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I study him for a long moment, my eyes grazing over his green Gray Wolf sweatshirt, his dark slim-cut jeans, and the colorful designer high tops he would’ve drooled over back home. “I didn’t think you’d believe me,” I say.

“Oh, I definitely wouldn’t have,” he agrees. “But you could’ve at least tried.”

“I know.” I sigh. “You’re right. But there’s a whole protocol in place, and since I’m not authorized—”

“Authorized?” Mason balks. “Since when do you give a shit about authorization? Since when hasnotbeingauthorizedever stopped you from doing whatever you want?”

He makes a good point. Back at school, I pretty much broke every rule.

“According to Finn,” he says, “I’m well on my way to Yellow, and I need you to explain what that means.”

“Finn didn’t tell you?”

“He did. Told me about the Vault, too. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it from you.”

“It’s basically the step before Blue.” I shrug. “It means you’ve stopped fighting the system, and—”

“And have you stopped fighting the system?” he asks.

I close my eyes, and though it’s only a brief respite, it does buy me some time before having to admit that I like it here. That I’m happy. That I’ve finally found a place where I truly belong.

“I know you may not understand it,” I finally say, my gaze meeting his. “But unlike you, I have nothing to return to.”

“You sure about that?”

His words give me pause. Has he really forgotten how every day was a slog, a grind, a terrible drudge with no hope in sight? And yet, the tightened lines of his mouth and the clench of his jaw seem to suggest that my own remembered experience is somehow flawed, if not outright wrong.

“Nostalgia is a fun house mirror,” I say. “A distorted view of what was.”

“But maybe that works both ways,” he shoots back. “Maybe you’re choosing to remember only the bad stuff and none of the good.”

The last thing I want is to argue with him, but I’m no longer the girl he once knew. “I don’t miss it,” I say. “I like the life I’ve built here.”

He takes a moment to consider, then casts another look around my room. “So, it’s really that easy, then. A nice room, fancy clothes, a hot boyfriend—I mean, what more could a girl want?”

It’s a low blow, and I’m sure there was a time when he knew me better than that. When he knew I couldn’t be bought.

But then it hits me—maybe I always had a price and I’m the only one who couldn’t see it?

I mean, in a way, isn’t that what connected me to Elodie—my willingness to engage in self-sabotage in exchange for shopping sprees and hanging out at VIP clubs?

The realization hits hard, and yet, it’s not as simple as that. Deep down inside, I was never that shallow. And I won’t allow Mason to distort my own memory of what it was like to live my experience.

“I never wanted a cookie-cutter life,” I remind him. “And Gray Wolf offers so much more than I ever could’ve hoped for back home.” I frown, wanting him to know that if he came here to judge me, then maybe it’s better if he goes. Maybe the ties that once bound us no longer hold. “Thanks to Arthur, my mom is financially secure for the first time since my dad disappeared, and—” My voice halts.

Disappeared?

Where the hell did that come from?

Usually, I think of my dad as havingleft, or asthe day he walked out on us and never returned. I can’t remember ever referring to him asdisappeared, like he’s Anjou or Song.

“You were saying?” Mason prompts.

Shaking my head, I return my focus to him. “Look, all I know is that if I ever did find a way to leave this place—not that I want to, mind you—but if I did, then all that financial support would go away, and my mom would be back to struggling again. It’s the deal we agreed to. By signing those papers, my mom willingly signed me into Arthur’s care. She knew exactly what she was doing, and from what I saw, she had zero regrets.”

A brief image flashes into my head—my last glimpse of my mom, standing outside our house, looking the happiest I’d ever seen her as she took in the sight of her shiny new car.

To Mason, I say, “Trust me, we’re all better off.”