Nine people stood in a row; all that remained of their group. The room around them, their residence since their first day of life, now had only nine beds. They all wore smiles, though there was little happiness in those smiles. Instead, there was fear, grief, and loss.

  "You all look like you're about to be sacrificed," their teacher said.

  She looked as if she had done this a million times. And perhaps she had. She was certainly old enough.

  She went from person to person in the line, handing each a small cup. Eluvie accepted her cup quietly and peered down at the black liquid inside.

  "It's sweet that you've chosen to do this together," the teacher said.

  "There is nothing sweet about it," one of the boys said. "If we go one at a time, each failure will kill the next person's spirit. It's better to do it this way. Then we'll either return to see each other's faces, or never return at all."

  The teacher clicked her tongue. "I don't see how you plan to pass with that attitude, but it's too late to fix it now." She finished handing out the cups and stepped back to address them all.

  “You have all done this once before,” she said, “so you should remember the process. You should have made copies of all your memories. If you have not, tell me now. Unless you want to return and have the memory of a newborn.” She paused, but no one confessed to that negligence. “Then,” she said, “all that is left is to drink the sedative and lie down. I’ll be back to complete the process. Don’t dally. If you miss the scheduled time, you’ll be forced to take whichever trial becomes available next.”

  She left the room, then. The moment she was gone, several members of the group drank down the cups and began climbing into their beds.

  “Eluvie,” one of the boys approached her.

  She covered her cup with a hand so that it would not spill. “Do you need help, Zayo?”

  He stopped close to her and shook his head awkwardly. His gaze was pointed slightly downward as always. Zayo never met her eyes. And when he spoke, it was always in a small voice.

  “We can take one item with us,” he said.

  Eluvie nodded. “If it’s inconspicuous.”

  Zayo swallowed, squared his shoulders, and lifted his gaze slightly off the ground. “Then, I want to give you something,” he said.

  Before Eluvie could object, he touched his chest. The clothing and flesh there morphed until it produced a gold-colored piece. Then, his skin and clothes knitted themselves back together. The piece in his hand formed itself into a thin, rope bracelet. To anyone, it would resemble a cheap item made of spare threads. But Eluvie, and the other watching Illrum knew what Zayo had just done.

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  He held the bracelet out to Eluvie, his eyes still glued to the ground, his body tensed for her rejection.

  Eluvie suppressed a sigh. What an irritating time to make such an offer. She liked Zayo as well as anyone else, but his personality was a bad match for hers. She also didn’t trust anyone who was able to fall in love while undergoing the intense preparation they had been involved in. But she didn’t want to crush his spirit before such an important venture.

  She took the bracelet from his hands.

  He was so shocked that he met her eyes for likely the first time in months.

  “I’m not accepting it,” Eluvie said. “I'm just taking it. I’ll put it here.” She placed the bracelet on her bedside table. “When we return, give it to me again. Everyone is different after their second trial. If you still like me then, I’ll trade you one outing in return for the bracelet.”

  Zayo’s face lit up like the sky at midday. It was Eluvie’s turn to look away from him. She felt as if she was deceiving him, but she had not promised anything that she could not give.

  “We should hurry,” she said. “I chose this trial very carefully. I don’t want to miss it.”

  The scene changed, but the memories did not end. Instead, Eluvie saw herself sitting under the tree she had just leaned against, holding the bracelet that Zayo had offered her and crying in great, gulping sobs. Nineteen of them had begun this journey. Ten had failed the first trial and died on the prison planets. The other eight had failed the second trial. She, alone, was left.

  Beside her, their teacher knelt in the dirt, offering her own ineffective brand of comfort. "It's for the best," she said. "This place is not right for -"

  Eluvie rose and tucked the bracelet into her pocket. "No need," she said. "You've said all of that before."

  The sudden calm in Eluvie's voice seemed to spook the teacher, but the woman put on a strained smile. "I'll stop talking. I know you need time. For now, do you know which residence you wish to move to?"

  "I'm not moving," Eluvie said.

  "What?"

  "There's no law mandating that I do so."

  "Guira are not allowed private residences. You know that."

  "It is not a private residence," Eluvie said. "Eighteen other people live there."

  The woman's mouth fell open. Eluvie saw the moment she began to worry about Eluvie's sanity.

  "The Creator is capable of anything," Eluvie said, "even raising the dead. He cares for everyone who serves him, and they served him wholeheartedly. Someday, when I meet him, I'll ask him to revive them."

  The teacher was clearly unprepared for this eventuality. She attempted to speak several times, but shock had stolen her words.

  "For now," Eluvie said, "you can ask for an exception on the grounds that forcibly moving me would harm my mental state. That is clearly true, don't you think?"

  The woman finally closed her mouth. Whether she believed Eluvie or not was uncertain, but she nodded her acceptance.

  "Very well," she said. "You may remain there for now. But I'll have to assign someone else to share the residence with you. You won't be allowed to live alone."

  Eluvie knew that that was all the concession she would win. So she, too, nodded.

  The memory faded, and Eluvie found herself sitting under the tree once again, with all the ache of the memory pooled in her chest.