As I step into the atrium, the sun suddenly pours into my eyes. I squint until my pupils adjust.

Even my physical reflexes are being taxed by all the sudden changes happening right now.

Before I step forward, I turn around to say goodbye to Harry, but he's already disappeared into the shadows.

"Come on," Alex says, nudging me gently. "Let's see what we've missed."

I nod, but my attention is elsewhere. Scanning the crowd, I quickly spot Marcy. She's still with Jenelle, and whatever tension was there earlier seems to have dissipated. They're sitting in a small group, both hunched over, engrossed in something.

Alex catches my questioning look and offers a casual shrug. "Sequoia often gives different types of assignments," they explain. "Keeps things interesting, I guess."

As I'm about to respond, a voice calls out from across the atrium. "Alex! Over here!"

A tall figure with vibrant blue hair waves enthusiastically from a group huddled around a table with a glowing screen in its center.

Alex waves to their friend, then glances at me. "Coming?"

Instead of following, my eyes drift back over to Marcy.

Her shoulders are moving. I think she's laughing at something Jenelle just said.

It doesn't bother me.

Why shouldn't they be friends? We need all the friends we can get.

Just then, Jenelle's sharp eyes catch mine. She leans in and whispers something to Marcy, who turns her head in my direction.

Marcy's gaze finds me, and she beckons me over. "Charlie, come here! You've got to see this."

"I'll catch up with you later, Alex," I say, already taking steps towards Marcy and Jenelle.

Alex nods, smiling. "Sure thing, Charlie. Catch you in a bit."

"What are you guys looking at?" I ask as I approach.

Marcy shifts slightly, making room for me beside her. "Where've you been?"

Our eyes meet, and I realize that I don't know how to answer, especially in front of the others. Harry told me not to tell anyone that he's making a plan, but he didn't say that I had to lie about speaking with him. "Just talking about tech with Alex and Harry."

Marcy nods, accepting my answer at face value. In her hands, she holds a sleek, portable screen. Its surface is alive with images and text.

"Here, look at this," she says, passing the device to me.

I take the screen, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth of Marcy's touch.

Looking up at me is a face that I don't recognize. A wide smile with bright teeth, strong features framed by softly layered dark curls. Underneath it a caption reads: Sylvia, getting ready.

I swipe the screen. The next photograph looks like it was taken from a second-story window. It shows a crowded street full of people with colorful hair and dark clothes. There's no caption on this photo, but it's clear that it is showing some sort of protest. There are people holding signs. One says, "Govern the City, Not my Body," and another has the words, "Free to Be Me!".

With another swipe, I see the same face from before. Sylvia. But this time she's standing on a bench with one hand on her hip. Defiant. I recognize the building she is standing in front of. It's a clock tower near the wharf. The Ferry Building. This photo has a caption with a date. The same year my mother was born. Fifty-two years ago.

The next picture shows a group of denim-clad men. One has his fist raised. Others are holding hands.

"Wasn't Christopher handsome?" a voice interrupts my thoughts.

I look up, momentarily embarrassed for hogging the screen. My eyes meet those of the redheaded boy. "Christopher?" I ask.

He smiles, his blue eyes a bright contrast to his pale skin. "Yeah, that's him right there." He points to the man with his fist in the air. "I'm Mitchell, by the way. We haven't formally met."

I return the smile. "Charlie," I reply. "Nice to meet you. Formally."

"Likewise," he says.

I look back down at the picture. Christopher looks to be around our age. He is clean shaven and has a mop of wavy dark hair. I have a hard time reconciling this image with the wiry older man who leads the Queer Rebels.

"What are these pictures?" I ask.

Mitchell answers. "These are pictures from before the founding of the Queer Rebels. Sequoia thought it was important for us all to understand where we come from, you know?"

I nod, and I agree. But the timing of this history lesson feels too coincidental. Especially after what Harry shared with me about his desire for things to change.

Marcy leans in closer, her finger swiping the screen to get to a particular photograph.

"Look at this one," she says, her voice tinged with awe. "That's Christopher and Sequoia back in the day. They look so young, don't they?"

I peer at the image, struck by how different they both look. Christopher's hair covers his ears, and his eyes are bright with the fire of youth. Sequoia, standing beside him, is practically unrecognizable. She looks like she was at the very start of her transition. And although her radiant smile is the same, her nose and jaw are different. More masculine.

Surrounding them are faces I don't recognize, but one person stands out—Sylvia. She's in the forefront, radiating energy and conviction. She is in so many of the photos that I wonder what happened to her. If she is still somewhere here in this compound.

Tyree, lounging nearby, glances over and lets out a low whistle. "Man, Christopher was quite the looker back then. Talk about hot!"

Mitchell smirks. "Maybe that's what Harry sees in him," he quips, his tone light but edged with something I can't quite place.

I feel a flicker of confusion at Mitchell's comment, and it seems I'm not the only one. Tyree raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.

But then I think back to last night. To the man's voice calling Harry "baby." Was that Christopher? The voice had been familiar.

If there is something between Harry and Christopher, it makes me even more confused about what Harry might be planning. Does Christopher know about it?

It also makes more sense why Harry would reach out to Alex and me for support. If he's dating the guy in charge, they might share the same circle of friends. Newcomers, however, don't have any strong connection to Christopher.

Before I can get lost in my thoughts, Jenelle chimes in, her voice playful yet pointed.

"Speaking of Harry, you've been spending a lot of time with him lately, Charlie," she says, her gaze flicking between me and the screen. "Hope Christopher doesn't get jealous of all the attention you're getting."

A flush of warmth rises to my cheeks, and I'm unsure how to respond. Is this about the haircut and the tech? Is she trying to make Marcy suspicious? Or does she have some inkling about the conversation Harry just had with Alex and me?

"Um," I mumble, looking at Marcy. "He's not exactly my type."

Marcy rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and I can't help but smile back.

Jenelle just half shrugs. I'm not sure what reaction she was looking for, but that wasn't it.

Mitchell takes the tablet back and presses a button that brings up a list on the screen. "So, all those photos were from right around the time Olek took over."

"The Great Olek has only been in power for fifty years?" Marcy asks. "I feel like in school they make it sound like so much longer."

"Yeah," Mitchell says, shaking his head. "You know how those textbooks are. They only include the facts they want you to know about and they gloss over everything else. Did your parents or grandparents ever tell you about before his ascent?"

All four of us shake our heads.

His lips flatten into a line, and he raises his brows while nodding. He doesn't seem surprised. "I think whatever they do to people on their Choosing Day messes with their memories, but I had one grandpa who used to tell me stories."

"Oh yeah?" Jenelle says.

"Yeah. He was actually a huge supporter of Olek. Maybe that's why they kept his memories intact. But he would tell stories about the 'freaks and hippies' who fought against his rise." Mitchell holds up his hands to make air quotes and rolls his eyes. "He hated how we learned a sanitized version in school. Thought it was important I knew that Olek had enemies."

"Why?" Marcy asks.

"I dunno, really." Mitchell shrugs. "He probably wanted me to be on the lookout."

"Guess that plan backfired," Tyree says with a laugh.

Mitchell nods in agreement, but instead of laughing along, he clicks on a line of text that brings the screen to a new set of pictures. There aren't any more smiling faces in these.

Instead, there are plumes of smoke. People running. Soldiers with guns.

"Oh, shit," Marcy sighs.

"There's a reason Olek won," Mitchell says, his voice grim. "He didn't show mercy to those who dared to fight back openly."

After a few swipes, my earlier question about Sylvia is answered.

I wonder who took the picture of her body, broken on the asphalt. How they knew she was beyond saving. Why they thought the moment had to be captured on film.

The image punches me in the gut.

I think I'm going to be sick.

"Fuck," Tyree whispers.

"Yeah," Mitchell sighs. "Can you imagine if this place didn't exist?"

"No," Marcy answers, shaking her head. "This place is...perfect."

I want to look away. But I can't.

Marcy reaches over and squeezes my knee, but I barely feel her touch. All I can do is think about what Harry has planned. Does he understand the risk? How much was sacrificed for the secrecy we now have?

What if his plan destroys this sanctuary?

Looking at Marcy, I know she would disapprove.

I hope I've made the right choice in trusting him.