Chapter 17 – Separation and Resolve
Days passed like measured heartbeats.
Thomas's new schedule was precise, exhausting, and isolating. Catherine continued her evaluations with clinical efficiency—testing reasoning, spatial logic, abstract mathematics, and problem-solving under time pressure.
"You're adapting well," she said one morning, her voice flat with quiet approval.
"We'll consider accelerating your curriculum."
But that wasn't what weighed on Thomas's mind.
What gnawed at him was the absence.
He no longer saw Sister Mary.
Not in the halls. Not during meals. Not even passing by the chapel.
His days were filled with adult supervisors he didn't recognize—always polite, always watching. None of them laughed. None of them played.
The warm routines of feeding toddlers, wiping crayon off tables, or reading stories with Daisy and Johnny had vanished.
And it wasn't just him.
The other children his age—those who had transitioned into Catherine's system—were different now.
They walked straighter. Spoke less. Ate in silence.
Thomas noticed Johnny sitting alone at breakfast, staring at his spoon. Daisy, once bursting with endless chatter, barely mumbled greetings anymore.
One afternoon, Thomas found her in the courtyard, hugging her knees beside a flowerbed.
"I miss Sister Mary," she whispered. "She always gave me two hugs before bed."
Thomas sat beside her. His voice was soft.
"I miss her too."
"This place is quiet," Daisy added. "Too quiet. It feels wrong."
Thomas nodded, heart heavy.
She wasn't wrong.
That night, he sat by the window in his assigned room. The stars outside were pale, blurred by the orphanage lights. Somewhere beyond these walls was the warmth he remembered—Sister Mary's humming, the squeals of toddlers, the smell of chocolate biscuits on Sundays.
And now?
Silence. Order. Observation.
This wasn't a transition. It was a system.
He looked at his reflection in the glass—his six-year-old face far too still, eyes far too knowing.
"They're not just organizing children," he whispered. "They're sorting us. For something."
He thought of Erin, of Leon. Of the files he'd seen. Of the words "market code" and "premium buyer."
He thought of Johnny's blank stare.
Daisy's trembling voice.
The ache in his chest grew sharper, deeper.
He clenched his fists.
"This isn't right," he said to the dark.
"And I'm going to stop it."