At dinner time, a rainbow of steaming Southie dishes filled the center of her table.

Ivogg nudged me with his elbow, smiling wide enough to pinch his cheeks. "We finally have a chance to see if your cooking tastes as good as it smelled!"

"Your cooking," I corrected, though I couldn't help peeking at the Northerner entrance for the ornery sweetheart who never left my mind.

Had Rekkan ever tasted Southie food? Would he like it? Would he be impressed?

I slopped some yellow spiced stew onto my plate. When I spooned a little into my mouth, myriad flavors eclipsed the present, transporting me to a different place and time. I almost didn't notice when someone slipped into Rekkan's seat on my right.

Someone... much too small.

"Hi, Fennikk," I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

"Hi, Mister Zafaru." She ladled a little stew onto her plate and contemplated the food with furrowed brows. "Is this Southie food, or something? It smells funny."

"Yes, it's Southie food." I sifted my spoon through my own portion, working up the bravery for another bite. "You don't like it?"

"I've never tasted it. But I want to because I like Southies. I mean, I like you. And I also like..." She stretched her arms wide and snuck a not-so-discrete glance at Razulu's table, where the Southie girl devoured a heaping plate of stew next to Doctor Vizan. "Mister Zafaru, can I ask you something?"

I scooped some more stew into my mouth. "Of course."

Fennikk set down her fork and spun in her chair to face me fully. "How do you know if you're in love?"

I choked. "Uh... what?"

"I mean, you're in love, right?"

I swallowed the food and felt the bulge all the way down my throat. On one hand, the question seemed laughably obvious. Of course I was in love. Rekkan permeated every part of my life, fueled my every desire. But on the other hand... the words still carried a scary newness, a gut-flipping note of uncertainty.

I once told my father I loved him, maybe because I truly felt it or maybe just because I wanted to hear him say it back. I could still hear his response: Don't say that again. You sound pathetic.

So I had never told Rekkan I loved him. And he had never told me.

Fennikk propped an elbow on the table. "Where is Mister Rekkan?"

"Well, he's a bit... he needs a little time away from... people."

"Even you?"

"Especially me."

Fennikk tapped a finger against her lips and nodded. "I see. And did you try telling him one thing you like about him?"

I slapped a palm against my forehead. "Fennikk, it's not that kind of situation."

"Well, then what kind of situation is it?"

I stirred my stew, searching for a way to explain to her that which still confused me. Before I could find the right words, something distracted me from my thoughts: Lekk, Bokk, Megg, and Bezan trotted to the table behind mine once more. The Southies seated there exchanged glances and dispersed to new tables. The Cutthroat Crew defectors and formerly-Northerner-hating Southie appeared not to notice, smiles unwavering.

Fennikk piped up again. "Sometimes, with Razalu, I have to take care of her a little bit, even if she's being silly. Because she's still little, you know? She's only eight."

"Aren't you also eight?"

She clucked her tongue. "No! I already turned eight and a half."

"Hmm," I said, only half listening as I watched Lekk, Bokk, Megg, and Bezan. In unison, all four scratched their heads. When their hands dropped, hair fluttered down. Red, brown, and curly black strands settled on the table in front of them.

Anxiety tightened my chest. They still appeared cheerful and peaceful, but even the Freshly-Baked had been harmless right up until they weren't. Every instinct told me to act now before things got worse. However, these possibly-Implanted appeared to be handpicked and fully controlled by the Head Chef. And if the Head Chef had that kind of control, I couldn't risk tipping him off about my suspicions.

I forced my attention back to Fennikk. "Well, Rekkan is not little."

"Not on the outside," she said. Then she popped her own spoon into her mouth with great determination. Her eyebrows shot up and lips twisted in a grimace, but by the time she swallowed, she managed a smile. "Well, this is... um. It's definitely... I think I'll like it, eventually!"

I snorted a laugh. "You don't have to like everything."

"Not even if you're in love?"

"Especially not if you're in love."

Guffawing laughter yanked my attention back to the four possibly-Implanted. Their cackling suggested that someone had just told a hilarious joke, but their gazes were eerily vacant. I darted a glance at Zhina and then Serigg to see if either noticed. According to what I overheard in the lab, they were the two people I could trust — the ones who might help me uncover whatever the Head Chef was hiding. But Zhina conversed with Mekkar and Ivogg, and Serigg was chatting with Nikkla.

"Will you stay for the Mingling Hours dance after dinner?" Fennikk asked through a mouthful of bread.

"I suppose."

"And will Mister Rekkan come?"

The possibility of meeting Rekkan at the dance stirred my gut with giddy anticipation. But it had only been one day, and he had asked for two. Plus, on the occasion dancing had entered conversation, he had made his feelings known.

"Well, I didn't mean... Rekkan isn't someone who does things just because..."

The laughter crescendoed, and the rest of the room fell silent, all eyes centering on the table behind me. Lekk, Bokk, Megg, and Bezan had abandoned their food and now rocked back and forth, tears of laughter streaming down their cheeks. Their hands clawed their scalps, ripping out clumps of hair. Tangled strands clinging to bloody strips of skin littered the floor around them.

Fennikk tugged on my sleeve. "Mister Zafaru, what are they laughing about?"

"Fennikk, I think you should go find your—"

On cue, Nikkla swept toward us and snatched a protesting Fennikk from her chair. She wrapped the girl tight to her chest and carried her to a more distant table.

"Fuck." The whisper drew my attention to Zhina, who stared at the table, pale-faced. "If I didn't know better, I would think they were Implanted."

Ivogg frowned, eyes pinned to the unnerving spectacle. "But the Implanted never acted like that. This... this is something..."

"No better," said Zhina. "This is no better than the Implant."

Mekkar clucked his tongue, heavy brow furrowing. "Zhina, don't make that comparison. You yourself said the Refuge is humanity's best hope."

"I was wrong," she said, voice strangled. "Ether, I was so wrong. I thought Uzmed left the Sentries because of what happened to Arakko, and I thought he came to the Refuge because of Razalu. But what if a piece of the puzzle is missing?" She eyed the rapidly-balding table behind me and dropped her voice even quieter. "What if Uzmed..."

Raucous, ear-splitting laughter from the table behind us echoed off the air ducts, drowning out Zhina's voice. New bald patches revealed raw scalp speckled with purple dots. Their lips stretched wide, and their palms slapped the table hard enough to rattle the plates.

Megg shot to her feet and threw a knee up onto the table. Her second knee landed on her plate, slopping food over the table and floor. She planted her feet, drew herself up to her full height, and bellowed at the ceiling.

"Freedom!" Her eyes flicked around the room, blasting each of us with a trembling grin. "Freedom at last."

Bokk stomped on his chair and then on either side of his own plate. When he straightened, he flung his arms out wide. "Freedom is fun."

Lekk and Bezan joined them on top of the table and howled a unison declaration. "And the fun is just starting!"

Forks clattered to plates, and parents clutched children closer. An elderly man with a shock of white hair drew Razalu into his side. My heart rate jumped another notch, and chills pinched my skin.

Ivogg popped up from his seat and addressed the room with raised palms. "Everyone, please remain calm. There's no need to panic."

Mekkar stumbled out of his chair, his belly knocking the table. "Right, very right. We've been trapped underground for a long time. I'm sure they just need some fresh air." And then he mumbled something only audible for our table: "Let's get them out of the Refuge."

"No." Zhina planted palms on the table and pushed to her feet. "We need to bring them to the infirmary to find the cause and treatment for this... abnormality."

"I quite agree," said Ivogg. "Let's escort them to the infirmary and get to the bottom of this, shall we?"

Zhina nodded and waddled toward the table behind us. The three lab experts, Doctor Vizan, and Ivogg followed. Mekkar remained frozen — until Zhina shot a glare over her shoulder at him, and then he gulped and scurried after them.

The four wanna-be horror movie extras were surprisingly compliant. At Zhina's invitation, they hopped down from the table. The Sentries and lab experts flanked them as they marched toward the exit.

Before they dipped out of sight, Ivogg turned back toward the silent, staring crowd. "Everyone, please remain calm. We are all safe here, and I'm sure these four will be feeling better after a little rest. I'll see you all back here for the Mingling Dance in an hour!"

The moment he left, the cafeteria erupted into conversation, huddled around tables. With my table now vacated except for me and seven cooling plates of food, I scanned the room idly. 

Serigg slipped into the seat beside me and spoke out of the corner of her mouth. "I see now why you say it wasn't Arakko."

I swung a glance around the room, but everyone appeared invested in their own conversations. Leaning a few inches closer to her, I relayed what I had seen in the lab. 

As I spoke, she fondled the drooping corner of her lip, eyes distant. When I finished, she asked, "Do you think we should try to get people out?"

"The moment we try, the Head Chef will shut off the power and trap us here. We need to figure out who the Head Chef is and stop him before he realizes we suspect anything." I breathed a shaky laugh. "But I have no idea how we do that."

She dipped her head in a slow nod. "I have an idea."