“James,” he had said. “You can find out—what they’re doing to her—if she’ll live—” But Brother Enoch had stepped between them. His name is not James Carstairs, he had said. It is Zachariah now. Will’s look, the way he had lowered his hand. “Let him speak for himself.” But Jem had only turned, turned and walked away from all of them, out of the Institute, Will watching him go in disbelief, and Charlotte had remembered the first time they had ever met: Are you really dying? I am sorry.
