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I swear.”
    The keeper looked down into the box of books, reached in with his black gloved hand, and pulled out two, then handed them to Adam and left without a word.
    Thinking of the moment, and the anonymous Watcher’s kindness, always sent Ana near to tears.
    That was the last day they lived in a place someone could rightly call a home.
    Chimney Rock was one of the largest buildings in The City, and maybe the ugliest. With a dark brick exterior, iron bars on every window, 30 stories, a large set of black iron double doors that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds each, and the spiraling chimney that twisted to nowhere and gave the dungeon its name, the outside of the orphanage was the stuff of nightmares.
    Inside was worse.
    Someone had decided the halls should be painted black, since according to the State, other colors seemed to inspire “ill tempers.” And as if black didn’t lend to the darkness enough, the lighting in the hallways was often neglected, seemingly in a perpetual state of flickering.
    The bottom five floors were devoted to classrooms — orphans were taught in separate schools from the other children. To call what Chimney Rock offered school, however, was a mockery of education. It taught little more than basic skills to be a better worker, and little to no critical thinking. The sixth floor housed the kitchen and dining hall. The remaining floors were divided between boys and girls, grouped by sex and age. There were no bedrooms. Instead, there were giant rooms lined with two rows of beds, 20 on each side of the room, with each child given a trunk and a lock for the foot of his or her bed — the small box meant to harbor every one of their earthly possessions.
    Ana rarely saw Adam any more, except at dinner — when she returned from work in time — and occasionally on Sunday, when their schedule was mostly free. This wasn’t a kindness to the children so much as it was for the adults wanting a day away from the orphanage. While the schoolmaster and a few of the counselors lived on the upper floors of the orphanage, most of the staff was away on Sunday, doing whatever it was adults did when they didn’t have to work.
    Ana pushed through the heavy iron doors, eager to get upstairs and alone, so she could read her note.
    She went to the main desk to sign in. As she waved her wrist, and the chip inside it, across the black square glass in the large reception desk, she was greeted by Merta, a large, unfriendly woman who seemed right at home in the long, black, shapeless dresses the staff were required to wear.
    Tonight, however, the woman greeted her with a rare smile.
    “Congratulations, your father really pulled off a stunner!” she boomed.
    “Yeah,” Ana said, trying to be friendly and avoid explaining how she’d wished The Darwin Games were over already, and whether that meant her father dying or winning, she didn’t really care. She just wanted to stop seeing his face on TV every damned day. Ana smiled, suddenly meaning it because she thought about how Michael said her smiles seemed like she was trying to keep her gas in.
    “To Jonah!” Merta said, raising her fist — one of the more annoying ways fans of the show celebrated their favorite contestants.
    “To Jonah,” Ana repeated, playing along and raising her fist halfheartedly.
    Ana smiled again, then left the main desk, went to the elevators, and pushed the up arrow button. From behind, Merta said, “They’re out of order again.”
    Ana closed her eyes.
    Of course.
    Ana began the long trek up to the 25th floor, eager to reach the restroom on her level, the only place where she could find the privacy she needed to read the note. As she ascended the stairs, Ana wondered how Adam was doing.
    He said he’d made friends with a group of boys a bit older than he, and she was happy to hear it. She also knew that her baby brother was too trusting and could be easily taken advantage of. She planned to meet the boys on Sunday and check them