The grid was divided into columns by group, with dates and locations listed under each header. I had Nico scroll across until he found the listing for Zu’s group. There were two updates beneath it: one in Colorado, one in California. The last update was a month ago.

He knew where she was. Or, at least, that she had made it out west. I gripped my hands together behind my back to keep from giving into the urge to punch the screen. He’d known, that whole time I’d felt hopeless about ever finding her again.

“How did he get these updates?” Cole asked. “This is gold, but only if the information is good.”

“He told me once...” Nico started to say. I felt, rather than saw, his eyes dart to me for a moment. His voice was soft again when he continued. “There was a number that they could call and leave status messages. Or ask for help. He said he sometimes helped one group find another if they were feeling scared to be out on their own in smaller numbers. He knew everything.”

I didn’t doubt that. There was so much information here, we’d have to spend the next few days weeding through it. Our cursory glance through had turned up absolutely nothing about Lillian, not that I’d expected it to.

“Can you go back to the Thurmond folder?” I asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Senator Cruz press a hand against her mouth and start to rise.

“All of the camps...are they all like that?” she asked.

“It’s sort of like comparing rotten apples,” Cole said, and I knew he was assessing her reaction the same way I was. “They’re all bad, but some of them make the others look appetizing.”

“What’s the most recent file in the folder?” I asked Nico. “Can you tell?”

“Yeah, it’s this one....”

“The fire evacuation plan?” Senator Cruz clarified. We’d already looked through the document, seen the maps marked with the order in which the PSFs and camp controllers would clear out the cabins in the event of an emergency. The other files were on PSF personnel, and materials on the research conducted in what I knew was called the Infirmary. None of which featured Clancy himself, of course. If evidence had existed, he would have found a way to destroy it rather than let anyone see him so powerless.

“Clancy kept dropping hints that there was something going on....”

“And you’re sure he wasn’t just baiting you to get a rise out of you?” Senator Cruz patted my shoulder. “His father loves playing that game with people.”

Nico was just about to close the file’s window when Cole sucked in a sharp breath and said, “Wait. Scroll back up.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed and his hand came up to rub along his unshaved jaw. I looked between him and the screen several times, trying to see whatever it was he was seeing.

“Damn,” Cole said softly.

I felt something heavy drag down my stomach. “What?”

“They’re moving kids out of the camp in this scenario, but if there were a fire, then why not move the kids to the inner rings until it’s contained? Or why not herd the kids to the boundaries of the camp? The thing is like a mile wide, right? And why only account for one scenario? What happens if the fire is in the Mess, or the work facility? We just assumed it was an emergency plan based on a bunch of arrows and numbers, but there’s nothing on here to indicate that that’s what it is.”

“If it’s not an emergency action plan, then what is it?” I asked.

“I think it was an evacuation plan, in the event of the camp’s location being compromised or if Gray was taken out or overthrown. But look—”

I leaned forward. He was pointing to the small text at the top of the page. The word AMENDED was listed next to December 10th of the previous year. The date struck through beside it was from almost five years earlier.

Cole took control of the mouse and scrolled down again, “They’ve labeled this with the operational name Cardinal. And here—I thought the numbers next to each cabin referred to how quickly by the minute the PSFs needed to reach them, but three-zero-one could be March first, couldn’t it?”

“Wait—” I said, “wait, what does it mean, then?”

“It means that they’re not evacuating the camp,” Nico said, his voice small, “they’re moving the kids out, four cabins each day.”

“Am I wrong in assuming that the only reason they’d move the kids out is if they were closing the camp?” Senator Cruz asked.

“There was another file labeled Cardinal,” Cole said. “Yeah, that one, the list of the small camps.”

“And the PSF personnel transfer list,” I said. “Oh my God.”

I pressed my hands against my face and forced myself to remember to breathe. The room was shrinking around me, tightening and tightening around my shoulders as the possibility solidified into something real. They’re closing the camp.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Senator Cruz asked. “I don’t understand—isn’t it a good thing? From what you’ve told me about the conditions in the camp...”

“If you look at it that way, it is a blessing,” Cole said. “But razing the camp likely also means moving or shredding all of the hard-copy records on site, not to mention, the camp can’t serve as evidence of the cruelty of the rehab program. The camp is...a powerful symbol. It’s the oldest, the largest, and, I’m going to venture a guess here, really sets the bar for abuse and mistreatment.”

“Separating the kids...the cabins...” My throat was dry. Most of them had been together for almost ten years. They were each other’s families. And they wanted to take even that from them?

“All right, so that’s one camp out of contention.” Senator Cruz leaned back against her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “What are the other potential big hits?”

“There is no other big hit,” Cole said. “We’re still going after Thurmond. It’s our endgame.”

I looked up. Shock must have registered on my face, because confusion spread across Cole’s. “Really, Gem? I must have said it ten times this morning. Thurmond, no matter what. What’s with that look?”

I moved back through my day, trying to remember. It must have been after we finished training...or before Liam and the others had returned? The whole morning had a strange, glossy sheen to it, as if exhaustion was clouding my memories like steam on a mirror.

As if tracking my thoughts, Cole said, “Damn, kid. We need to get you more sleep.”

“Is five weeks enough time to pull something like this off?” Concern creased Senator Cruz’s face.

“We’ll make it work,” Cole said simply.

“You asked them to write up proposals for a mission, correct?” Senator Cruz asked. “I don’t mean to be insulting, but how in the world are these children supposed to come up with plans for a successful military operation and then execute it?”

“We received training,” I told her, “to do exactly that. At least those of us who were with the League. We need to have time to work with the other kids—bring more in, make sure they can function under pressure.”

Cole reached for the small stack of papers he’d collected from the groups and passed them to her. “I’m impressed with some of their imaginations. There’s a lot of good stuff here. The Greens really put the best of the League to shame with some of this—I definitely wasn’t expecting to get statistical probabilities of success, or...” He squinted at the page he held. “Christ, I don’t even know what that word means. In any case, before we hit Thurmond, we’ll have to do a test run on a smaller camp first, make sure the plan is viable.”

The senator sat up a little straighter. “Any camp?”

“Preferably one on this coast, but yeah, sure. We’ll try to match a smaller camp with the layout of Thurmond, get an experience as close as possible to the real deal.”

“Nevada?”

Cole leaned against the desk, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Are you thinking of Oasis?”

Oasis? The League had kept a map of the United States posted on one of the hallways, all of the known camps, big and small, marked with thumbtacks. I closed my eyes, trying to picture the pastel spread of states, moving east to west. It was...in the northeast corner of the state. Remote.