“Kinda. But tell anyone and I’ll deny it.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He sobered. “I heard the club got raided.”
“Raided and torched.” Eve dropped the toast back onto Kyle’s plate, her appetite apparently lost. “Where’s your girlfriend?” she asked as though trying to distract herself from the memory of last night.
A pained look crossed Dex’s face, twisting the shape of his scars. “Don’t know.”
Eve stared. “What do you mean you don’t know? Everyone said you got picked up during the same raid.”
“We did. Six weeks ago, Corry and I arrived together. After we were here a few days, two guards showed up and took her out of class. They said they had some questions for her.”
A prickly feeling crept down my neck. It was what the woman had said last night before they had taken Serena—that they had questions for her. Kyle reached under the table and skimmed my knee with his fingertips, a quick, comforting touch.
A guard walked by. Dex waited for him to move out of earshot before continuing. “Corry didn’t come back. When she didn’t show up at dinner, I went to her dorm. Her bunk was completely stripped. I kept asking where she was—asked so much I got tased. Finally, they told me she had gotten violent and was transferred.”
Eve frowned. “Corry’s never struck me as someone who has a lot of self-control issues.”
“She doesn’t. She has more control than any wolf I’ve met.” Dex’s words were fierce and sharp. They cut through the air, and I realized the noise around us had died down. I glanced at the next table. All conversation had ceased. The wolves were staring at their trays, but they were obviously hanging on every word.
“There are things you don’t ask about here,” continued Dex as he ran a hand over the numbers on his wrist cuff. “Classes. Work details. Disappearances. Especially disappearances.”
“Next, he’ll be telling them about Willowgrove,” muttered a voice at the other table, just loud enough to carry.
The words were accompanied by a scattered chorus of nervous laughter.
A faint blush darkened Dex’s cheeks, but when he spoke, his voice was low and angry rather than embarrassed. “They think I’m crazy. They’d rather pretend this place actually cares about rehabilitating us than admit something strange is going on.”
“Why?” I asked. “What’s Willowgrove?”
“A Thornhill urban legend. The bogeyman for werewolf boys and girls.” Dex shrugged. “People say it’s a secret camp—one so bad they don’t tell anyone about it. If you disappear from Thornhill, that’s where you get sent.”
I frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.” Werewolves didn’t have rights and the camps already had horrible reputations. It was hard to imagine one so bad the LSRB would keep it secret.
“No,” agreed Dex, staring at me levelly, “it doesn’t.”
Kyle leaned forward. “So what do you think it is?”
“A fictional camp to balance the books or a lie to tell the wolves they nab so they’ll go more quietly.” Dex’s eyes darkened. “Do you know why prisons let inmates out early for good behavior?”
“As an incentive,” said Kyle with a shrug.
“To save money and free up beds,” I corrected softly. I shot a quick glance at him, wondering what it would have been like to grow up in a house where conversations didn’t regularly start with some variation of “If-slash-when I go to prison.”
“Every wolf they pick up is a lifer,” said Dex. “You and I? We represent sixty years of taxpayer dollars going down the drain, and I’m guessing budgets at the camps are already stretched thin. Sooner or later, they’re going to need a way to keep the population in check. Sinclair is just doing it sooner.”
Eve cleared her throat. When she spoke, her tone had a razor edge. “What, exactly, are you saying?”
“I’m saying Willowgrove is the ultimate solution. Kill a few wolves here and there and no one gets suspicious. Do it often enough, and eventually the whole overcrowding thing sorts itself out.”
The silence at the other table had spread. Every wolf in the dining hall seemed to be listening, and guards were starting to notice the change in atmosphere—notice and pinpoint our table as the epicenter.
Dex pushed himself to his feet. His gaze locked on me. “Kyle said they took your friend during admissions?”
Throat dry, I nodded.
“If she’s still alive, she’s probably in the sanatorium.”
The words still alive hit me like a slap. I struggled to find my voice. “Sanatorium?”
“The big building near the courtyard. It used to be a hospital for tuberculosis patients. It’s off-limits to wolves unless you’re dying or sent to the detention block.”
Two guards headed our way, and the look Dex shot them was enough that one of the men unsnapped his holster and placed his hand on the butt of his Taser.
Eyes on the guards but still speaking to me, Dex said, “In the whole camp—unless you count the gate and the fence—that’s one of only two places they really don’t want you to go.”
“What’s the other?”
But he was already walking away, guards trailing him until he left the building.
I rose from my seat, intent on following and getting an answer, but before I could, an amplified voice boomed through the air with a crackle of static. “All new wolves scheduled for self-control class proceed to the lawn in front of the dining hall.”
11
SIXTEEN OF US, INCLUDING EVE, FOLLOWED LANGLEY down paths and across lawns. We left the buildings behind and passed a fenced-off area that was completely empty and almost the size of a football field. A sign posted near the path read Authorized Shifting Zone.
During orientation, we’d been given rules about shifting. It was only allowed in two areas: the shifting zone and the self-control class. Thornhill had a zero-tolerance policy for wolves who transformed anywhere else.
“Glorified dog park,” muttered Eve, earning her a small smile from Kyle.
I felt a tiny flash of jealousy. I hadn’t seen that smile very many times since he had become infected.
“Why let anyone shift at all?” I wondered softly, glancing over my shoulder for one last look at the field.
A few wolves shot curious glances my way, but Kyle quickly covered for me. “You haven’t been infected long. Even wolves with really strong control have to shift sometimes. Otherwise, they risk losing their temper and blowing up.”
“And taking a swipe at whoever happens to be in the way,” added Eve. Something dark passed over her face and I wondered, suddenly, how she had become infected.
We skirted the edge of a wooded area until we reached another field.
It should have been beautiful. The grass was a green so bright it was practically Technicolor and wildflowers dotted it like exclamation marks. It was the kind of spot you saw in perfume ads or Disney movies—except for the cage.
It sat in the middle of the field like a fly trapped in honey, and the sight of it sent goose bumps racing down my arms. It was almost the size of my apartment back home and fully enclosed. The only way in or out was through a small door made of thick wire.
Langley unlatched the door and turned to face us. “Part of self-control is learning to resist external stimuli and suppress your wolf. Those of you who can demonstrate restraint this morning may receive special privileges. Those of you who can’t . . .” She let the words trail off ominously as she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small red object. A pocketknife.
She slid open the blade as her gaze swept the wolves. Her eyes lingered on me. “You were full of questions this morning. Roll up your sleeve.”