I couldn’t quite place the smell, but it was off somehow. Like antiseptic, but not.

I shook my head because that so wasn’t what mattered right now. This place . . . here . . . Simon had been right about it all along. My gut said we shouldn’t be here. None of us. They did things here . . . really, really bad things, I just knew it.

If this was where they’d brought Tyler . . . my stomach plummeted because we were standing in a place no Returned should ever be.

I spun in a circle, because another thought was crashing down on me. “Where is he?” I needed one of them, Simon or Willow, to tell me we hadn’t made a huge mistake coming here, that we hadn’t just been tricked by Agent Truman. The alarms and the red light pushed my fears to the surface. “You said he’d be here. You said we’d get him and bring him back with us.”

I made a fist, suddenly wishing we were back at camp, and I could change my mind about the outcome of the standoff between Thom and Simon. I wanted Thom to smash Simon in his lying face after all. Maybe then, instead of ending up here, in the middle of this empty freak show of a lab trying to convince myself that I’d known this was a possibility all along, and telling myself to buck up, soldier, we could’ve just stayed back in Silent Creek, where we’d all have been safe. Safe.

Safe!

“Kyra . . .” Simon’s voice was slippery. “We haven’t looked everywhere—”

“I’ll check the computer wing,” Willow said, hiking her backpack higher on her shoulder. “Meet me in the research chamber, near the east exit.” She took off, leaving me to wonder how we were supposed to know where these places were, but also filling me with renewed hope as the icy grip around my throat eased and I inhaled sharply.

The computer wing and the research chamber—there were still places we could search for Tyler.

Maybe, at long last, I’d get the chance to tell him I was sorry.

Simon had turned his attention to the maze of large glass human-sized canisters, and even though I was desperate to find Tyler, my curiosity compelled me to follow him. That and the fact that I had no idea where the research chamber was.

These canisters were enormous, towering above our heads, and we threaded our way in and around and under the tubing that stuck out from them.

I nearly crashed into Simon’s back when he stopped directly in front of the last one—the only one that was covered by some sort of shiny, silver sheet. Beneath the wrap, there was a static-y hum that reminded me of a giant metallic beehive, buzzing with life.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-accused when he reached for the thin casing, but already my skin buzzed like the tube, anticipating what might be hidden there.

Just then, there was an abrupt hush. The alarms went suddenly and totally silent. Simon’s face, still frozen in shock or horror or . . . revulsion, stayed that way as we looked around us like stupid, startled rabbits.

The absence of sound was a million times more disturbing than the shrill warnings had been. And when the red lights switched off too, and there was that brief moment when there was total blackness—just the blackness and the silence—I knew we were done for.

It took a second, but then one at a time, and row by row, the white fixtures on the ceiling high, high, high overhead began switching on. The lights were blazing, so bright I flinched as if I’d just accidentally looked directly into the sun. And while I waited for my eyes to adjust, I found myself studying the floor and I realized that the glass tiles weren’t red at all, but were actually an eerie shade of blue.

We heard shouts—a jumble of voices mingled with footsteps that were heavy and hollow—that could have been coming from above or behind, or right in front of us, for all I could tell. It was like being in a twisted version of a carnival funhouse. One where the end result was being strapped to a metal gurney and being dismembered.

Beside me, I jerked Simon away from the canister or tube or whatever it was, deciding we needed to get the hell outta Dodge at the same time he whispered, “Run,” as he reached for my hand.

I no longer cared that just seconds ago I’d wished he’d been punched in the face. I was like that, I guess—fickle.

Blood rushed past my ears as he dragged me. I glanced behind my shoulder, and then up to the observation room and all around us, convinced that at any second we were going to be caught. Willow was already gone, and my fingers clung to Simon’s.

The exits no longer seemed like viable options—we had no idea which direction they’d be coming from when they finally arrived. Ahead of us, though, there were several vents of some sort, giant grilles in the walls. Instead of waiting to find out if Simon had a plan, I let go of him and rushed to one of them. I tried to pry it off myself, but my hands were fumbling and awkward. The voices grew clearer, louder . . . sounding like they were right on top of us.

“Here,” Simon said, coming in behind me. His breath was hot against my cheek as he leaned over the top of me, his fingers surer than mine as he removed the grate deftly. “It’s okay. Trust me.”

I hated the way he said it, like he was my hero, but I didn’t have time to complain. Instead, I eased into the dark opening behind the wall, with Simon coming in right behind me. He reached for the cover, and within seconds, he’d managed to secure it back in place. Just as the central lab was swarmed with an army of footsteps.

The only light came in through the vent openings, from the lab beyond. It was bigger back here than I’d expected, more like a hallway than a space behind the walls. I leaned my head against the wall, trying to slow my breaths and waiting . . . waiting to see if we’d been discovered. We stayed like that for an eternity. I was terrified that the slightest sound, the barest scrape of my hair or the rasp of my breath might give us away. And the entire time my heart was ripping a hole in my chest.