger’s face staring at me.
    â€œCate.” The face smiles. “Bet you thought you’d never see me again.”

Chapter 4
    I stare at the face.
    Familiar and strange at the same time; I like this face. It’s slim but not gaunt, just too long to be cutesy, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that has a boyish tilt at the end. The skin is a warm brown and hair a glossy almost black, hacked short at the sides and back, but with longer waves on top that move slightly as the boy laughs at me softly.
    â€œHello.” He speaks again. That mouth…full lips are stretched across white teeth in a friendly, open smile. But it’s his eyes that are unmistakable: greeny hazel with flecks of gold; they dance at me, delighted.
    â€œYou remember me, don’t you?” His pale eyes—so startling against his brown skin—twinkle with barely disguised amusement.
    I smile back shyly before I really know what my face is doing, but inside I’m frowning, confused. Looking at him is like looking at an old photograph that has warped in the sun or a puzzle that I’ve