About fifteen minutes after Charles Delacroix had left, a guard arrived to lead me to the intake room. Even though it was nearly three in the morning, Mrs. Cobrawick and Dr. Henchen were waiting for me. “I am sorry to see you back here, Anya,” Mrs. Cobrawick said. “But I can’t say that I am surprised.”

Mrs. Cobrawick looked at my file on her slate. “My, my, my. Multiple parole violations. You were a very busy girl. Caffeine consumption, curfew infraction, and chocolatiering.”

I said nothing.

“Won’t you ever learn to follow the straight and narrow?”

Still, I said nothing. I was so very tired. I thought I might collapse.

“We may as well get started. Anya, please remove your clothes for decontamination,” Mrs. Cobrawick ordered. She turned to Dr. Henchen and said, “I fear these cannot be salvaged. They are so covered in filth.”

I bent down to take off my skirt. As I was bending, I felt a strange pain in my chest and then I fell to the floor, banging my head on the tiles. My abdominal muscles convulsed wildly and I threw up. Dr. Henchen ran to my side. “Her heart is racing and she’s turning blue. We need to get her to the clinic.”

The next thing I knew, I was on a gurney being wheeled across Liberty Island to the medical area. I had never been there before but it was surprisingly clean and modern-looking compared to the rest of the place. A doctor cut off my Trinity uniform, and then they put sensors on my naked chest. I did not even bother to feel embarrassed. And then, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I passed out.

When I awoke the next morning, I tried to sit up, but my wrist was handcuffed to the bed rail. A doctor came into the room. “Good morning, Anya. How are you feeling?”

I considered the question. “Sore. Exhausted. But overall, not that bad.” “Good, good. You had a heart episode last night.”

“Like a heart attack?”

“Almost, but much more minor. There isn’t anything wrong with your heart. You had an allergic reaction. It could have been something you ate, or it’s possible that someone slipped you something, though luckily it wasn’t in a quantity high enough to kill you. We won’t know any of this for sure until the toxicology reports come back. The cause could be as simple as stress. I imagine you have been under some stress lately.”

I nodded.

“But in case it is something more serious, you’ll need to stay here for at least the next several days, for monitoring.”

“I was given a sedative early Saturday morning by the guards at Liberty. Could it have been that?”

The doctor shook his head. “I doubt it—the timeline really wouldn’t make sense—though that’s good to know. So, rest up, Ms. Balanchine, and take it easy. You have several visitors in the hallway who are dying to see you. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to tell them they can come in now.”

I sat up in bed as best I could and adjusted my hospital gown so that all my important bits were covered.

Mr. Kipling, Simon Green, Scarlet, Imogen, and Natty came into the room. They had been told the official story—that I had broken the terms of my release with those petty crimes. As was to be expected, Natty cried a little and Scarlet cried a lot, and then I asked everyone except Mr. Kipling and Simon Green to leave. After I had relayed the highlights of my conversation with Charles Delacroix to them, Simon Green sighed, and Mr. Kipling stood up and banged his fist on the table.

“That makes a lot more sense, though. I wondered why they were bothering you about coffee and curfew,” Simon Green said. “So, what do you want to do, Anya?”

“I think I should leave New York.” I decided this as I was saying it. “Are you sure?” Mr. Kipling asked.

“I can’t stay at Liberty. Who knows how long it will suit Charles Delacroix to leave me here. He’s saying January now, but I don’t trust him anymore. Not to mention, I don’t know if I’ll survive it. Someone may have tried to poison me last night. I have to go. There is no other way.”

Mr. Kipling nodded to Simon Green. “Then we will help you come up with a plan.”

Simon Green lowered his voice. “In my opinion, our best chance for getting you out is while you’re still in the hospital. After that, you’ll be too entrenched at Liberty, and we’ll have less access to you.”

“Basically, we’ll need to do two things. Determine the best way to get you out of here. And then figure out where you’re going to go,” Mr. Kipling said.

“Japan?” Simon Green suggested.

“No. Definitely not.” I didn’t want to lead the rest of my family straight to my brother.

“The Balanchines have many friends all over the world. We will find something suitable,” Mr. Kipling said.

I nodded. “I need to arrange for Natty and Imogen, of course.”

“Of course,” Mr. Kipling said. “I promise that Simon Green or I will check on them every day that you are gone. But the truth is, I see no reason that things should change.”

“But what if my relatives or the press become interested in Natty’s welfare once I’m gone?” Mr. Kipling considered this. “I could become Natty’s legal guardian if you’d like.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Yes. A long time ago, I worried it would complicate our business arrangement but I’ve been thinking about this possibility since Galina’s death, and I think it is the best way I can help you. I would have made the same offer last year but everything progressed so rapidly after Leo shot Yuri Balanchine. And then it didn’t seem as if there would be a need once you had resolved things with Charles Delacroix. But maybe this would be the best way to settle things once and for all.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Simon Green looked at Mr. Kipling. “The other thing we could do is send Natty to a boarding school out of state or country. This might be simpler in the short term. Forgive me, Stuart, but you have a bad heart and the timing of the application itself might raise eyebrows.”

A nurse came into the room. “Ms. Balanchine needs to rest now.”

Mr. Kipling kissed me on the cheek. “I am very sorry I did not advise you better.”

“You tried, Mr. Kipling. You told me not to go back to Trinity. You told me to avoid Win. I didn’t want to listen. I always think I’m being so smart, but then later, it turns out I’ve made so many mistakes.”

Mr. Kipling took me by the handcuffed hand. “This isn’t completely your fault, Anya. Nowhere near it.”

“When will I stop being so wrong all the time?”

“You have a good heart. And a good brain, too. But you are young and a human being, after all, and so allowances must be made.”

I SPENT THE NEXT FIVE DAYS handcuffed to a bed while I planned my escape from Liberty. In the hospital, my visitors weren’t really restricted and this came in incredibly handy. Someday, I would have to thank whoever had poisoned me. Perhaps someday, I would. (Yes, readers, I had been poisoned and, had I had the time to reflect on the matter at all, the source would have been completely obvious.)

My time was spent in the following manner: Tuesday morning, the first person who came to visit was Yuji Ono. “How is your heart?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Still beating,” I told him. “I thought you were meant to be gone on Monday.”

“I found reason to extend my stay.” He bowed, then genuflected by the side of my bed so that his lips landed by my ear. He whispered, “Simon Green tells me that you wish to leave New York. This is good. I think you should go somewhere you can learn the business.”

“I can’t go to Japan,” I said.

“I know that, though for my own reasons, I wish it were otherwise. I think I have an alternative for you. Sophia Bitter’s family has a cacao farm on the west coast of Mexico. You will be able to take a boat there and the connection to Balanchine Chocolate is not so obvious that anyone will think to look for you.”