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For tests. For improvements. For evaluation.

She waited for the driver to park, to come around and open her door. Offer a hand. And hers was cool and dry.

She showed no reaction other than a small, polite smile when Evelyn Samuels stepped out of the great front door to greet her.

“Mrs. Frost, welcome to Brookhollow. I’m Evelyn Samuels, the head of the Academy.”

“A pleasure to meet you at last.” She offered a hand. “Your grounds and buildings are even more impressive in person.”

“We’ll give you the full tour, but please come inside for tea.”

“That would be lovely.” She passed through the doors, and her stomach curdled. But she glanced around, as a prospective parent might when visiting a school she considered for her daughter.

“I’d hoped you’d bring Angel, so we could get acquainted.”

“Not yet. As you know, my husband has doubts about sending our daughter so far away to school. I prefer coming alone, this time.”

“I have no doubt that between us we can convince him that Angel will not only be happy here, but benefit from a superlative education and community experience. Our great hall.” She gestured. “The plantings were developed and nurtured through our horticultural programs, as are all our gardens. The art you see was created by the students themselves over the years. In this building, on this level, we have our administrative offices, our dining hall, solarium, one of our six libraries, the kitchens and culinary science areas. My day quarters are here, as well. I’d be happy to show you through now, if you like.”

Her mind was screaming to get out, to run, escape, hide. She turned, smiled. “If you don’t mind, I’d love that tea.”

“Absolutely. One moment.” She took out a pocket ’link. “Abigail, would you see that tea is set up in my quarters here for Mrs. Frost? Right away.”

As Evelyn guided her, she gestured, explained.

How much the same she was, Deena thought. Starched and handsome, boasting of her school in her cultured voice. Moving efficiently, always efficiently. She wore her hair short and soft now, and in a quiet brown. Her eyes were dark and sharp. The eyes were the same. Ms. Samuels’s eyes.

Eva Samuels’s eyes.

Deena let the words buzz in her ears. She’d heard all of it before, when she was a prisoner. She saw girls, neat as dolls in their blue and white uniforms, speaking in undertones as was expected in the great hall.

Then she saw herself, so slim, so sweet, coming gracefully down the steps from the east wing. She trembled once—only once was allowed—and deliberately looked away.

She had to pass the child, so close she could smell her skin. She had to hear her voice as she spoke: “Good morning, Ms. Samuels. Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning, Diana. How was your cooking class?”

“Very good, thank you. We made soufflés.”

“Excellent. Mrs. Frost is visiting us today. She has a daughter who may join us at Brookhollow.”

She made herself look, made herself look into the deep brown eyes that were her own. Was there calculation there, as there had been in hers? Was there the rage and the determination, bubbling, boiling under that serene surface? Or had they found a way to smother it?

“I’m sure your daughter would love Brookhollow, Mrs. Frost. We all do.”

My daughter, she thought. Oh God. “Thank you, Diana.”

There was a slow, easy smile, and their eyes held one more instant before the child said her good-byes and walked away.

Her heart bounded. They’d known each other. How could they not? How could you look into your own eyes and not see?

As Evelyn led her away, she glanced over her shoulder. So did the child. Their eyes locked again, and there was another smile, a full one, a fierce one.

We’ll get out, Deena thought. They won’t keep us here.

“Diana is one of our treasures,” Evelyn said. “Bright and questing. Quite athletic, too. While we focus on giving all our students the most well-rounded of educations, we do comprehensive testing and evaluations so we’re able to showcase their strengths and main areas of