Free The Marked by Inara Scott

do all sorts of weird meditation exercises to improve his concentration. Barrett said I could worry about that later. For now, we’d focus on the basics.
    Surprisingly, the class I enjoyed most was Mr. Anderson’s. He usually had me follow him around and help with whatever he was working on that day. Sometimes we walked in the woods and noted where blackberry brambles were suffocating native Oregon grape plants, or where ivy was crawling up the trunk of a Douglas fir tree. The next week we’d go back with thick leather gloves and a wheelbarrow and pull the offending invaders from the ground. Still other days, we worked in the garden, adding compost to the soil, weeding, or picking vegetables that grew even though it was the middle of winter.
    Mr. Anderson talked a lot about photosynthesis, the process of taking light and making it into food. This transformation, he said, was at the root of everything he did. And everything I did, in a way. The earth was constantly changing, Mr. Anderson said, but everything was in balance. You didn’t create new things, you just turned one thing into something else. Light and food. Energy and matter. The earth was about relationships, one thing blending into the next. If I didn’t understand that, I would never fully understand how an Earth Talent worked.
    Despite my best efforts, I hadn’t learned any more about what had happened the night of Initiation. I had the feeling that if it were up to Mr. Judan and the others, I never would. Cam showed no interest in talking about it, the other sophomores didn’t seem to care, and the juniors—led by Anna—clammed up whenever I asked any questions. I hadn’t screwed up the courage to ask Barrett. I had the feeling he might just laugh and blow it off, the way he did most other things people took too seriously.
    I asked Cam about it every so often, but he never quite answered, waving his hands vaguely and saying that things were out of his control. Finally, he told me I needed to let it go. It was in the hands of the Watchers now, and there wasn’t anything more he could tell me about it.
    That started our first fight. We had just finished running the cross-country loop around the school, and despite the chilly air, my T-shirt clung to my back with sweat. I held it out from my stomach and waved it back and forth to cool myself as we walked.
    “But why can’t I know what the Watchers are doing?” I said. “I’m in the Program now. There aren’t supposed to be secrets anymore. Besides, you said it was just a gang of regular kids from Seattle. If that’s true, why are the Watchers involved?”
    Cam must have been annoyed by my finding a weakness in his story, because he threw his hands in the air and exhaled sharply. “There isn’t any big secret. They’re still trying to find the people who broke in. You can’t expect the Watchers to tell everyone who their suspects are and what information they’ve gathered.”
    “I’m not asking for that,” I said, wiping my forehead with the hem of my shirt. “I just think it’s strange that they’d send Watchers after some local gang. What will they do if they find the people who broke in? They won’t kill them, will they?”
    “If they aren’t dangerous, the Watchers will let the police handle it,” Cam said. “It’s up to them. You just have to trust them.”
    “How am I supposed to trust them if no one will say what they’re doing?” I asked.
    “That’s what trust is,” Cam said. “They don’t have to explain everything.”
    “I guess I’m not good at trust, then,” I said, flaring up.
    We walked back to school in silence. A few hours later, Cam texted me while I was studying: Sorry— didn’t mean to fight. I’m tired. Too much homework.
    Relieved, I wrote back: Me, too. I shouldn’t keep bugging you. I know you’d tell me if you could. We okay?
    I waited, staring anxiously at the phone until I got his response. Of course. Meet me in the stacks, five minutes.
    I