The school was stirring, but slowly. A few bodies moved near the dorms, and the faint clatter of someone rummaging through the kitchen filtered out. Most of the kids were still shaking off sleep.

Near the greenhouse, Mitch stood with his back against the railing, arms crossed tight over his chest. His hair stuck up in odd directions—like he'd run his hands through it one too many times that morning—and the dirt on his sleeves looked days old. His eyes were fixed on the firepit, where Clementine and AJ sat talking with Ruby.