“Here we are,” said Hannah as we reached the front door. She punched a code into another keypad, and this time she also scanned her handprint. “I’ll get your prints into the system tonight if you decide to stay. Shoes off.”

We stepped into an enclosed porch, and I toed off my boots, too busy looking around to care that my socks were soaking up some of the muddy water. Hannah eyed my feet dubiously, and only then did I pull them off, too.

When we moved into the massive foyer, I understood—everything was clean in a way that made it sparkle. The floor was made of white marble, the walls seemed to shimmer in the light, and a chandelier hung overhead, swaying gently once Hannah closed the door. It was as beautiful as any of the Hart properties, and as I spotted an ornate gold H imbedded into the marble entranceway, I had the sneaking suspicion it did belong to my supposed family.

A grand staircase wound up to the second floor, splitting off and going in two different directions halfway. Off to the right of the foyer was a pair of tightly closed double doors, and to the left was an open and airy sitting room. Beyond that, I made out signs of a dining room, and I thought I heard the faint sounds of dishes clattering in the distance.

“Lunch will be served soon,” said Hannah. “You should join us. Come—I’ll give you a tour.”

She led me around the first floor, showing me the main rooms. There was another, more casual sitting room deeper within the mansion, and the hallways felt like a maze as they turned in on themselves, leaving me as lost as I felt on the streets. On the bottom floor alone, Hannah pointed out three bathrooms, and she walked me through a magnificent dining room meant to seat at least fifty.

“Your family has dined here many times, along with the Ministers of the Union and their loved ones,” she said, gesturing to the dark wood and silver candlesticks. Rich oil paintings hung on the walls, and I recognized a man in one—Daxton’s grandfather, the original ruler of the new United States. The one who had put the ranking system into place and, according to Augusta, saved the country from economic ruin.

Even back then, in the darkest hours of history, it had to have been less barbaric than this place.

“Does my family own this home?” I said as we approached the back of the house. Hannah nodded stiffly.

“Daxton—the Prime Minister allows us to stay here while we watch over the prisoners,” she said. “Another reason why we feel it only appropriate you stay with us. I have one more room to show you down here.”

She opened another door, and I stepped inside what was probably the simplest room of the house, but I instantly understood why she’d saved it for last. All three outer walls were made of glass, and the ceiling was angled, allowing for an uninterrupted view of the sky. A line of trees cut off most of the view of Elsewhere, giving it the illusion of being nothing more than a home in the middle of a beautiful forest.

“This is what’s called a solarium. It’s my favorite place,” said Hannah, her voice low, as if she were admitting some kind of embarrassing secret. “It’s especially beautiful at night.”

“It—looks like it would be,” I said tightly. The thought of there being any kind of real beauty in this place seemed so diametrically opposed to the ugliness and horror that I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. But maybe that was the point. Maybe this was how Hannah stayed above it all. If what she’d told me was true, I couldn’t blame her, not really.

We lingered for another minute before she led me to a staircase in the back of the house, and we headed upward. “The third floor is mostly mine and Jonathan’s,” she said. “The second floor is meant for guests. Jonathan took the liberty of having a room set up for you. I hope you like pink.”

She led me down the hallway toward a door marked The Augusta Suite. I nearly gagged at the thought of staying anywhere Augusta had slept, but my disgust grew less vehement when Hannah opened the door.

Inside lay a bedroom that would have been more appropriate for a preteen girl than for Lila Hart, decorated in shades of pink and gold with decals of three-dimensional butterflies glued to the far wall. The gold canopy bed was hidden by a shimmering fabric, and a stained-glass window depicting a sunset cast hues into a mirrored wall, making the entire room explode in color.

“It’s...younger than you may be used to, but you have your own bathroom, and I made sure the servants removed the dolls.” Hannah’s voice had a nervous edge to it, as if she was afraid I was going to judge it harshly after spending the night in a room half this size crammed with twenty other girls.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you. Do you have a daughter?”

Hannah shook her head. “Jonathan and I don’t have any children.”

There was a wistful look to her that made me wonder if she had wanted children, or if she’d had them once and lost them. Asking outright was likely to shatter whatever tentative peace we’d created between us, but another question popped into my mind.

“If you had children,” I said, “would they be allowed to leave Elsewhere and become part of society?”

She pursed her lips, not meeting my eye. “If you’re born Elsewhere, you stay Elsewhere. No one except Jonathan and the other appointed officials ever leave, not without executive order.”

“So you haven’t...?”

“No. Not since I was arrested.” She stepped into the room and opened the drawers. “I’ve set aside some of my old clothes. They might be a little loose, but they should fit. If you’re staying here, I don’t want to see you wearing that damn jumpsuit.”