"Do you ever think about relationships?" I ask later that night, after the lights have gone off, and Taffy and I are lying in our beds.

She rolls over above me, her mattress squeaking in a way that makes Boots prick up his little ears. "You mean, like romantic ones?"

"Yeah."

She's silent for the longest moment.

It occurs to me that Taffy might not the best person to ask. The scars from the fire that took her parents cover two thirds of her face and much of her body, and however cruel people are to me, they are much, much worse to Taffy. When she first arrived at the CC, the sight of her own reflection made her burst into tears, and she's woken up sobbing and screaming from nightmares more times than I can remember. It's why she's had to rely on sleeping pills in the past, and probably will again in the future. Like me, Taffy doesn't think that anyone will ever be able to see past her scars and love her for who she is.

"I don't know," she says at last.

Sex is permitted in the CC, although long-lasting relationships are not. Every Second is issued birth-control pills from the moment we hit puberty, but of course I've never made use of that, and neither has Taffy. Like me, she can't bear the humiliation of being rejected because of our scars.

I'm sure that some kids do carry out relationships in secret, but whether or not those survive beyond the walls of the CC is a mystery to me. It's not like anyone who leaves here ever comes back.

The things that Roan has said echo through my head.

"Did you ever like anyone on the outside?" I venture.

Taffy sighs a little. "I had the biggest crush on the lead actor in a TV show I used to watch, but never on anyone that I went to school with. I suppose I didn't have much chance; I was too young."

"What do you think relationships are like?"

"How would I know?" Her voice isn't angry, only sad.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"Why so curious, anyway?" she says.

I scramble for an answer. "I was just . . . thinking about the Trials and what might happen when we pass them."

"If we pass them."

"When," I firmly correct her.

She doesn't say anything to that.

"We don't know what will happen when we leave the CC. We don't know how our lives are going to change," I say, cautiously.

I can hear Taffy breathing; it sounds a little shaky.

"Caia . . . what do you think is going to happen? You think we'll pass the Trials and suddenly we'll get to be like everyone else on the outside? We'll get to have their kind of life?"

"No, but –"

"We're government property, and that isn't going to change. Trials or no Trials."

I fall silent.

Tension stretches in the room between us. I reach out a hand to Boots, curled up next to my pillow, and run my fingers along his soft fur.

"I'm sorry," Taffy says, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's okay, I wasn't thinking straight."

"I just don't see the point in imagining things that we can never have."

I don't know if she thinks that we could never find love because we're worthless Seconds, or because we're scarred, and I don't want to ask because her words have cut like a blade.

I know what people think when they see my face. I just never imagined Taffy would think it too. But I'm not angry with her. We've been raised to feel worthless, and our scars have only added to that – Taffy's reaction is the product of years of bullying and cruelty. Maybe if we weren't in the CC, things would be different, but they're not, and I guess I can't blame Taffy for not wanting to think about an uncertain future, or one that she thinks we can't ever have.

Neither of us say anything else, and it's not long before Taffy's breathing evens out as she falls asleep.

But I can't.

Maybe Taffy is right. Maybe I'm just torturing myself by thinking about what-ifs and maybes, but ever since meeting Roan, I can't seem to help myself. What would life have been like if I had been born a first child? How different would everything have been? And what might have happened if I'd met Roan then?

I've read about relationships in books – good ones, bad ones, dramatic ones, and messy ones – but it's not the same as real life. Reading about them doesn't mean understanding how they really work.

Something else occurs to me, and it makes my eyes burn. If I had been firstborn, I would never have seen the inside of the CC, which means that I would never have been attacked by that boy. I touch my scars again, my chest tightening.

Would I have been pretty without them?

Pretty enough for Roan?

I don't know.

This is why Taffy shut me down. Because I am scarred and nothing will change that, and thinking about a life that will never exist is painful.

I try to put Roan and everything else out of my mind.

In my dreams I'm flying. I spread my wings and soar among the clouds and bathe in sunshine, and the whole world is laid out below me, more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. I am free as a bird.

A shape moves towards me, getting larger and larger, and it's Roan, flying up here with me. I raise my hands and let sunlight pour through my fingers, like liquid gold. I could swim in it.

Roan smiles, watching me. He doesn't have wings, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't need them.

He takes my hand and we fly together, on and on, until the sun melts into the horizon and the sky turns dark. The stars come out, pinpricks of gleaming light, and I gather them in my hands and weave them in my hair until I am made of silver.

Roan watches me, and his soft smile is the brightest thing here.

"Caia," he murmurs, and the way he says it makes me feel like I am made of stars and heartbeats and breath and hope. My heart is a dozen beating wings.

He moves closer to me, his feet skimming misty wreaths of clouds.

"Fetch me the moon," I say, looking up at it as it hangs above us, full and round.

Roan smiles, just for me, and reaches up. He plucks the moon from the sky, rolls it in his palm like a pearl, and then presses it to my chest, below my throat and between my collar-bones. It hangs there like a pendant.

"Roan," I whisper, savouring the taste of his name.

He drifts nearer, and the light from the moon at my throat and the stars in my hair paint him in shade of black and silver.

He's going to kiss me.

He's going to kiss me, and the blood is beating my veins, pounding in my heart, and I am entirely made of light, and I am flying, flying, flying –

– and then I wake up.

A soft gasp escapes my lips as I stare up at the ceiling, readjusting to the real world around me. My whole body feels like lead, horrible and heavy, weighing me down. I am not made of stars now. I am made of me, and that's pretty disappointing after my dream.

Worst of all, Roan isn't here.

I might not believe that he truly wants to see me again, but I do want to see him.

More than that, I want to help him.

When he first voiced his concerns about the Trials, I didn't want to listen, but he is right. There's no reason for people on the outside not to know anything about what they are or how they work. There's no reason for the CC to keep them so hidden.

But it isn't only that. I don't want to belong to the CC, or the government, or to anyone. I've been focused on the Trials as my way out of here, but I still won't be free. I'll never be free.

Unless this is a system that Roan can help tear down.

That, perhaps, is the most important point.

I've thought so often that the chain-link fence is the thing that stands between me and the rest of the world, but even after I move out of the CC, that fence will still be there, even if I can't see it.

And maybe it will all be for nothing. Maybe there is nothing sinister about the Trials, and Roan's group are seeing problems where none exist. But too many things aren't adding up and I need to know for sure. I've put so much faith in the Trials, and I need to know if that is misplaced.

I need to know if there is any chance for something more.

Tomorrow, I will go back to the fence and tell Roan that I want to help.