She shows me the Templar cipher system of shapes arranged around the Maltese Cross and what letter each shape corresponds to. “Commit this to memory, and you’ll have the basis for breaking many substitution ciphers.”
“There’s no letter J,” I notice.
“Very observant.” Pressing her lips together, she nods. “The letter J didn’t exist when this was created—it came later, in the sixteenth century. One of the ways you can recognize a Templar cipher is that it only has twenty-five symbols.”
“It’s going to be impossible to learn all of this.” I sigh.
“You’ll get it.” Allard pats my shoulder. “We’ll take it a little piece at a time. All I ask is that you try.”
Sitting at the table, I start memorizing the ancient symbols. I’m grateful for a focus for my thoughts, but I can’t shake my weird reaction to Garrett-the-Energy-Boy that had me tingling a few minutes ago. Maybe it was fear of being recognized. It’s probably best to keep my distance. From everyone.
Loneliness descends, but I bury it, concentrating on the codes that are probably destined to be my only friends.
Chapter Four
September 20X5, Keystone
Three Months Later…
The pain is an ever-present ache that pricks the corners of my mind, but these days the debilitating waves of grief knock me off my feet less often. Routine has become my lifeline. I’ve been focusing hard, waking at dawn to study decoding, ciphers, Morse code, lock picking, escape, and evasion. Breaking only for meals, I’ve collapsed in bed exhausted every night. The distraction, along with Allard’s kindness, has made life bearable. Keystone has become familiar, if not yet home, and today I nervously greet the returning Disconnects, uncertain if I’m prepared to enter their ranks, dreading the inevitable disruption to my new life.
After entering the Lodge through a trapdoor in the forest floor, I walk through a tunnel until I emerge in the pine-scented room through the back of a rock fireplace. I’m the first to arrive, and I cross the stone floor, taking a seat in the last row of cane-back chairs that face a small stage. Slouching, I pray I go unrecognized as my fellow trainees file in. They appear, clustered in twos and threes, wearing boxy green jumpsuits like mine, chattering about their summers. I examine them from under my bangs. How am I ever going to fit in? As a homeschooled only child, it’s always been hard for me to act like kids my own age. Deena was my only friend until I was sixteen, and even with her guidance I felt like a misfit. But at least I knew how to talk like an Influencer. Disconnect kids are a total mystery. And clearly they all know one another. I must stick out. My cheeks burn like I’m lit by a spotlight, though nobody acknowledges me.
“Welcome back, everyone.” Whitney’s voice rings out from the stage. A chestnut-haired beauty, she stands next to her equally appealing husband, Jeff. I met them—Garrett-the-Energy-Boy’s parents, who run Keystone—yesterday. They were super nice, giving no indication I was different than any other trainee. It was weird to be treated like I was normal when all my life I’ve been told I was special, but I liked it.
“I’ll keep this short. We have a few announcements to make and then we’ll get you to your rooms,” Whitney says, slowly crossing the stage as the room quiets. Behind her, the rock fireplaces blaze, having been lit after everyone entered. Even though it’s warm outside, the Lodge’s stone walls and ivy-covered windows manage to keep the grand room cool. “First, a reminder that data devices are banned outside the Crypt. You may practice wearing AMPs there so you are familiar with augmented reality, but the Crypt is the only place we can one hundred percent guarantee you can’t be tracked. We live in an age of transparency, but never forget—at Keystone, we have everything to hide.”
Including me. A shiver runs down my spine. Above my head, a deer-antler chandelier twinkles against the wood-paneled ceiling, and a little brown bird hops from antler to antler.
“And please remember you’re required to use analog data and, on top of that, original data,” Jeff says, his eyes glinting. “If you can get your hands on it.”
Energy reverberates through the room. The kids lean forward in anticipation I don’t get. They’re excited about a challenge. Weird.
Trained to seek beauty, I spot a familiar face in the front row, and my pulse quickens. Garrett. Legs extended and arms crossed, he’s the only one who looks like he couldn’t care less what his mom is saying. Maybe he doesn’t need to listen—he’s probably been stealing since birth. I admire his chiseled jaw and dark hair mussed to obscure one eye, his puffy—if I’m honest, totally kissable—lips. He’s so perfect he can’t be real. My heart swells, and the chandeliers glow brighter, as if ignited by his presence. The air hums, atoms vibrating. He turns, his eyes connecting with mine, and sweat erupts on my forehead. I blink, finding fascination with the deer-antler chandelier overhead before he thinks I’m staring.
Again, this reaction. Maybe it’s because he’s the only person I recognize…
The little brown bird takes flight and heads straight for the closed window to my left. My body reacts before I think, and I hurl myself in front of it, my shoulder slamming against the window with a loud thud.
The bird changes trajectory and disappears into the rafters as everyone turns to stare at me.
Oh. My. God.
“There was a bird,” I whisper, my face burning so hot as I slink back to my seat it’s probably fluorescent.
Whitney smiles. “I trust you will introduce yourselves to our newest Disconnect, Elisha Dewitt, at an appropriate time. Now, where was I?”
“What’s the point of succeeding if nobody knows you did?” Jeff interjects, his bold voice making everyone jump.
The heads all turn to face the stage. Except for one. His stare warms me, sending a burst of heat to my belly.
Daring a glance up, I lock gazes with his piercing green eyes. He raises an eyebrow, and my stomach contracts. There’s something about him—I can’t help it—I slowly smile back. After relying on my looks to gain popularity and win influence, some old part of me can’t resist the game. My instinct is to walk past him, hips swaying like I’m on a runway, to wet my lips, to dazzle him—to wrap him in my web until he’s mine. He’d be great for my numbers. Stupid. This is why I can’t trust my instincts. This isn’t who I am anymore.
But I can’t look away.
And neither can he.
My heart thumps.
“Do you live for praise? If only you know, is it enough? Disconnecting is a constant struggle with pride. Remember your self-worth must come from within.” Jeff pounds his fist on his chest, and I finally break the stare. Pretending I’m captivated by what’s happening onstage, I hope Garrett forgets the girl he just glimpsed.