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smiles—it’s a crooked one, only one corner of her mouth pulling up—and then flops into the grass with a heavy sigh. The sky is cloudless today, a giant stretch of blue filled with nothing but a glaring sun. Emma wriggles about to get comfortable, and ends up closer to me than when she first lay back. I can feel her hip pressed against my side. Every muscle in my body yells at me to roll over, to grab her face in my hands and kiss her, but I lie there motionless. What we have is almost perfect, so comfortable I’m afraid to ruin it. I want it to be more, but this is manageable. For now.
    “All right. My turn to ask something you promise not to repeat.”
    “Okay,” she says, still staring at the sky.
    “What would you do if you discovered that someone was keeping a secret from you?”
    “Confront them, probably.”
    “What if you can’t? What if they’re gone?”
    “Then I guess I’d confront whoever else made sense. Or start digging for answers.”
    “And what if you found no answers?”
    “Then you’re not looking hard enough.”
    I snort, thinking of the still upturned state of my bedroom. If answers exist, they are certainly not in my home. But maybe there are other places to look. Maybe, as Emma suggests, I’m simply not searching hard enough.
    “Does the Clinic keep patient records?”
    “What kind of records?”
    “I don’t know. Anything, really. Births? Deaths? Stuff a patient said during a visit?”
    “Sure,” she says, rolling onto her side to face me. “But that information is not exactly available to the public.”
    “Look, Emma, I need to peek at one record. It will only take a few minutes.”
    “Whose record?”
    “My mother’s.”
    “Is she the one that kept something from you?”
    “Yes. Her and Blaine.” I know I can trust Emma, and so I pull the letter that has been haunting me for days from my pocket and pass it to her. She reads it carefully, her eyes widening, and then her hands flip it over, searching for more words as she comes to its end.
    “Where’s the rest?” she asks.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, it won’t be listed in her scroll, I can tell you that much.”
    “But some answers might be.” I take the scroll, fold it, and return it to my pocket. I can feel a headache starting between my eyes and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
    “I really don’t think you’ll find anything,” Emma says.
    “I still have to try. I need to know what she’s talking about, or I’m going to go crazy.”
    “Okay. Tomorrow morning my mother has a house visit. We can check then, but quickly.”
    “Thank you, Emma.”
    She stands and offers me an arm. “We should head back. Mohassit’s ceremony is tonight and the feast is probably starting soon.”
    Another boy turning eighteen. Another life to be lost. I’m not close to Mohassit, but I know him well enough from the market. He works in the livestock fields, tending sheep and cattle. He’s thin and frail and manages to get sick more often than anyone I know in Claysoot. The odds seem always stacked against him, and yet somehow, he refused to give in to them. Unfortunately, I know he will not beat the odds tonight.
    We gather up the gear and head back to town. By the time we’ve dropped everything off at my place, the sun is starting to set. As we approach the Council Bell, it becomes obvious that something is wrong. People are gathered as usual, but the group is quiet. No one is huddled around the bonfire or feasting on the food. Instead, everyone is standing rigid and staring up the road toward the hunting trailhead. Emma and I follow their gaze and when we see it, we freeze.
    Two boys are carrying a stretcher from the woods. On it is a body, black and crisp, the features scorched beyond recognition. But there is no mistaking that frail, thin frame, no second-guessing who would have risked the Wall today. He was likely late to arrive at his ceremonial dinner. And then the search party went out. And found him somewhere