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disappearing into the depths of the room. Arman watched her go with a deep sense of both longing and loss. It wasn’t until she’d vanished beyond the reach of candlelight that he shifted his attention back to the table. Realized everyone was staring at him.
    Arman cleared his throat. Turned to the short man beside him.
    â€œSo, uh, what happens tonight?” he asked. “The Quarantine thing? Can you tell me more about that?”
    â€œWeren’t you at the meeting earlier?” The man handed him the platter of chicken. “It was explained there.”
    â€œWell, yes,” Arman lied. “Of course I was there.”
    The dark-haired woman sniffed. “You don’t seem to know very much.”
    â€œSorry. I sort of space out a lot.” Arman resisted the urge to pick at his arm. He set about searching for a piece of dark meat. Found the smallest one.
    â€œYou have to be engaged at all times,” Mari told him. “Once sessions begin, we’ll expect you to retain everything you’ve been taught. You can’t evolve without awareness. It’s not possible.”
    â€œWe don’t suffer fools here,” the short man said with a grunt.
    â€œOr tolerate ignorance,” finished the dark-haired woman.
    â€œSessions,” Arman said slowly, realizing these three must be the trainers Dale had talked about. “Sessions that you all help teach.”
    â€œThat’s right.” Mari gave him a warm smile. She was holding the basket of rolls. Arman watched her take two.
    â€œWhat about Beau?” he asked.
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œI thought this was his program. His, you know, community.”
    Mari’s smile grew broader. “A community doesn’t belong to any one person. It belongs to all of us.”
    â€œSo it’s not his?”
    â€œYou know, I think what would serve you best right now,” she said, “is to focus on your own experience. Growth can happen when and where you least expect it.”
    Arman nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. I can do that.”
    She practically glowed. “Wonderful. Now would you please pass the butter?”
    â€œSo who’s on your list?” the dark-haired woman asked the short man, who was busy fingering his wispy comb-over while draining a second glass of wine.
    â€œThere’s a couple that came in today,” he said with a smack. “Retired. No children. Nice house in Malibu.”
    â€œAnyone else?”
    â€œDon’t know yet. The rest are Beau’s, so I doubt it.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Arman couldn’t help but interrupt. But it wasn’t like their conversation was private. He could hear everything.
    The dark-haired woman glanced over at him. “Oh, we’re just making our predictions,” she said.
    â€œPredictions about what?”
    But the woman didn’t answer. Instead she leaned forward, edging her chair closer to the short man and laughing before whispering something into his ear. And this time, when she spoke, Arman couldn’t hear a word she said.
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    After the meal came dessert—some sort of spice cake—followed by hot tea with milk and nutmeg. Feeling like he was being judged and undoubtedly failing, Arman made sure to eat everything and drink everything, despite the fact he was starting to feel uncomfortably full. Drowsy, too, his neck turning laggy under the descending weight of sleep pressure. He was exhausted. More than exhausted, having spent the previous night tossing in bed, worrying about leaving home, worrying about getting the money from his stepfather’s safe, worrying about what would happen to his mother when his stepfather found out, worrying about
everything
. At the memory, a surge of anxiety threatened to bubble into his consciousness, but Arman shut his eyes. Strained to push it all away.
    You’re safe now. You’re free.
    Then Mari was standing