Author's note: Obviously, these wonderful characters are not mine. I thank you in advance for any reviews or criticisms, they will be greatly appreciated.

The quiet that wrapped around young Jarod was an old and unwelcome tormentor; he longed for the company of someone, anyone, as he sat on his cot in the small cell. He longed for Sydney, for Sydney to come and get him for more training or another Pretend, where they would talk and maybe there would even be other people there. But Sydney wouldn't come, nor would anyone, not for several hours yet. It was, therefore, a surprise when a short, slightly-built young man - a few years older than Jarod - with mousy brown hair, clutching an encyclopedic book of birds to his side, appeared without so much as a sound from the shadows that lay across the corridor.

The young man's mild-mannered voice spoke in quiet urgency, "You're Jarod, Their prized Pretender since 1963, under the care of Sydney."

Jarod, shocked to see another human being this time of day and one this close to his age, asked delightedly, "Who are you?"

"I wanted to apologize." The older boy's large horn-rimmed spectacles seemed to magnify his already prominent pale eyes into large, twin blue spheres of remorse.

"Why? I've never seen you before, and I can't see how you could have done me any wrong." Jarod smiled amicably.

The young man gazed at him, blue eyes unblinking, then said quietly, "I designed the security system, Jarod. I designed the security system that makes us prisoners. Someday you'll understand that what- what is going on here is not right; us being here isn't right. And you'll want to escape, want to be free, like a bird. You know, I've never seen one… a bird, except in here," He tapped the book, "but I won't let Them cage me anymore. I designed a loophole in the system, Jarod, and one day you'll find it. When you want to be free, you'll find it." He cocked his head toward the corridor he had come from, paranoid fear alighting in his eyes, "I've got to go now."

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"Here," The bespectacled young man slipped his book through the bars and held it out to Jarod, "I'm going to see them fly with my own eyes. Goodbye, Jarod."

The older boy dropped the book as a faint sound caught his ears, and with a last glance at Jarod - one that Jarod saw instantly regretted their conversation, and was almost sure Jarod would betray him - sprinted off down the corridor and ducked into another.

Jarod stared after him in puzzlement, thinking him a rather odd individual. What had the other boy meant? They were doing good, saving lives here at the Centre; Sydney told him so. What was the older boy so paranoid about? He knew it was against the rules to be out of your cell unless They had work for you to do or gave you special permission, but the consequences were nothing that should have inspired the level of paranoid fear he had seen in the boy's pale eyes. He wondered if that paranoia would ever leave them.

He went and scooped up the book from the floor and gazed at the well-thumbed section it had fallen open too.

"Finch," Jarod read aloud to fill in the silence, "Family: Fringillidae. A small, seed-eating songbird with predominantly brown plumage."