(Dear Reader, this is the last chapter in Part 1, so now is a great time to catch up if you aren’t already. Next week—March 8th—Part 1 will close, as we begin Part 2)
I stepped out from the cool shadow of the university and into a bright, crowded courtyard.
The air was full of festival smells: freshly grilled street corn, bursts of lime, and cinnamon churros, all swirling between bouts of laughter and conversation. People swarmed the yards, drinks sweating in their hands. Bright paper streamers fluttered above—red, white, and green—dancing in whatever breeze we were lucky enough to get. My clothes clung to my skin. The sun was unforgiving, and the humidity held the air in layers of moisture.
Parents were making the most of it, though. Many of them were likely excited, but also visibly anxious about their children’s upcoming graduation season. Food trucks lined the lot in neat rows, their engines humming low as chefs worked furiously inside their makeshift kitchens. It had to be sweltering in there. A group of parents played cornhole in front of a taco truck. Their kids, wearing our colored bandanas, hovered near the lawn games, clearly itching to begin the real event.
The event company Min hired exceeded expectations. With the help of a few university volunteers, they transformed the entire campus according to our specs. I spotted some MC equipment and staging I didn’t recognize, and fresh flowers adorned every corner. 3CS had never looked better. I wondered if Min had gone over budget—possibly intentionally—just to prove a point.
My clipboard listed five scavenger hunt stations, each with two sets of specific objectives: one for the applicants and one for the observers. Under each, I’d marked three rings in red, blue, and green, corresponding to team colors.
Alongside the names of all 72 participants were boxes for key traits: Leadership, Altruism, Memory, Focus, Academic Intelligence, Communication, Teamwork, Balanced Emotion, and Intuition. They needed to register a minimum of eight to qualify for The Quantum Horizons Youth Program.
The students milled around in clusters, their bandanas bright against the crowd. Miguel had sorted and distributed them earlier that morning. I spotted some familiar faces, but most were new.
One girl stood out. At first, I assumed she was someone’s younger sibling, maybe tagging along. She was tiny, with wavy brown hair, crouched on the ground holding a twig under what looked like a stranded caterpillar. But she wore a green bandana—a participant. She didn’t look older than fourteen. Eli stood beside her, watching quietly. The contrast between them was striking.
I scanned the crowd again, searching for Miguel, and spotted a boy who looked just like the photo Malinda had shown me: Devin. His bandana was stuffed in the back pocket of his faded black jeans, and he wore a long-sleeved shirt despite the ninety-degree heat. Determination mixed with unease shadowed his face. He reminded me of someone, though I couldn’t place who.
Skylar arrived next. She was hard to miss—striking, athletic. She was a known name around Cobb County, maybe even all of Georgia. Her mom chatted with another couple, an Indian woman and a white man. Their daughters, both sporting blue bandanas, laughed together near the fountain.
As far as the families knew, the teams were random. But that wasn’t true. Students had completed personality surveys during registration. Based on their answers, backgrounds, and some biometric markers, we sorted them into loose profiles: red for the academically gifted and independent; blue for extroverts and emotionally balanced (coincidently, many were athletes); and green for humanitarians, the artists, and the deeply observant. This way, we could also track which traits contributed most to successful Astralnauts.
The students were starting to cluster near the stage, eyes alert. They weren’t here for the churros or the bandanas; they were here to compete. I felt a sense of pride. We’d assembled a good group.
Heat shimmered off the concrete. People with dogs retreated to shady grass or carried them in their arms. I stepped onto the stage, glancing over the crowd—now a sea of color-coded ambition.
Each station was a test disguised as a puzzle. More than just a scavenger hunt, it was a mental labyrinth embedded in physical challenges, designed to measure not just results, but reasoning. Though the teams would earn points together, we would evaluate each student individually. How did they solve problems? Who did they become when pushed—when they lost, when they won?
“Welcome, everyone!” I called out, my voice ringing over the PA. Conversations stopped, and heads turned. “Remember this challenge is part of your application, so be mindful. Be yourself. And trust your instincts. When the horn sounds, return here to this courtyard. Good luck! And let the hunt begin.”
A cheer erupted, and some parents clapped a little too enthusiastically. Seventy-two students burst into motion. The red team split up immediately, clearly favoring a divide-and-conquer approach. The blues formed two tight pods. The greens, smallest in number, stuck together entirely.
Looking around, we’d cast a wide net, for sure, spreading the word through high schools, online ads, and writing contests. From the stage, I spotted twins: the girl in blue and a boy in green. They looked alike in every way but gender. They even moved the same. The boy picked up a green bandana off the ground and handed to the tiny girl who was still standing beside Eli. Their pairing was odd, but somehow sweet.
Eli scanned the landscape like he was uploading it all into some internal drive. A few paces behind him, was Devin. Though technically part of the largest group, he walked alone, his red bandana tied on his wrist. I tried to imagine him and Malinda in a session together and couldn't. There was something familiar about him. I couldn't place it, but it made me uneasy.
Cognitive Flexibility Station (Overseen by Dr. Bard) The first clue appeared on a screen on the stage from a projector hidden in the trees: Balance the weight of mind and motion, Seek harmony in cyclic notion. Four elements dance to form a ring, Life unfolds with what they bring. Half of the blue group gathered in a huddle. Tessa walked a few feet away from the group and noticed several shiny pennies on the ground. She found it strange. When she looked closer, she realized they weren’t pennies at all, but copper nodes embedded in the earth. They dotted the ground about every four feet and led to a clearing with a wooden console table. “Look—the copper spots. I think we follow them.” Tessa pointed down, excited by her discovery. At first, the participants tried to step onto the copper nodes, even holding hands, expecting something to happen. They shuffled awkwardly, glancing at each other. One student attempted to stand perfectly still on one of the nodes with one foot, but nothing changed. Skylar frowned, feeling a bit left out and discouraged. Tessa caught on quickly. “Skylar, what do you think we should do?” “I don’t know,” Skylar said. “It’s copper, so maybe it’s a circuit—or a grounding node?” “Grounded. Like, literally. Sky, you’re a genius,” Tessa said as she slipped off her shoes, pressing her bare feet onto the copper node. She looked up with wide eyes. The others quickly followed suit, piling their shoes nearby and standing barefoot on the copper nodes. “Everyone hold hands,” Skylar suggested, wheeling forward. “We need to complete the circuit. There are six, sev—ten of them.” She counted the group: eleven of them, and ten nodes that needed someone standing on each. Skylar breathed a sigh of relief. At the same time, she realized the small group of red team members approaching the nodes would have to wait until more of their team showed up. As they clasped hands, Tessa imagined a subtle warmth flowing between them. Slowly, they stretched out in a line, connecting from node to node, extending toward the table. Once they got closer, they realized the table held a small, flat box on top, stamped with a copper handprint. The last student reached out and placed their palm against it. A small click echoed from the box. The box’s exterior matched the table’s wood, making it nearly invisible from afar. Skylar rolled up as close as she could. Inside the box lay three sheets of parchment, old and yellowed. On one side, an inscription appeared in elegant script—the same clue from earlier. On the back, a simple map. She considered taking all three sheets to sabotage the other teams, but thought better of it. She traced the delicate, flowing lines inked in dark sepia with her finger. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary topographical sketch, but tiny symbols marked locations—meanings obvious only to those who understood the riddle. At the center of the map sat a clearing, shaded lightly to indicate its openness. Five oak leaves surrounded it, positioned almost like guardians around the central space. The map labeled the clearing ‘Ether,’ and in its middle, four small circles formed a perfect ring. Each circle bore an elemental symbol. The symbols were: A triangle pointing down. A triangle pointing down, with a horizontal line through it. A triangle pointing up. A triangle pointing up, with a line through it. At the very bottom of the parchment sat a Möbius strip symbol, accompanied by a phrase in a different, more hastily drawn hand: “Infinity unveils hidden wisdom.” The landmarks weren’t overly detailed; the map offered just enough guidance to direct the team while leaving plenty of room for interpretation and exploration. Skylar handed the sheet to Tessa. Their minds raced as they decoded the map. “We need to find these trees,” Skylar said, pointing. “There are five of them.” She spun her chair, and the other teammates ran behind her. As they moved, Tessa read the poem aloud. “Balance. Cyclic notion…like harmony of systems.” Dr. Bard, observing from a distance, allowed herself a slight smile as she watched the teams dissect the riddle. She found herself cheering on Tessa, a little biased toward her success. Skylar slowed suddenly, eyes scanning the map in her hands. “Wait,” she said, turning back to Tessa. “Four elements dance to form a ring. It’s got to be here.” She pointed at a marked spot on the map. “This is where we need to go. See these symbols? They represent earth, water, air, and fire.” Tessa nodded thoughtfully, her gaze following Skylar’s finger on the map. “Right. If we’re balancing these elements, we have to understand how they work together. They need to create a cycle.” Skylar and Tessa led their teammates across the field, following the map to a secluded area surrounded by five large oak trees. Skylar’s chair caught on a fallen branch, and the team quickly cleared it. Once they reached the oak trees, they approached four pedestals arranged in a circle, each marked with a representation of one of the elements: a mound of soil, a glass bowl filled with water, a metal brazier, and a pedestal holding a small fan. The setup was unassuming. If you didn’t know what you were looking for, the bowls could have passed for bird feeders. Each item looked nondescript, blending naturally with the surroundings. “This is it,” Skylar said, her voice bright with excitement. Tessa leaned beside the mound of soil, examining the objects in front of them. “Think about the fundamental elements that make up everything: oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen,” she said. “Maybe they relate to these elements too. Water and earth—they connect through plant growth. Nitrogen comes from the earth and helps build proteins. And air is obvious: there’s an exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide, vital for both plant life and combustion.” Tessa would’ve continued, but she ran out of breath. A few members of the team nodded in agreement, while others stared at Tessa with either blank expressions or shocked ones. “Fire needs oxygen to burn,” one student added, pointing at the brazier. “And it transforms matter, creating carbon in the form of ash, which returns to the earth,” Tessa said, touching the soil, recalling something she’d read but couldn’t place. “This is like the carbon cycle—fire releases carbon, which then nourishes plants through the soil.” Skylar paused, drawing more connections. “Maybe, it’s about the transfer of energy—chemical, kinetic, potential. It has to balance out.” Tessa’s eyes lit up as she pieced it together. “Like...Nitrogen from the soil, Carbon from fire, Oxygen from the air, and Hydrogen from water.” First, they poured the bowl of water into the mound of soil until it darkened and held together. Next, they switched on the fan and aimed it across the wet mixture, pushing fresh air over the surface as they made a small ball of clay. Finally, they placed the clay onto the brazier. The flame flared briefly, leaving a scatter of mineral-rich ash that they worked back into the damp soil, just to be safe. Skylar nodded as they took a final look at their arrangement. But no one seemed to feel confident. After a few minutes passed they were sure they did something wrong. A green light flashed above the pedestals, indicating success, as a small drawer beneath the water pedestal clicked open, revealing a stone token. It was carved with all the earlier elemental symbols, superimposed in a harmonious design. Dr. Bard approached with a thoughtful expression and nodded in approval. “Impressive,” she said, admiration in her voice. “Not a single argument from your group, over a rather vague objective." She smiled. "And you’re the first team to collect a token.”
Pattern Station (Overseen by Dr. Moon) Tall stained-glass windows let colorful sunlight spill into ChudaPharma’s grand library, casting intricate, kaleidoscopic patterns across the polished floors. The library looked more like a cathedral than an actual library. The shelves brimmed with thick leather books of science, philosophy, poetry, and the mysterious. The building, like a church of knowledge, its authors a symbolic congregation, their testimonies immortalized in Times New Roman. At the center of the room stood a large circular stone table draped in deep blue velvet for the event. Resting atop it sat a collection of peculiar artifacts: razor-thin sheets of parchment etched with geometric markings; small wooden tablets with grooved surfaces; and strange metallic tokens, among other oddities. In the center, a hologram flickered to life, casting a soft glow above the table’s centerpiece. The clue hovered in the air, glowing like a spell: “See a path through an endless sea, Patterns emerge through sequences. A vision awaits with the right I.” Students from all three teams circled warily. Dr. Moon stood at the head of the table, her posture as still as the ancient columns lining the library. Her presence exuded quiet calculation—less judgment, more observer. Aiden from the blue team, full of bluster and impatience, stepped up first. “Alright, I got this,” he said, rifling through the sheets with zero delicacy. Marisol winced at the rough handling of such fragile material. “We just translate the symbols into letters…they’ll spell something,” Aiden said. His sandy-blond hair flopped as he scratched at his scalp, flipping over metallic crescent-shaped pieces and tossing them aside. Marisol stayed behind the crowd, not entirely by choice. Her gaze scanned the entire space—anything she could see. Eli drifted to the table, students yielding to his stature. He didn’t touch anything yet. He simply looked. His fingers hovered over the pieces. He lingered on a parchment shaped like a mandala petal, then placed a second one with nearly mirrored etchings on top of it. “Come on, help me out!” Aiden barked to his teammates. “Don’t just stand there. The red team already cracked this. I swear. Just match symbols to the letters!” Marisol stepped into a small opening, held by Eli. “Are these Egyptian?” she asked in a low voice. Eli shook his head once. June, one of the blue team twins—and sister to Kai from the green team—ignored Aiden’s glare and joined them. “He knows something,” she whispered, watching Eli’s movements. “What are you doing, June?” Aiden snapped. “That’s not your team, June.” June didn’t answer. She simply studied Eli and the pieces he reached for—delicate sheets shaped with sacred symbols. Eli handed a sheet to Marisol. She held it up to the light filtering into the library. On its reverse, a faint glyph shimmered under the colored light—an i, barely visible unless tilted just right. Marisol caught on quickly. The pieces weren’t meant to be read; they were meant to be layered. She asked Eli for the full stack and began stacking them with care. Each transparent shape revealed part of a larger whole. Eli smiled and nodded with each placement, guiding her without a word. As the last piece settled into place, the symbols aligned like a celestial map. “There it is,” Marisol whispered, awestruck. Aiden blinked. “Oh. Yeah. That’s what I was thinking too.” June found the wooden tablet that matched the image revealed by the layered parchment and slid it into a drop box on the side of the table. With a soft click, the box opened. Inside lay a silver token shaped like an eye, its surface smooth as glass, its iris formed from interlocking patterns. June held it for a moment, then handed it to her brother on the green team, drawing a few groans from students in blue. Dr. Moon stepped forward. “You must hold space to see the bigger picture,” she said, calm but firm. “patterns emerge over time.” Her gaze lingered on Eli for a moment, then shifted to Marisol. “Remember, Truth is seldom singular. Most truths are layered.” Marisol turned toward Eli, her smile wide. She wanted to hug him, but thought better of it. He nodded once—small, but meaningful. Together, they stepped away from the table, leaving the blue and red teams bickering over who would go next.
Facade Station (Overseen by Professor Ruiz) The grand library emptied into an outdoor patio that led to a sun-dappled garden on the edge of campus. Peaceful and rich with blooms, the garden concealed a deceptively complex challenge. A wooden signpost bore the clue in elegant script: “Words may deceive, and silence may reveal, True intentions are something you feel. Understand the heart behind the face, Find the tokens—deception effaced.” Professor Miguel Ruiz stood at the garden entrance in athletic wear, nimble and alert, arms crossed. Many of the garden’s winding paths led to dead ends, but some of them led to hidden alcoves where actors waited, each portraying an exaggerated emotion. But it wasn’t about reading projected energy, the real task was to perceive what someone masked underneath—to distinguish performance from truth. Devin, in a small group of red teammates, was among the first to enter. Near a flowering arbor stood a young woman in a cornflower blue and lemon-yellow dress. Her smile was bright—too bright. “She seems nice. Happy,” one teammate offered, stepping forward with confidence. He hesitated, then declared, “Joy,” as he held out his hand. The actress smiled and handed him his reward: a squishy slug-shaped toy coated in glittery goo. “Wrong,” she said pleasantly. “Try again.” The teammate frowned, wiping slime on his shirt. Devin watched in silence, eyes narrowing. She twisted the hem of her dress. Her gaze darted too quickly between them. He stepped forward, careful and calm. “You’re anxious,” he said. “You want us to feel comfortable, but you’re not.” Her smile faltered. She reached beneath a flower pot and produced a delicate puzzle piece to a full token. “Correct.” The group moved on, warier now. At the next station, a man in a tattered suit sat slumped on a bench, mumbling about loss and regret. “Sadness?” a girl guessed. The man offered her a handful of fake spiders that spilled through her fingers. “Ew!” she squealed. Devin didn’t flinch. He studied the man’s clenched fists, the twitching muscle in his jaw. “You’re frustrated,” he said. The man’s demeanor shifted. He nodded and handed Devin another piece of the final token from his coat pocket. “Nice work.” At the third station, a girl with wide eyes and trembling hands clutched a teddy bear. Her eyes darted left to right as she rocked herself. “She’s scared,” a teammate said confidently. The girl opened her hand and dropped a small lump of messy coal into his palm. “No.” A girl Devin hadn’t noticed before stepped up—though he wasn’t sure how he’d missed her. She looked closer. “You’re paranoid.” The actor reached into her pocket and offered a token-piece. “Yes.” Professor Ruiz watched carefully from a distance, noting not just Devin’s accurate perception, but how little he relied on his team. They followed him, yes, but only in confusion. At the next station, the group hesitated. A man sat calmly on a bench, serene and still. One guessed peace. Another said confidence. Each time, the man rewarded them with a palm buzzer. Devin looked closely. Too still. Blankness in the eyes. “Checked out,” he said. “You’re dissociating.” This time, another red teammate—quiet until now—stepped up. “Yeah. He’s not really here. He's shut down.” The actor smiled and handed the teammate a token-piece. “Nice catch.” Devin glared at them both. Next came the loudest scene yet. A girl on a crate shouted at the top of her lungs, eyes wild. “GET OUT! YOU’RE NOT WELCOME HERE!” “Anger!” someone yelled. She squirted them with a water gun and threw a handful of feathers in their faces. “Unstable!” someone else shouted laughing. She screamed louder. Devin winced. He stepped back, holding his ears, and said firmly, “She’s terrified.” The girl froze. Her face crumpled. She reached into her boot and handed Devin a token-piece. “Yes,” she whispered. At the end of the path, the red team arranged all the pieces into a singular token, and dropped it in their basket. Professor Ruiz approached, gaze lingering on Devin. He read his name tag: ‘Devin, Scavo.’ “You have a remarkable ability to read through the noise,” Ruiz said, his voice even. Devin nodded and caught up with his team. As the team hurried to their next station, Ruiz pulled out his phone and typed a message to Joe. “Devin Scavo. As in Tony Scavo?”
Navigation Station
(Overseen by Dr. Joe)
Faint ‘Exit’ lights barely illuminated the entrance to a large, dark chamber on the lower floor of Joe’s sleep lab. The red light cast an eerie glow across the threshold.
A handful of students approached the station as another group exited. They were sweaty, flushed, and disheveled.
One boy in blue said, “That stone one was impossible to find. I swear it was buried under something.”
Another replied, “The Flower of Life? Yeah, I still don’t think we got it. The group before us said it was the smallest one.”
Their laughter trailed off as they disappeared down the corridor.
Dr. Joe, standing at the entrance, turned to the next wave. “I can only take fifteen of you at a time,” he announced. “It’s first come, first admitted, and each session is fifteen minutes. Once you’re inside, you’ll need to locate five symbols to complete the challenge. Any team member can find them during any session, and they’ll all count toward your team’s total goal. You’re welcome to get back in line as many times as needed. Right before entering, I’ll show you the symbols you’re hunting for, but not how they’ll appear in the field. And good luck.”
He scanned the gathered students: Devin and two others from the red team; next in line were eleven from the blue team; and then all nineteen members of the green team.
“That’s fourteen, so I can only take one green member,” he added, glancing at the crowd.
Without hesitation, Marisol stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
Eli, standing nearby, was shaking his head no.
Dr. Joe smiled, then lead them into the next room.
Inside, the darkness swallowed them. No visual cues—just the faint vibration of machines and a dense, hushed stillness. They distributed helmets, knee pads, and elbow guards, safety gear that hinted at obstacles ahead.
“Here are the five sub-tokens,” Dr. Joe’s voice echoed through the void. Images briefly illuminated the wall, and each time the darkness returned, the students had to acclimate all over again: the Flower of Life, a musical note, an atom, a pyramid, and a heart. “Good luck.”
Participants dispersed slowly. Joe had instructed them not to run or make sudden movements. They stumbled forward with outstretched hands.
Devin crouched low, feeling his way along the floor. Not long after, he found a soft plastic cube that rattled when shaken. He squeezed it, and it emitted a dim, bluish glow—just enough to light nearby shapes. He kept the light to himself, hiding it and using it sparingly.
A few people tripped and collided, laughing in surprise.
Devin moved confidently, using the cube whenever he approached a pile of anything. Under a few pillows, he discovered the Flower of Life token—a smooth, carved stone about the size of his palm. He pocketed it without a word and continued on.
Marisol crawled on all fours too, her fingers brushing a box tipped on its side. Inside, she found a pair of goggles. She slipped them on, and the world bloomed into gradients of green. Ahead, she spotted Devin’s smooth movements and intermittent glow and assumed he had similar glasses—until she noticed his face was bare and the light flickered from his palm. It wasn’t goggles; he was using something else.
She watched him quietly as he found a rubber musical note token, then moved closer to another one—the atom symbol. Nearby, she spotted the pyramid resting on a high table and snagged it quickly.
Back at the start, Skylar hesitated. Navigating darkness in a wheelchair was both a blessing and a risk: she wouldn’t trip, but she didn’t want to run over any fingers. So instead of diving in, she waited, listening.
Elsewhere, Aiden’s voice rose above the murmurs. “I think I found something!” He triumphantly held up a dry-erase eraser, only to toss it away seconds later. “False alarm!”
Suddenly, Tessa found a flashlight buried beneath a canvas tarp. The powerful beam sliced through the dark like a sword. She turned and saw Skylar blinking in the light. “Here—you take it,” she offered.
Skylar accepted and led the way, scanning for the last few scattered teammates. The flashlight made the space seem far smaller than it had felt before. She quickly found Devin, his pockets visibly full, and Marisol holding the pyramid.
“Hey, did you guys already find all the tokens?” Tessa called.
Marisol shook her head. “No. But I think Devin has a few.”
The flashlight fell on Devin like a spotlight. Reluctantly, he emptied his pockets to show the Flower of Life and the musical note. He kept the glowing cube hidden.
Skylar smiled. “Okay—we just need the heart and one more I can’t remember.”
“I got the atom!” Aiden shouted from across the room.
Now illuminated, the final symbol—a plush heart—was easy to spot on the floor. Tessa picked it up while Skylar swept the room with her light.
With all five symbols found, the group reconvened at the exit.
Outside, Dr. Joe waited in the red glow of the corridor. “One for green. Two for red. Two for blue. Nicely done.” He looked at Devin. “You found two of the symbols. Well done.”
Devin nodded with a smile and jogged past him.
As Joe turned to prep the next group, he checked his phone.
‘Devin Scavo?’ the message read.
Joe pocketed the phone without replying.Perception Station (Overseen by Min Lim, PhD) A winding mosaic pathway led a handful of participants through ancient-looking stone arches. Along the route, several stations appeared like open-air laboratories, scattered between trees and planters. At the center of it all stood Min Lim, PhD, her serene presence anchoring the surreal beauty of the meditative, quiet courtyard. As the participants gathered, a new clue materialized against the pale stone, letters glowing like stardust: “To perceive is to know, to know is to see, Where particles arrive, there, truths may be.” Min stepped forward, her voice calm but resonant. “In this challenge, remember: how you observe something shapes what you see. You’ll need to look from different perspectives, and even from different moments in time. Some patterns will emerge easily. Others will hide until you shift your view.” Skylar and Tessa led their full team to the first substation: a light mounted on a short pedestal scattered visible rays across the space. Dust motes danced in the beams, but nothing obvious stood out yet. Then Skylar noticed something near a flower bed: a brand-new, unblemished hemp satchel slumped open with a few tools inside, the contents oddly pristine. “That’s planted,” she muttered. She wheeled closer and spotted a convex lens poking out. Opening the satchel wider, she found a complete toolkit: several lenses, a mirror, a prism, and two handheld black lights. “Look at this,” Skylar called to Tessa. “Let’s try the lens,” Tessa said. She positioned it in front of the pedestal light. The rays curved inward, narrowing into a sharper beam. On the nearby stone wall, faint geometric lines began to emerge, a scattered pattern resolving into parallel lines. From the look of each substation, the team needed to work with an array of tools—convex lenses, mirrors, prisms, and black lights—arranged to manipulate light and reveal hidden messages embedded along the walking path. The task nodded to both philosophy and physics: an exploration of how observation itself could shape reality. “It’s starting to show something,” Tessa said, squinting. “But it’s not clear.” June dug through the satchel and found a mirror. She angled it so the light bounced off and back toward the main beam. The extra illumination intensified the projection, sharpening the pattern further. “That’s it,” Skylar said. “It’s all about the angles.” Before they could decode the symbols, Aiden—who had wandered off—shouted, “Hey! This pattern’s over here too!” He pointed to a nearby archway where the same shapes had been drawn faintly in chalk. The team surged forward like birds in murmuration, gathering beneath the arch to study the chalk. “Great job, Aiden,” Skylar said with a smile.
Meanwhile, the green team took a different approach. Instead of jumping into the stations right away, they walked the entire spiraling pathway first, hoping to get a sense of the big picture and strategize accordingly—especially since the immediate substations were crowded anyway.
At the far end, they paused at a pergola. A tall pedestal stood in the center, its surface aged and chipping like ancient stone. A fixed light source mounted on top, while a network of reflective panels stood nearby, each angled slightly differently and beaming glints of sunlight in strange, shifting directions. The setup gave the space a surreal quality, as if it had slipped partially into another dimension.
Lush flower beds nestled on both sides, blooming with pink, white, and indigo impatiens. Whimsical decorations dotted the scene: a cheerful gnome statue, a windmill spinning lazily in the breeze, and a mirrored globe that caught and refracted the surrounding colors. But Marisol spotted something unusual near a butterfly ornament. Hidden just beneath its wings was a small glass plate etched with a fractal-like pattern. She gently pulled it free and turned it over in her hands.
“This might be what we need for the next step,” she told Kai, holding it up so he could see the shifting reflections along its surface.
Before he could respond, a soft flutter drew their attention. A butterfly—startlingly vivid blue—landed delicately on Marisol’s shoulder. She stilled, smiling as its wings trembled, the light catching its iridescence in flashes. “You know,” she said softly, still watching it, “true blue is rare in nature. Most of what we think is blue is just angles and light playing tricks on us.”
The butterfly hovered once, then drifted toward the flower bed, finally landing on a triangular object partially buried near the base of the impatiens. Kai reached quickly for it, and the butterfly darted away in protest. Marisol frowned at the back of his head.
“This isn’t garden decor,” Kai said, brushing dirt aside. Wonder filled his voice. “It’s a prism!” He wiped it clean and held it up triumphantly, its edges scattering sunlight into small spectral flashes.
He brought the prism to the center pedestal and held it in front of the light beam. Eli stepped in to help, positioning it with careful precision. As the beam passed through the prism, it split into a vibrant rainbow—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet—spilling across the stone wall like living color.
Marisol leaned closer, studying the wall. “The blue light—it’s moving different.”
Eli adjusted the prism until only the blue light hit the illuminated surface. The moment the beam aligned, the particles embedded in the wall began to shift. They swirled slowly, forming a pulsing spiral that grew sharper with every second.
A quiet click echoed from the pedestal. A narrow compartment opened, just wide enough to fit the glass plate Marisol had found earlier. She stepped forward, slid it inside, and closed the panel.
“That’s it,” she whispered, awe in her voice. The light reflected perfectly through the filter now, illuminating the spiral like it was alive.
They stood there, watching light interact with matter. The shorter wavelength and higher energy of the blue beam had activated something the others hadn’t. It wasn’t a trick of optics. It was a layered truth. It was the key.
“Let’s remember this,” Kai said, raising his phone to snap a picture of the projection.
The spiral would matter later on—they all sensed it. But with no obvious next step, they circled back to the beginning and hoped the first stations would be less congested.Devin and most of his team had completed at least 3 challenges, and now explored the central section of the courtyard. They stumbled upon a cave-like entrance—once a gazebo, now concealed by a thick curtain of jasmine ivy cascading over the arched frame. The vines draped so densely that the space inside was nearly hidden from the walkway, its mystery pulling them in.
“I bet the college kids go here to make out!” one student blurted, setting off a ripple of laughter and teasing nods.
Inside, benches lined the wooden cove’s walls, offering a place to rest. A little free library box stood to one side, the kind that invited people to ‘leave a story, take a story.’ At the center of the nook stood a light fixture mounted on a pedestal, marked START. Across the space, facing it directly, was a green plaque labeled FINISH.
Devin studied the setup. The objective was clear: get the beam from the light to reach the endpoint. But the light fixture wouldn’t budge, no matter how they tried. Someone had fixed it in place, immovable even when they pushed or pivoted.
The group fanned out, searching. They peeked under benches, flipped through the library books, even felt along the baseboards. Still nothing.
Then Devin spotted a tall angel statue. The angel’s outstretched hands cradled a burlap sack like an offering. Curious, he reached up and pulled the sack down.
Inside were several compact mirrors, their surfaces clean and gleaming. Devin turned one in his hand, watching it reflect the little light that filtered through the ivy. A slow smile spread across his face.
“Got something here!” he called. He emptied the mirrors from the sack, scratching a few on the cement floor, then held them up for his teammates to see. “We can bounce the light across the space using these.”
Without waiting for approval, he began assigning positions. “Each of us will reflect the light to the next person. Line up between the start and finish. Be ready to adjust your mirror.”
The group moved into position, mirrors raised. They caught the beam, shifted it from one mirror to the next, and slowly the light made its journey across the cove. They worked quickly, correcting angles until the beam finally struck the green FINISH sign.
Click. A compartment at the base of the plaque swung open.
The girl he’d noticed from the previous challenge stepped forward to check inside. Devin watched her—her high cheekbones, the delicate shape of her shoulders—and immediately dubbed her the pretty girl in his mind. She reached in and pulled out a container of glow-in-the-dark paint and a set of brushes. The paint had a pale green hue, already faintly glowing in the shadows.
“What’s this for?” she asked, her voice smooth and Southern, like ribbon unraveling from a spool.
Devin blinked. A strange shyness crept over him, a feeling he resented. “Not sure,” he muttered, brushing his hand through his hair. “But I bet we’ll need it.”
The team huddled close, inspecting the paint and trading guesses. They’d completed the current objective, but the next step remained unclear.
As they turned to leave the cove, Devin hesitated. With one last glance at the beam of light they’d aligned, he bent down, unplugged the extension cord, and kicked it beneath the ivy’s edge, just out of sight.Under the stone arch, the blue team regrouped. Skylar rolled forward, scanning the weathered surface while the others whispered theories. She pulled out one of the black lights they’d found.
“Let’s see if this reveals anything new,” she said, clicking it on and casting a slow arc of ultraviolet light across the stone.
The UV beam swept the arch, and faint arrows began to glow—symbols invisible in regular daylight. They pointed off the main path, angling toward a direction not immediately obvious from where they stood.
“Look at that,” Tessa said, eyes tracing the curve of the glowing symbols. “They’re pointing somewhere off the walkway.”
Skylar moved the black light methodically, inch by inch, and more arrows emerged with each stone. A winding trail came into view. Several teammates switched on their own mini black lights and followed the glowing trail, which snaked off the main route and into a denser part of the courtyard. As they passed under clusters of ivy and shadowy branches, the temperature dipped. Leaves rustled above them, muffling the outside world.
Up ahead, a dome-shaped structure loomed beneath a tangle of jasmine. The ivy draped thick over its arched opening like a living curtain.
Tessa squinted. “This has to be it,” she said, pushing through the greenery and stepping inside.
Benches lined the walls. A wooden box—maybe a little free library—sat in the corner. It felt less like a challenge station and more like a forgotten alcove tucked between worlds. The light filtering in from above dimmed to a soft, dusty gold.
In the center of the space, a light fixture sat mounted on a pedestal. It was off.
The rest of the team filed in behind Tessa, black light beams still sweeping over the walls and floor.
“It looks like someone’s already been here,” Skylar said thoughtfully, scanning the room and noticing a few stray, scratched mirrors on the floor. “We need to get that light on.”The red team stood staring at a blue fractal pattern they’d just finished creating with a crystal prism. The team before them had left all of the tools out, right at the station. The image pulsed faintly in the daylight.
“Well, now what?” Xaida, the pretty girl, asked, her voice playful.
The group exchanged uncertain glances. No one moved. Devin’s brow furrowed as he scanned the area, trying to piece together what came next.
“I’m thinking,” he said. “I can’t believe they just left everything here for us to find; it must be a trap. Has to be.” Frustration crept into his voice.
A teammate gestured toward a gnome statue nestled at the edge of the flower bed. The gnome’s arm extended, pointing toward a nearby stone wall. The wall was smooth and dry, but faintly streaked, as though water had once run down it.
“What if we’re supposed to paint the wall?” Xaida suggested, skeptical.
“That doesn’t make sense,” another red teammate countered. “We wouldn’t even be able to see it.”
Devin’s eyes lit up. “Exactly,” he said, tone quickening with excitement. “That’s the point. If it’s invisible in normal light, then the other teams can’t copy us.”
He pointed to the glow-in-the-dark paint and nodded. “Let’s try it.”
The team sprang into action. One member held up a black light, casting its violet hue against the rough stone, while another began repainting the fractal pattern from the image they’d captured on someone’s phone—stroke by stroke, as carefully as before. The luminescent paint barely registered in the ambient light, but under the black light, the design came alive again, radiant and sharp.
Devin stepped back, eyeing the gnome statue with a strange sense of satisfaction. Its cartoonish grin now felt conspiratorial, as if the little creature had been in on the secret all along.
Then, just before he could call it done, Devin hesitated. His gaze drifted to the prism. A sudden impulse tugged at him. If he hid it now, the next team might not find their way.
His fingers hovered, tempted.
“Hey,” Xaida said behind him.
He turned slightly as she stepped closer, black light still in her hand. “What are you doing?”
He stiffened. “Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You were going to hide the prism.”
He stared at her, caught. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“I’m Xaida,” she said, "but my friends call me Ada." She folded her arms, and her voice lost its teasing lilt. It was firm now. “You’re smart, Devin. Don’t be the kind of smart that ruins things.”
The name stuck in his chest like a breath. Xaida. He liked the sound of it. It settled inside him with an unexpected lift.
“I wasn’t going to,” he muttered, but the words felt limp.
Xaida didn’t argue. She just walked away, aiming the black light back at the stone wall. “Then let’s finish this.”
He turned back to the pattern, unsure now of what finishing even meant.
Out of the shadows stepped Min Lim, PhD. “Well done,” she said, holding out a small token carved from clear stone. “You’ve each seen a piece of the puzzle, and by shifting your view, you uncovered a deeper pattern.” She handed the token to a young girl standing beside Xaida, then offered a graceful nod before stepping back into the background.
The horn blew and the team cheered, grinning and high-fiving. Xaida laughed and painted invisible stars on her arm with leftover glow paint. Devin watched her, then looked down at the prism, still in his hands.Memory Recall: Group Test
(Overseen by Dr. Bard)
After the teams submitted their tokens, Dr. Alexis Bard stepped forward, commanding attention as she addressed the three groups gathered in the courtyard. The day stretched behind them, and the participants buzzed with a mix of exhilaration and fatigue, but Dr. Bard wasn’t finished with them yet.
“This next part is a bit different from what you’ve faced so far,” she said. “Memory is tricky. It shifts, it deceives, and that’s why this next exercise matters.”
She gestured toward the lecture hall behind her. “Follow me.”
The students exchanged curious glances and filed in behind her, entering the cool, dim lecture hall. The heavy door closed with a soft thud. The scent of polished wood mixed with sun-warmed skin, sweat, and trampled grass. A few volunteer 3CS students passed stacks of blank paper and short pencils down the rows.
Dr. Bard waited until everyone was seated. Then she stepped to the front, holding a small remote. “You’ll be shown a sequence of images from today’s events,” she explained. “Study them closely. Once it ends, you’ll write down every detail you can remember from the film—but not before, and only what’s shown in the film.”
She clicked the remote. The lights dimmed, and the projector screen came alive. Images began to flash: snapshots from each station.
First: a sunlit clearing beneath towering oaks. Four elemental objects sat in a ring: soil, water, flame, and air. Leaves rustled. Birds sang. The scene pulsed with breath and life. Next: Colored light streamed through stained glass onto ancient parchment scattered across a velvet-draped table.
Then: the garden, bursting with roses, marigolds, lilacs. Actors stood among the flowers—some smiling, others frowning—nothing entirely as it seemed. The Navigation Station followed: a darkened room lit only by faint red emergency lights. Devin moved like a shadow, a faint blue glow in his palm. Around him, others stumbled through the obscurity.
Finally: the Perception Station. Mosaic pathways. Arches etched in chalk. Prisms refracting ultraviolet light into brilliant fractals. Blue light vibrating, and a hidden image painted in glowing ink on a wall. Each image flickered past just long enough to imprint—then vanished. When the final frame disappeared, Dr. Bard clicked once more. The lights rose slowly.
“Now,” she said, “write down everything you remember. Every sound, every symbol, every face. Be precise. If you recall something not in the video—even if it happened today—it will count against you.”
The soft scratch of pencils filled the room.
“You might wonder why we’re using pencils,” she added, pacing the aisles. “Writing by hand activates different neural pathways than typing. It engages memory, attention, and motor skills all at once, connecting thought to movement.”
Students leaned over their pages, some writing steadily, others halting and frowning.
After several minutes, Dr. Bard spoke again. “Pass your papers to the end. We’ll collect them—and I’d like to hear from a few of you before we finish.”
She nodded to Marisol, seated beside Eli. The girl put her hand down and straightened in her chair.
“I remember the Navigation Station the most,” Marisol said. “I remember Devin’s light—it was blue, but I only saw it for a second. And in the music, there were like… whispered clues of where to go.”
Dr. Bard raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. The music was nonsense fragments meant to disorient. But your brain sought meaning. It’s what we do—we try to impose order on chaos.”
Marisol’s lips pressed together. She didn’t argue, but something in her expression hinted that she’d heard more than just sound.
Then Dr. Bard turned to Eli. He handed her his paper, filled top to bottom in tight, clear print. She skimmed it briefly. Her eyebrows rose. He hadn’t missed a thing.
She looked out at the students. “Memory is not truth,” she said. “It’s a perception filtered through a perspective and animated with an ephemeral emotion. You forget. You add. You revise. And that’s what makes it powerful—and dangerous.” She let her words settle in the room. “We’ll return to this in the program. But for now: well done, and good luck.”
“Congratulations to the Red Team for acquiring all five tokens, and I hope everyone had fun today,” I said, stepping in front of a crowd of red-faced, exhausted teens and some slightly-tipsy parents. The late-afternoon heat was ruthless. The students clustered into groups across the green lawn, obviously nervous with anticipation. I began the announcements. “Skylar Bridging.” Her chin lifted. She offered a grateful, contained smile. “Eli Martin, Marisol Delgado, Tessa Reed." I continued down the list: “James Donovan. June and Kai Kim. Xaida Sanderson. Daniel Hernandez. Aiden Walters.” More names followed—thirty in total. I sensed the mood tighten as the numbers dwindled. Those still waiting had gone quiet. Hope and dread shared the same heartbeat. And then—just minutes before taking the stage—Miguel pulled me aside. “Joe asked to add someone,” he said under his breath. “Who?” “Devin. Devin Scavo.” He leaned in, whispering into my ear. The last name hit like a slap. “He didn’t make the cut,” I whispered back. “I know,” Miguel said, voice flat. “But Joe said it was necessary. He’s Tony’s nephew.” My stomach turned. “But, he didn’t apply through Tony,” Miguel added, as if that somehow justified it. “Joe said he came through his counselor. That it’s 'fate'.” I didn’t answer. The students and parents were watching with increasing intensity. So I returned to the mic, “Devin Scavo.” I swallowed. The name landed heavy. Devin raised his eyebrows slightly, then smirked as he stepped forward. The strut wasn’t arrogance; it was armor. But the fact remained: his name hadn’t been on the final roster until five minutes ago. Joe was right about one thing: it wasn’t a coincidence. But fate? Hardly. And it wasn’t my choice. With thirty-seven names called in total, the courtyard shifted into silence. A few students blinked back disappointment. Others turned away quickly, trying not to show their reactions. I addressed the remaining students with care. “If you didn’t hear your name today, please remember: this is our inaugural year. You’ll have a chance to try again next year. This isn’t the end.” Professor Ruiz stepped in, distributing the welcome kits to our new students. He handed out black backpacks embroidered with the silver Q-HYP crest, each containing a tablet preloaded with program materials, including interactive modules, research notes, augmented lab instructions, campus maps, important dates, and more. A crystal keychain hung from each strap—clear, multifaceted, and embedded with the Q-HYP insignia that appeared when tilted into the light. Students smiled as they turned them over, the symbol fading in and out of sight. Skylar and Tessa admired theirs together, both already scrolling through the tablet’s interactive maps. Kai held his up to the sun, grinning at June. Eli studied the programming silently, while Marisol asked Miguel what looked like a hundred questions. Devin held his keychain at a distance, turned it once, then slipped it into his backpack without a word. I watched him from the stage, studying the way he scanned the group. All of them still believed this was just a summer camp of sorts: a prestigious, competitive opportunity. A ticket to scientific accolades and savant-mentorship. And for most of them, it was. But for a select few, this was going to be something else entirely.
End of Part 1
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