“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss. I’m Becca, I’m just here for housekeeping. Your return wasn’t on my schedule. I can come back later.” Her apology was drowned out by a blast of cold air rushing into the small space.

  Noticing her large cart, I walked over to hold the door. “I don’t mind. I’m Mia, by the way.”

  The cart of supplies dwarfed her petite frame. She slipped as she pushed it over the threshold, and I caught her by the elbow, steadying her as she crossed into the living space of my small one-bedroom cabin. A gold bracelet with embedded diamonds on her wrist caught the sunlight, sending a swirl of rainbows around the room. It looked expensive and old-fashioned. Maybe it’s an heirloom?

  “Sorry, Miss. You got some ice there,” she said, pointing to the doorway.

  “No worries. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Snow comes earlier each year. At least it doesn’t linger.” She half-smiled, smoothing her hair, already fastened into a tidy bun, a hint of rose tinting the fine wrinkles of her cheeks. She removed her winter jacket and boots, placing them by the hall tree, revealing a long-sleeved navy dress and white apron. “I’ll start in the bedroom, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  At that moment, Alice, everyone’s ubiquitous personal AI assistant, reminded me breakfast was starting. I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. My stomach cramped with hunger. I said goodbye to Becca, grabbed my winter jacket, and left for the village.

  The path was well-trodden, worn smooth by countless footsteps. I imagined the families who had passed this way. Children skipping and laughing, couples walking arm in arm. Remnants of the old resort were everywhere. I passed faded signs, weathered outdoor trashcans, and crumbling stone walls. This place had once been a retreat, a sanctuary... and now...

  Air caught in my lungs with a sudden sharp stab at the back of my throat. I shivered, though not from the cold, and pulled my focus back to the growling of my stomach.

  At least the cafeteria is easy to find.

  Thunderous applause filled the space all the way up to the high ceilings as I entered. I froze. They’re clapping—for me?

  The doors opened right into the dining area. Three long metal tables with bench-style seating filled the room, accommodating at least sixty people, though only twenty or so spaces were occupied by patients and staff. Their eyes tracked me as I stood awkwardly at the doors. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I wished I could disappear.

  Another sterile white space with too many reflective surfaces—

  “Ignore them,” Harper gestured toward the rowdy table behind her, drawing me out of my stupor. Oh good, a familiar face. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

  Everyone returned to their own conversations as Harper guided me to the breakfast buffet along the back wall. I loaded my square metal tray with scrambled egg substitutes, printed bacon, plant-protein waffles, and lab-grown strawberries. All the usual staples.

  I spotted the coffee carafe and felt a small surge of relief. I poured some into a plain white ceramic mug. From the smell, I could tell it was instant, with a hint of mushroom and chestnut. Oh well, at least it’s a warm beverage.

  “We’ve all been talking about your recovery.” Harper led me to the rowdy table of young men.

  “Made it to the cafeteria in a week? That’s a new record,” a muscular guy with a shaved head bellowed as we sat down. He looked older than the rest, probably the oldest of the bunch.

  “This is Abraham,” Harper said quickly.

  “You can call me Abe.” He smiled in an all-knowing sort of way.

  “The quiet one at the end is Ben.” She gestured to a small, dark-haired, boyish-looking man with a crooked nose. He gave me a sheepish smile.

  “Is it true? You were awake during the treatment?” asked the slender, red-bearded guy beside him.

  “Uh... yeah, I guess so.” I shoveled food into my mouth. So much for patient confidentiality...

  “What did it feel like?” he pressed.

  Not great. I glanced at Harper, who shivered at the memory.

  “Shut up, Elijah,” a rugged young man with shoulder-length blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail muttered, lifting his head from his folded arms.

  “And this is Kel,” Harper added. He waved briefly before dropping his head back down.

  “Sorry,” Elijah mumbled. “It’s just... no one will tell me how I ended up in the woods.” He frowned, staring down at his plate as his glasses slid to the edge of his nose.

  “They let you keep your tech?” I asked, noticing his augmented reality glasses. Everyone else wore slightly newer smartwatches than mine and hearables that fit so far and comfortably into the ear they were invisible. I assumed the low-tech had been issued upon arrival.

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  “Oh, these? They’re corrective. I can’t see without them. They’re only connected to Alice.” He removed them to demonstrate their inanity before replacing them and running a hand through his short, tousled auburn curls.

  “Makes sense,” I mused.

  “Hey, has anyone seen Ryan?” Harper asked suddenly, scanning the room. Everyone shook their heads except Ben, who sat quietly, drinking tea and coughing occasionally. The air is exceptionally dry inside.

  Harper frowned, cradling her chin in her hand. She locked eyes with Abe, whose convivial expression faded into something hardened. He nodded slightly—something unspoken passed between them.

  Elijah asked Ben to identify a song stuck in his head while singing obnoxiously. I suppressed a laugh, and the rest of the table smiled too. Ben didn’t respond, just shrugged. Elijah rolled up his sleeves as he spoke animatedly, revealing a darker patch of skin set against his pale tone.

  My eyebrows shot up, and I stifled a gasp that no one seemed to notice when I saw the underside of his entire forearm was patched. Ouch! Remind me not to piss off the Hounds... or get lost in the woods.

  I’d just finished my coffee when the room went silent. Alice whispered in our ears. Then, in a synchronized dance, the space buzzed into motion, each of us like bees in a hive, with our own assignments.

  Harper and I made our way to the aquatics center in A Building. The guys split off for follow-ups and therapies. I was glad to be paired with Harper. She seemed confident in every move she made. Sure, I could have followed Alice’s instructions, but a human leading me through the motions felt different.

  Maybe it’s authentic connection? I wondered as I swam my laps in the pool.

  I floated on my back with my ears submerged in the cool water. All sounds were muted. I closed my eyes, but the quiet triggered a flash of the darkness, a memory of pain, jolting me upright.

  “Where’s Ryan?” Harper called from the poolside, blocking Dr. Everly’s shortcut through the building.

  “12′s not on the premises anymore. He’s been discharged,” he said, exhaling deeply.

  “Ryan said he thought he was relapsing.”

  “I can’t discuss other patients’ personal health data.”

  “What the hell is really going on here, Dr. Everly?”

  Dr. Everly took a small step back, clutching his tablet, giving Harper the same patronizing look reserved for a child asking about something they might not be old enough to understand.

  “Follow your itinerary, 13. Do that, and maybe you’ll get to go home soon too.” He patted her shoulder condescendingly as she crossed her arms, fists clenched. Then he slid around her as if she were contagious and beelined for the exit.

  I climbed the ladder on the pool’s edge and grabbed the white microfiber towels I’d left there. I handed one to Harper. We dried off quickly.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing,” she brushed me off. “Let’s get changed and head to group before they activate the Colossi.”

  Hounds and humanoid robotic AI patrol units? Really regretting not reading that contract now.

  We changed quickly in the locker room, hair still wet, and headed toward B Building. The cold outside stiffened my strands, locking my waves in place, and I welcomed the warmth inside. The rest of the Breakfast Club was already chatting among themselves.

  Six white plastic chairs were arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. A staff member, dressed in a floral blouse and black slacks, was already seated and beckoned us to join her.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Martinez. We have a new face with us today.” She motioned toward me as we settled in. “Welcome, Mia! In these group sessions, we explore past memories, the present, and hopes for the future. Today, we’ll recount earlier memories from before your diagnoses. I want everyone to picture a time that felt safe and simple. Ben, can you start us off?”

  Ben, slumped in his chair, stifling his cough with his sleeve, sat up straight. His eyelids fluttered nervously. He cleared his throat a couple of times.

  “Oh... uh... sure.” He rubbed his forehead, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “Before the diagnosis I was... happy. I guess.”

  “And what sort of things made you feel happy?” Dr. Martinez asked, her practiced smile reminding me of my high school guidance counselor. His job had never really been about supporting students’ ambitions but about channeling us into whatever roles society most needed filled. When I told him I wanted to go to law school, he laughed in my face. He said I’d be better off as a warm body in engineering or nursing.

  Ben looked away, twisting his fingers, eyes darting side to side. Then he looked at the wall, not really looking at anyone, as if watching a memory only he could see. “My friends, mostly. And my little sister. She’s really annoying, but I miss her. We were dumped on Orphan Isle after A-flu.”

  I remembered the stories of Orphan Isle. Officially known as Isle au Haut, it was a small island off the coast of what used to be Maine. Even as rising seas swallowed surrounding islands, this one persisted.

  The island became infamous after the Avian Flu Pandemic of ’32, when the oldest survivor was only twenty-three, and the government abandoned it entirely. The young population learned to survive on its own. When the foster system failed, children were sent there. Supposedly just for a time, but everyone knew the truth. Out of sight, out of mind. Yet somehow, against all odds, the town thrived.

  “I remember this one time, when I was fourteen, my friends and I climbed trees after work for a smoke, which was strictly forbidden on the Isle. My sister was twelve and tried climbing with us. We told her to get lost.” Ben smiled.

  “Then it got dark, and everyone climbed down, but I fell. On the way down, my foot got caught between two branches. I hung upside down by my ankles, and everyone panicked. She heard what happened and grabbed a ladder to rescue me.

  “Later, I asked how she knew to do that, to go grab that ladder, and she said, ‘Just seemed kind of obvious to me. If that didn’t work, I’d try something else. After all, it’s just us now. I couldn’t leave you hanging.’”

  Ben laughed, and like a contagion, it spread to the group. Soon, his laughter turned into a coughing fit. He covered his face with a tissue he pulled from his pocket. We could hear the dryness scratching at his throat as he started to wheeze. He stood suddenly and walked toward the door. He threw the tissue toward the trash can on his way out, but it missed, landing on the floor.

  Dr. Martinez rose abruptly. “Uh... okay, everyone... great session. Let’s pick this up tomorrow. Excuse me.”

  She hurried after Ben, leaving the rest of us to wonder what was going on. Harper tensed and crossed the room to Abe, whispering something. He nodded in agreement. Kel drooped in his chair with his hood covering his eyes, soft snores coming from his bobbing chin. Elijah shrugged at me, lips downturned and palms raised in a silent, ‘hell if I know.’ He kicked Kel’s chair, stirring him awake. We all left the building together, agreeing to meet later for lunch.

  On the way out, I stopped to pick up Ben’s tissue and toss it in the trash.

  It was soaked.

  Dark red.