When I wake up the next morning, the room is dark, but I can feel Marcy next to me. Hear her steady breathing. Something rouses inside me. Stirs.

Last night, Sequoia provided us with some food and a temporary place to sleep. The room is small and sparsely decorated, and I was so tired that I didn't even notice the lack of windows.

Although I did notice that there was only one bed.

We've shared a bed before, after a party, crashing in someone else's room. But this feels different. Maybe it's because I keep thinking of what Christopher said about cherishing our new freedom.

I also keep thinking about how Sequoia promised to tell us everything this morning. I'm eager to learn more about the Queer Rebels, but I could lay here, next to Marcy, forever.

There is a rap at the door: three quick taps.

Turning my head, I locate the only source of light in the room: a digital clock, which reads 8:34 AM.

Then, I look over at Marcy, her outline barely visible. She turns over on her side of the bed, deep asleep, despite not having her usual number of pillows.

I fold back my covers and place my bare feet on the cold linoleum floor. I'm wearing a pair of pajama pants that Marcy packed for me, and I sort of wish she'd remembered slippers, too.

By the time I make it to the door, no one is there. However, as my eyes adjust to the light, I spot a tray with coffee and muffins waiting. I pick it up and set it on a small table just inside the door.

When I turn around, Marcy is now sitting up.

"Is it morning?" she asks, yawning.

"Apparently." I close the door and flick on the lights, causing her to squint.

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and stands. I tentatively look over. She's only wearing her t-shirt and underwear.

I've seen her like this hundreds of times, but it's hard not to stare at her bare legs, the hint of her nakedness. I avert my eyes.

"Muffins look good," I mumble as she crosses the room to stand next to me.

"Yes, they do." She picks one up and takes a bite. "Taste good, too," she says, a crumb flying from her mouth.

Her body heat radiates, and without meaning to, I lean against her. Drawn to her. Does she know the effect she has on me?

She shifts her weight, her shoulder pressing against mine.

"How's your ankle?" she asks, her face tilting towards me. We are so close that I can feel her breath on my neck.

"Fine," I say, flexing it.

"Last night, that was so..." she trails off, setting her muffin back down on the tray. I think she's going to say more, but then she frowns, tugging on something sticking out from under the plate.

"What's this?" she asks, revealing a slip of paper.

I take it from her and read it.

"It says to meet everyone in the atrium at nine." I glance over at the clock. "That's in about fifteen minutes."

"No time for a shower, I guess." Marcy crouches next to her bag, grabs a pair of jeans, and steps into them, covering herself up.

A few minutes later, we're both dressed. We find a bathroom down the hall, clean up a bit, and then navigate to the center of the sprawling building.

Light pours down from the glass ceiling and we pause, taking it all in. We're standing on a second-floor balcony that lines the perimeter of a huge, open space. It's so spacious that I wonder where they get the electricity to keep such a place running. Do they siphon it from the city, or do they have their own advanced technology to keep the temperature regulated and the lights on?

It's difficult to tell how many people call the compound home. There are numerous doors around the perimeter, both on the first floor and the second. Some of the rooms have large plate glass windows, but many more are boarded up with plywood. I have no way of knowing which are used for living, or storage, or who knows what else.

There are plenty of people milling about and chatting, and others walking with purpose. On the ground floor, a group congregates around a large central fountain.

"I think that's where we are supposed to go," Marcy says, pointing.

I nod and spot an escalator not too far away. As we descend, we find Sequoia standing on the edge of the fountain. She is hard to miss in a red-sequined jumper glittering in the sunlight. She holds her hands around her mouth and projects her voice. "Class starts in five minutes!"

I look at Marcy. "Class?"

She shrugs, stepping off the escalator.

I look around for Harry, but don't see him. We walk over to where a dozen or so people are gathered, standing or sitting in groups of two and three. They all look around our age, although a few seem younger, which confuses me. Are they from outside the city? If not, why'd they run away before their Choosing Day?

A tall boy with buzzed hair and the shadow of a mustache stands next to a shorter girl with curly hair pulled up into a loose bun atop her head. He makes eye contact with me and waves, waggling his long fingers and offering me a wide smile. The girl next to him nods, her expression neutral.

"You guys new?" he asks, his voice higher pitched than I expected, given his muscular frame.

"Just got here last night," Marcy answers for us.

"Well, welcome! I'm Tyree and this is Jenelle." He tilts his head over at his friend. "I've been here about a week now, but I've already learned so much. Sequoia is amazing!" he gushes.

Before we can say anything, Sequoia steps back onto the fountain's edge.

"Good morning, everyone!" she says, all eyes turning towards her. "We have two new members who have joined our ranks. Let's all embrace and accept Marcy and Charlie!"

Smiling faces turn to us, murmuring hellos and welcomes. Someone says, "You're free!" and another voice congratulates us.

As I look at everyone around us, I notice two men with their hands interwoven. There are women with short hair, men with eyeliner, and people who I can't tell are men or women or something in between.

I exhale, letting go of a breath that I've been holding for as long as I can remember.

I think I'm finally home.

I look over at Marcy, and she's also smiling. She grabs onto my hand, and I think there are tears in the corner of her eyes.

"You are home," Sequoia says, as if reading my mind. Her voice carries over the crowd, and when I look back at her, she is floating. Levitating. Literally hovering several feet above the fountain's edge.

I have no idea how she is doing it.

A few people oooh, and one person lets out a low whistle.

Tyree leans over to us. "She knows how to get an audience's attention," he says through a wide grin.

"Since you were old enough to understand, you've been told that free use of technology leads to chaos. That it is dangerous. And divisive," Sequoia says. "Those were lies."

She lowers herself gracefully back down. "I call these getting-to-know your sessions 'class' because, while the primary purpose is to learn more about how we can all help each other, we are also training you on how to think for yourselves. Helping you discover your own truths."

She holds up her hand and shows a small, glowing device. For a moment, fire seems to dance on her palm. Then she runs her hand over her black hair and the fire dyes it orange, flickering with yellow and red.

"You'll notice"—she shakes her head, causing her bouncing curls to cool down to black again—"I can change the color of my hair, but not my dress. Who can tell Charlie and Marcy why?"

Several hands shoot up. Sequoia points to Jenelle.

"Because you only have the power to change yourself," she answers confidently.

"Exactly, child, exactly." Sequoia nods for emphasis. "Gen-mods and Brainbots give us the power to affect our own physical forms. To heal ourselves. To modify ourselves. The Great Olek was only able to amass so much power because he argued that the choices individuals made for themselves were harming society. And he convinced enough people to give up their legal ability to make choices about their own bodies so that it forced submission from those who resisted."

I look around. Everyone nods in agreement. Even Marcy.

But I have too many questions.

I've always been taught that only the most well-trained surgeons can perform the Choosing Day procedure. Our tech––gene editors, nanobots, chips with neural-interface capabilities––make the procedure possible, but all that stuff is worthless without advanced knowledge of neural pathways, genetics, and our natural physiology.

It's like what I've been studying in my internship. To an untrained eye, the circuitry of even a basic device seems like a maze. You wouldn't trust someone without electrical knowledge to wire a house, so how could the average person use biotech safely?

Color-changing hair is one thing, but Sequoia is inferring so much more.

Hinting at tech that we can use on our own.

To change ourselves.