The Gryphon Project by Carrie Mac Page B

cropped up since she was ten. So in the absence of her puffer, she’d have to calm herself down.
    Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale, exhale.
    She could hear the train draw into the station above her, the musical chime of the doors sliding open. The footsteps of another wave of commuters hurrying home. She scooted to the edge of the step to get out of the way, but she couldn’t quite stand just yet.
    Saul. Saul . A one-per!
    It wasn’t possible.
    Was it?
    But how ?
    How could this have happened?
    How could his family get away with living in the three-per sector?
    Was his whole family one-per, or had they taken him in?
    Her father had a friend, a missionary who worked in the no-per zone and who had sneaked an orphan home to raise as his own. The child fell off a cliff while on a field trip at school and was whisked to the hospital where Chrysalis came to do a check of his DNA profile in preparation of his recon. The results, of course, exposed him as a no-per. They took him off life-support almost immediately. Oscar’s friend went to jail. And there he remained, over a decade later.
    No wonder Saul freaked out that morning when Gryph pulled that stunt with the train doors. What an idiot. If she were only a one-per, she wouldn’t hang out with Gryph and the boys. She’d keep to herself. Wary of danger. If she were a one-per she’d never tell anyone. Not ever.
    She caught herself. If she were a one-per? She was a one-per in actuality, if not status! She might’ve been born a three-per and live in a three-per world, but she had only one left now. Still, she tried to make sense of it all. “I’m not really.”
    “Not really what?”
    Phoenix turned at the sound of her father’s voice. He stood behind her, protecting her from the mass of people pushing down the stairs.
    “Daddy!” Phoenix leaped up and hugged her father. She pulled back and frowned at him. “How long were you standing there?”
    “Long enough to know that you’re worrying about something, as usual.” They started down the steps together, Phoenix’s arm linked with her father’s. “Do you know that you’ve always done that, nodded and shook your head and furrowed your brow as if having a very serious conversation with an invisible friend. God, maybe?”
    “Maybe I should be talking to God.” Phee already felt better even just being in her father’s company. “But I was only having a very serious conversation with myself.”
    “About what?”
    What Saul had told her, of course.
    “Nothing, really.”
    “‘A very serious conversation with myself,’” Oscar quoted her in a funny falsetto before returning to his fatherly voice. “Such a conversation is rarely about nothing.”
    “Just stuff.”
    “I’m good at ‘just stuff.’” Oscar leaned in conspiratorially. “And ‘nothing really’ too. It’s part of my job.”
    “I don’t need a minister, but thanks.”
    “I meant part of my job as your father.”
    “Really, Dad. It’s just boy stuff.” And it truly was, in a way. “Nadia and Saul. You know. Same old.”
    “Suit yourself,” Oscar said with a wink. “But you know where to find me if you change your mind and want to talk.”
    They were crossing the green now, the lush grass so inviting that Phee kicked off her flip-flops to feel the warm carpet of it underfoot.
    “Brilliant idea, kiddo.” Phee watched her dad as he undid his shoes and peeled off his socks. Could she tell him? Not so much as a father, but as a minister? Did that count as tattletaling? Ministers were like lawyers; they had to honour confidentiality.
    But no. She knew in her heart that Saul would never forgive her if she told her dad. Even if he never found out, Phee worried that her guilt would be stamped across her face every time she saw him.
    She’d promised Saul. And a promise was a promise, plain and simple. And she knew her dad wasn’t buying her “boy trouble” line, so she gave him something more believable.
    “Actually, I was worrying