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Everyone but me.

In my opinion, they’re crazy, not me.

I don’t belong here, and I can’t wait to get the hell out.

Stepping out of the bus, I inhale the humid scent of the earth and the wind ruffling the leaves.

The air is crisp. Clear. It does nothing to improve my opinion of this place.

Holding my handbag in one hand, I drag my suitcase behind me, which I packed lightly because I’m convinced I’m not going to stay for long. The crowd seems to know what to do, so I trudge behind, up the broad path that snakes all the way to what looks like a mansion from the late nineteenth century. I’m not particularly into architecture, but even I can’t deny that this place is both scary and imposing.

The large, wooden doors open into a huge reception area.

I stop to stare.

My first impression wasn’t wrong.

The building is old, even older than I imagined. The architectural design still looks intact, but the walls smell of paint.

There is hope that we haven’t entered the nineteenth century yet. Maybe the furnishing isn’t all old either.

Like a mattress or bed, for example.

Or else I’ll be forced to sleep on the floor. Because there’s no way I’ll sleep on a mattress that’s absorbed the sweaty body of a hundred other people.

The redhead has stepped on a small podium in the entrance hall, from where she seems hell bent on continuing her speech, her hand extending toward the rows of brown boxes stacked on a long table.

“Please grab a welcome package,” she says. “It contains all the information you’ll need as well as your therapy plan. We’re giving you the day to explore and acquaint yourself with the premises, so there won’t be any lessons. You’re expected to drop by your appointed counselor tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp. I wish you all a good time and hope to see everyone again.”

Shehopes?

What does she think might happen? That we steal the bus and drive back wherever we came from?

On a second thought, that isn’t such a bad idea.

A soft tug on my shoulder catches my attention. It’s Sylvie again.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her perfectly shaped eyebrows slightly raised. Her hand is clutching at a thick folder, and I realize I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice people are busying themselves with picking up their itinerary.

I shrug. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem kind of zoned out.” She eyes me amused. “You’re not scheming to break out already, are you?”

My face seems to catch fire. God, I’m such a bad liar, I don’t even try to answer this one. “I’m just tired.”

“Good,” she says. “Because I would strongly advise against it.”

“Out of curiosity, why?”

She shoots me a warning look and lowers her voice conspiratorially, which I’m pretty sure isn’t necessary. “I’ve heard people who aren’t complying are sent to a mental institution abroad. Compared to what’s going on over there, this is heaven.”

She pauses for effect. I don’t want to point out the obvious—that since it’s all hearsay, she can’t know whether people are being sent abroad. And even if they were, maybe that place isn’t worse than this one.

“Yeah.” She pats my arm knowingly, misinterpreting my silence for dread. “It sounds awful, I know. Besides, I would hate to see you leaving so soon. We have to work in teams, and I think we’ll be a perfect match.”

“Don’t worry about me. I wasn’t going to run,” I say, my already bad mood plummeting farther. “I’m looking forward to joining the cult.”

She lets out a laugh. “It’s not that bad.” Her gaze moves to my empty hands, lingering there. “So where are you staying?”