Page 5

He smiles knowingly. “I’m telling you, just dump all your baggage. It’s all he wants, and you’ll feel better. He’s a magician. The shit he picks up on… It’s worth it, trust me.”

I give him the side-eye. “You’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid.”

He bumps my shoulder with his. “Better than vodka.”

My head turns sharply, but he dismisses my interest with a wave of his hand.

“Just messing with you. It was cocaine.” His head tilts. “Or was it porn?”

I shake my head chidingly. “Tease.”

He smirks, hazel eyes glittering with magnetism. I recognize it as the trademark, panty-melting expression that made him famous. When I roll my eyes instead of swooning, Callum finally smiles like he means it, wide enough for me to see his slightly crooked bottom teeth.

“I like you, Mia.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say dismissively. “You only like me because I’m the only one here who hasn’t tried to get in your pants.”

He says nothing, but I can tell he wants to ask why. Not because he’s interested in me sexually—though I know he finds me attractive—but out of simple curiosity.

To a man used to having women of all ages and walks of life fawning over him, I’m an anomaly.

In another life, I’d probably be first in line to tackle him naked. Callum is physically breathtaking, smart and charming, and has a great sense of humor. But this isn’t another life, and the crude fact of it is I don’t fuck men I like. Not for years. Not since Kevin.

Callum, responding to the prickly mojo I’m giving off, asks, “Wanna go for a swim before lunch? Nix and Kinsey are already out there.”

“Sure.” I don’t actually want to be around anyone else. Callum is the only resident here who doesn’t get on my nerves.

“Great. I’ll get my trunks and meet you there.”

His footsteps fade, but I stay at the window a few moments longer, staring across the dystopian landscape. In the bright afternoon sun, the distant fence looks like a mirage, blinking in and out of existence.

A weird sense of disassociation tingles through me—I’m that fence, visible one second and invisible the next. Impossible to pin down. Impossible to reach.

The muted sound of footsteps breaks my trance. I turn, thinking Callum is back already and I’ve been staring at the fence for minutes instead of seconds. But it isn’t Callum.

Dr. Chastain strides across the Fish Tank toward the opposite wing housing the kitchen, dining room, gym, and various rooms for meditation, group therapy, and art. He walks with his chin down, glasses hanging from his fingers while his other hand rubs a spot on his forehead.

Still resonating with the feeling of invisibility, I watch him, appreciating his smooth stride, the cut of his suit, his perfectly combed dark hair, and the way his starched white shirt sets off his strong, tanned neck. His last name, Chastain, is French, but besides the blue eyes the man is all Italian. His mother, maybe?

He’s steps away from disappearing into the adjoining hallway when he comes to an abrupt stop.

I’m invisible.

He speaks to the empty room. “Did your mother call you Mia or Amelia?”

I blink back into existence but can’t open my mouth. My legs are solid wood, rooted to the floor, my heart a trapped and pounding presence in my chest.

“Amelia,” he says softly, nodding to himself.

Then he’s gone.

3

THE MYSTERY OF GLACIERS

DAY 6

We aren’t allowed to share with other residents why our loved ones shipped us to this place, but I still have a brain.