“No, they just reduce spiritual noise. I needed some after Honey and I were sorted. That was a hard time for me.” Cass winced. “After the Harmony Exam, you’re assigned quarters. Men and women are separated—men on the north side of campus, women on the south, and a village in the east for our in-between community members. There’s a shared area in the center for meals and ceremonies.”
Sage’s eyes sharpened. “How far?”
“It’s a five-minute walk between them, through the central gardens.” Cass paused. “The gardens are open, but there are always safety guides walking the paths.”
“So if you need to get to the women’s quarters—”
“I’d need a reason to be there. Men don’t go to the women’s side without a purpose. Ceremony preparation, Elder-approved visits, work assignments.” He looked at her. “Honey and I actually were assigned a house a while ago, but because I had problems with bonding, we aren’t allowed to be there overnight together, so we have a schedule on who can stay—”
“What about communication?” Sage insisted. “Once we’re inside. How do the three of us talk to each other if we’re separated?”
“During shared times,” Cass said simply. “Sneaking notes and stuff is spiritually disruptive, so waiting for group activities is usually best. Other residents report things…but not because they’re mean—we’re taught that noticing disharmony in othersis a spiritual duty. You’re helping them get back on track. Does that make sense?”
“A surveillance state run on goodwill,” Riot said.
“Run on love.” Cass said it without irony. “That’s what makes it work. Everyone genuinely cares. They report you because they’re worried about you. They flag your behavior because they want you to be happy.” He met Riot’s eyes. “It’s very hard to be angry at someone when they love you.”
The cellar went quiet. The fire popped.
“Meals,” Sage said, moving past the silence. “Communal?”
“Three times a day. Mandatory. The commissary seats about two hundred. There’s a rotation—first sitting, second sitting. New seekers are always in first sitting so they can be observed more closely.” Cass thought. “Sometimes new seekers struggle with the food, so the healing rooms are—”
He stopped and Riot saw the ripple. The way Cass’s composure flickered, like a signal losing frequency as his eyes went briefly distant, pulled toward something he was working very hard not to look at.
Then he blinked.
“—the healing rooms are attached to the commissary building,“ he finished. His voice was steady. His hand, pressed against his thigh, was white-knuckled.
Riot shifted his weight so that his arm pressed more firmly against Cass’s shoulder.I’m here. Keep going.
Cass kept going. He described the evening schedule—reflection at six, group meditation at seven, free time until lights-out at nine. He explained which paths between buildings had the most Elder traffic and which were quieter. He told Sage about the therapy rooms on the south side—how they were empty during evening reflection because all the counselors attended the meditation session.
“That’s your window,” Cass said. “Between seven and eight. The therapy rooms are empty. The paths are quieter. Most residents are in the meditation hall.”
“Where would Honey be during meditation?”
“She leads the women’s session. She’d be in the south meditation hall. She always sits in the front row, left side. She likes to be near the window.” Something soft passed through Cass’s expression. “She says the natural light helps her focus, but really she just likes watching the birds.”
Sage stared at him for a beat. Then she nodded, once, and stood.
“I’m heading back to the loft. We leave at first light.” She paused at the cellar entrance. “The plan is thin. But thin plans with good intelligence are better than thick plans with bad intelligence. Your intelligence is good.” She looked at Cass. “Both kinds.”
She disappeared into the dark. A moment later, Riot heard a car door open and close.
Cass was quiet for a moment, processing the compliment.
“Both kinds,” he repeated softly. Then, to Riot: “What did she mean, both kinds?”
“She meant you’re smart and you know things.”
“Those are the same kind.”
“They’re really not.”
Cass considered this, his head tilted, his brow furrowed. Then he smiled—small and real and a little bit puzzled. “Sage is strange. I like her. But she’s strange.”
“How so?”
