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“I’m glad you find getting caught in your charade so amusing.”
He laughed more. “Come. I’d like to show you some of the fake files you’re talking about. Just so you know, I don’t lock this room because I don’t need to.” He waved his hand toward the walls lined with files. “Go ahead, grab any one you would like. If I pulled it for you, I’m sure you’d say that was a setup too.”
I didn’t bother telling him I’d gone through nearly every file. I eyed up the wall, grabbing a folder and flipping it open. The pages were filled with writing, the top had a name, date of birth, and then paragraphs of—
He took it before I could read it. “You can glance at whatever file you want, but no in-depth reading.”
I grabbed another folder, finding it filled with writing, and then another. “How is this possible?”
“I allowed you access, which I’ll be revoking again.”
“No way.”
“Then look again,” he said, motioning to the file in my hand.
I flipped it open, and the words were gone. I grabbed another file, one I’d just looked at, and it was the same. I was starting to hate this place more and more.
“I’m assuming no one else is here?” he asked.
“Just me.” I didn’t want to tell him that a picture of my boyfriend scared them all away this morning and they hadn’t been seen since.
“Come with me. I want to check something,” he said, heading down the hall.
He obviously wouldn’t be doing whatever it was he had planned if the others were around. They were his people. What would he hide from them?
“See what?” I called after him.
He was already halfway down the hall.“Come and you’ll see,” he said. “Hurry up. I don’t have all night.”
I chewed on my lip, lasting another half a second before following him. There was no way around it. I wanted to know what he was doing that he didn’t want anyone else to know.
The door to the aptitude-testing room was open, and he stood beside the chair that measured aptitude, tablet in his hand. “Take a seat.”
I did, too curious not to.
He tapped on the tablet.
“Well?” I asked.
“You’re still not reading,” he said, tapping a few more times before putting the tablet down and pointing to the transition scale. “Let’s try this again.”
This, I knew, would be good. After all, I had transitioned. It should light up, right?
I got on and waited as he flipped the switch. One bulb lit. The test bulb.
Nothing else.
“Do it again,” I said.
He stared at me for a second.
“You dragged me in here. Do it again,” I said.
He turned it off and on again. Same result. One bulb.
I got off the scale and pointed to it. “It’s your scale. Your equipment is broken.”
“It’s not the scale,” he said.
