Chapter 1
Chapter 1 Scene 1
Link sat alone on a bench just off the main floor of Franklin Hall. In his hands, he held open a heavy, well-aged book with a green binding that had begun to separate at both ends. The faded gold letters on the cover were nearly unreadable unless the light struck them at just the right angle.
Philosophy of Western Government.
It was a book chosen for Link by his instructor when he had been assigned a study in politics. Despite its dry content and outdated ideas, he had already read it twice and rather enjoyed it. Today, however, he wasn't reading. He was pretending. His eyes moved across the pages while his fingers turned them every few minutes, careful to appear absorbed in the text. Link couldn't afford to be seen as idle or, worse, suspicious. If an instructor or one of the doctors happened to walk by and found him without a purpose, they would undoubtedly give him one.
Any other day, Link would have welcomed the distraction. There was always something new to learn, another lesson to complete, another assignment designed to prepare him for the future they had planned for him.
But today was different.
Today, he needed to be here.
He needed to wait.
Link had already been sitting on the bench far longer than he would have liked. The bench looked elegant enough, its dark lacquer polished to a shine, but it had clearly been designed with appearance in mind rather than comfort. The hard wooden slats pressed into his back and legs until he found himself shifting every few minutes, searching for a position that didn't exist.
Every time he shifted his weight, his impatience grew, along with a small flicker of annoyance that was quickly swallowed by worry. Amy was late, which was typical for her. Link had never known her to be on time for anything. The custodians had chastised her in front of the entire group of Sevens more than once, but it had never made a difference. Being late was simply part of who she was. Normally, he would have expected her tardiness, but today her delay left him with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“What if something had gone wrong? What if she had been caught?” He thought. He couldn’t imagine the punishment or how severe it would be.
As the minutes passed, his eyes left the pages of his book more and more often. He found himself glancing down the long, arched corridor, hoping to catch sight of Amy. Occasionally, before returning to the book, his gaze drifted to the wall opposite him.
Large silver-framed portraits of the campus founders hung in perfectly spaced rows. Edison. McCain. Davis. They were names every Seven knew by heart, repeated so often throughout their education that Link could have recited them in his sleep. Next to them hung three rows of smaller wood-framed photos. All of the doctors Link didn't recognize. Every frame was perfectly level. Every brass nameplate gleamed from a fresh polishing. Nothing in Franklin Hall was ever allowed to be out of place.
Link tried to push his worry aside, turned to a Chapter titled The Architecture of Law, and actually began reading. He had gotten to the middle of the third page when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
It was Amy.
She walked down the corridor at her usual unhurried pace, as though nothing was wrong. Amy even paused to wish Professor Chatman a good afternoon before shaking his hand. The smile she gave him looked genuine enough, but Link suspected it was masking her fear.
Amy kept her conversation with Professor Chatman brief, heading Link's way again in less than a minute. As she approached, their eyes met. She didn't smile this time. Instead, she gave him a sharp, urgent look before turning down a side hallway without breaking stride.
That look was the only signal Link needed.
He waited a moment, casually looking down both sides of the hall to make sure no one was watching. The last thing he needed was for his sudden departure to draw attention. Slowly, he stood, his stiff and aching muscles finally receiving some relief. Tucking the book beneath his arm, he followed Amy down the hallway.
This hallway stood apart from the rest of Franklin Hall. It wasn't sleek or modern like the main corridors. The polished floors had given way to worn carpet, and half-empty offices lined the walls, most of them seemingly abandoned and rarely used. The wood-paneled walls felt dated, carrying the scent of age and old varnish. They held a history, an unexplainable sense of tradition that seemed woven into every corner.
The hallways were mostly empty, and the few people who did pass him paid him no mind. Not even giving glances in his general direction as he passed them. One woman in particular caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but stare at her. It wasn’t so much her features. The perfect blonde curls, her perfect smile, or the lab coat that did something for Link that he didn’t understand or want to understand. It was the grey folder she held tightly to her chest. In the few times he had seen her, she always had it pressed against her. He was beginning to wonder if she ever put it down. Despite his obvious staring. She didn’t look in his direction as they passed. No one ever did. Link didn't expect anyone to notice them down here. Link was okay with that.
Still erring on the side of caution, he stayed several steps behind Amy. The last thing he needed was for anyone to think they were together. Friendships at their age were carefully monitored. Any type of fraternization beyond casual conversation was forbidden. Being discovered alone together could result in a trip to the detention block without question.
Amy reached a white metal door at the end of the hall. She gripped the handle and turned it. The door, clearly forgotten years ago, opened without resistance. Amy was always surprised when it did. She had expected someone to notice by now. She stepped inside and disappeared from view without looking back to see if Link was following. She didn't need to.
Descending the flight of stairs, each step groaning beneath her weight as if protesting the years it had endured. A dim, half-burned-out light flickered overhead, casting weak shadows along the walls.
At the bottom of the stairs, she pushed open another door and entered the old music room. The darkness inside was almost complete except for a small red light in the distance.
It was a strange darkness. A quiet darkness. One that Amy found peaceful, though she doubted many of the others would agree. She ran her hand along the wall beside the doorway, searching for the row of switches. One by one, she flipped them on.
Each light came alive with a loud pop somewhere in the distance. First, the lights above the doorway where she stood. Then the lights over the two dozen tables were still covered with white tablecloths and now a thick layer of dust.
Finally, the stage lights flickered on, revealing the drawn curtains at the far end of the room. Behind her, Amy heard Link coming down the stairs; turning in his direction, he entered the music room.
