Men like to teach you things. That’s what gets them off.

Most of the papers are printed from a computer. I can’t understand what it says any better than if it were written by hand. There are some words I recognize, words that are in prayer books. Thanks. And help. And girls. Buried in one paragraph I find the word hell. The words I know are sprinkled like morning dew on grass, tiny windows that don’t help me understand the whole.

In a beige folder, I find a stack of images. There are women posing, most of them without shirts or bras.

Some of them without panties.

I know it’s wrong to look at them—wrong to have them—but I linger anyway. I look at their eyes made dark with blue and purple and black glitter. I look at their lips painted every shade of red. I look at the hair between their legs, trimmed into a neat shape or missing completely. I’ve never even cut the hair on my head, much less the hair there. I didn’t know that was possible.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

Would it hurt? It seems like it must hurt. Then my hand is gently pressing against myself, right there, over my shift, protective and terrified and curious.

The scrape comes from the door again, and my hand snaps to my side. My face heats with shame that he would come back and catch me this way. I slam the folder shut, but some images slide out anyway.

The door swings open.

It isn’t him. Disappointment rises in me, unwelcome and grim. Why would I look forward to seeing him? He might end up hurting me. I remember the cold glint in his eye, the promise. He’ll definitely end up hurting me.

Instead it’s the guard who had been standing outside the basement door when we came in. I’d barely gotten a glance at him, enough to know he was big and tall and strong. He’s dressed in all black, which only adds to my impression of him as some kind of warrior. The only break in the image is the steaming tray of food he’s carrying.

He sets it on the desk and eyes the photographs peeking out from the folder.

The folder that I’m holding down with my palm flat, as if I can keep the strange feelings it inspires locked up tight, far away from me.

He raises his eyebrows. “I won’t tell you were snooping.”

“If?” I may be new here, but I already know everything comes with a price. This isn’t so different from Harmony Hills, under all the lights.

He grins, looking boyish despite the fact that he’s obviously armed and dangerous. “If you eat your vegetables.”

I glance at the tray he’s holding. and see a feast. All that is meant for one person? I’ve never even seen a plate that large, and it’s piled high with food. There’s a steak with the juices still sizzling and mashed potatoes, the butter almost completely melted, and emerald-green broccoli. I haven’t eaten since dinner in the Great Hall last night, and my stomach grumbles loudly.

He sets down the tray. “Come on, eat. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

He’s right, so I round the desk and head back for the plain wooden chair. No way I’m sitting in the big leather swivel chair. I’d probably get struck by lightning or something.

Except I can’t exactly sit down yet. “Are you…going to stay and watch?”

He gets a funny look on his face, almost embarrassed. “Just until you finish. Then I’ll take the tray back upstairs.”

I cock my head. I’m still curious about him, but he sets me at ease. Completely unlike Ivan. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t question orders.”

Unease twists my empty stomach. That’s how it was in Harmony Hills, even if we called them counsels instead of orders. And he was ordered to watch me eat. To make sure I did. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Luca. And don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” His brown eyes soften. “Or touch you.”

I believe him, and that is the only reason I can sit down and take a bite. And oh, that bite. The juices are still warm on my tongue, the steak more tender and wonderful than anything I’ve ever tasted. I catch Luca looking at me—looking at my lips—and my eyes widen.

His cheeks tinge red, and he turns away. “Where did you come from anyway?” he asks quietly.

“Far away.” Maybe not that far in miles. Sixty dollars for bus tickets didn’t last long. But I might as well be on the other side of the world for how different all this looks—and how lonely I feel. “Your boss,” I say softly.

“What about him?” Reserved. Wary.

Afraid?

“He’s kind of…” I stammer, because I barely have the words for what I need to ask. “Can I trust him?”

That earns me a soft laugh. “Trust? I’m not sure anyone can know him, much less trust him. But if you stay in Tanglewood, you’ll hear stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“The kind that get told around campfires.”

“Except he’s real.”

The corner of Luca’s mouth turns up. “The money that he puts in my account is real enough.”

I can do anything I want with you.

The things he would do to me would be real enough too.

*     *     *

The first time I ever rode in a car, I was eight years old.

A woman with kind eyes came and took me away. Mama had a strange look on her face, like she was trying to be brave, so I tried to be brave too. Even though the building scared me. And the people scared me.

They put me in a room with no windows. A camera was set up in the corner, watching me. I looked anywhere but at the shiny black lens. A doll slouched against the bench on the floor. Her hair was red. Building blocks climbed each other in the corner, every color of the rainbow. Who could play at a time like this, away from their family? But my heart beat a little faster, just thinking about it. These were toys that hadn’t been made in Harmony Hills, that hadn’t been sanctioned by our leader. I knew how wrong it was, and that made me want to do it more. I fought with myself for what felt like hours until the woman with kind eyes came back in. She had another person with her, a man. He smiled at me but stood silently in the corner while the woman asked questions.

How do you like living in Harmony Hills?

Who watches you?

Does anyone touch you? Where?

I answered all the questions as best I could, so I could go home. I liked it in Harmony Hills. Mama watches me. No one touches me, not ever.

They weren’t lies, not really. Most of the time I liked my life, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. I knew the woman wasn’t really offering me one. And Mama did watch me most of the time, except when she was praying with Leader Allen. It took a long time, because her soul was so dark. At least, that’s what Leader Allen told me.

No one ever did touch me. The woman asked me that question a lot of times, using words in different ways so I would understand what she meant. Giving me a hug or giving me a bath didn’t count. The way Leader Allen put his hand on my head when he was testing my faith, that didn’t count either.

That was the day I learned that there was another kind of touch that might happen to me.

The next time I ever rode a car was a bus that took me from Harmony Hills to the farthest I could go. A city called Tanglewood.

“Come,” Ivan says, and I don’t hesitate. There’s nothing for me in the basement of his business. This is like the room from before, with no windows. No toys on the floor, but I understood them now for what they were. Distractions. A kind of test, like the files on his desk. And probably there was a camera somewhere in the room, watching me. Seeing if I passed.

I follow him up the stairs, my gaze trained on his shoes. They shine, even in the dim light, and they make a harsh sound with every step. My shoes are blackened and completely silent. I’m his shadow as he leads me out a back door into the night.

Luca follows us to the car and opens the door.