Sarah insisted. But he was nowhere to be found. We knocked on his room door, checked the labs, the cafeteria . . . everywhere. “He’s probably holed up in that workshop or whatever, doing those engineering projects he supposedly loves so much.” We found Quentin and Ben at the pool and told them everything. About the videos and subject folders and DNA stuff we’d found on Dr. Gunther’s computer. I told them what I heard Dr. Ames say about “the change.” “Are you suggesting”—Ben put down his magazine—“that these guys who have been running this successful clinic for—what did it say in the brochure, five years?—have actually been doing some kind of evil scientists’ experiments the whole time? And nobody’s ever noticed until now?” He raised his eyebrows. “You two must be geniuses.” Quentin picked up his towel and dried his face. “I get why you’re freaked out by that stuff on the computer—and it is freaky—but you must be missing something.” He shook his head at Sarah.
