The safe-house rests on the outskirts of the city in one of the older suburbs. A walkway runs between a pair of enormous oak trees that dominate the front lawn, providing a feeling of privacy, making the property blend in with the large number of other homes. Steps lead up to a porch with a swing that funnels Kayla, my dad, and me to the front door. My dad had backed his Jeep into the detached garage, concealing his ride from passersby while also making it possible for a quick getaway.

We plod our way inside and lock the knob and deadbolt, along with the chain for added security. The door has a window with a curtain, which makes me antsy, leaving little to my imagination. I can see Agent 24 smashing his elbow through the glass and gaining entry easily. Three well placed bullets to our skulls would snuff out our existence, and our story would be over.

After Agent 24 made off with Kayla's father, we had joined my dad at the curb in front of city hall, but it was too late. The assassin's taillights had vanished on the southern edge of the city limits. We had no choice but to wait for the ominous text message that would tell us where to meet up for what would amount to an exchange. My dad for Kayla's father. Although my old man hasn't been around for years, I'm not eager to make that trade, but a sliver of me isn't against it either.

"I guess you know this, but I live with grandma and grandpa now," I say to my dad. "What about calling them to let them know where I am? And what about Kayla's mom? What will happen when she finds out someone abducted her husband?"

"First, tell your grandparents the truth," my dad replies. "But only tell them what they need to know. Tell them I'm back in town, and you're going to spend the weekend with me. Don't lie to them, it'll only lead to a windfall of trouble."

"I know what to say to my mom," Kayla says. "I'll tell her I'm sleeping over at a friend's house." She cuts her eyes to me. "My mom is so busy. She and my dad are so obsessed with politics and schmoozing with Coastal City's elite that they care little about what I do. I spend the night at Lydia's house all the time. She's my best friend."

"Good. That might buy us some time. Make sure you don't tell her anything about your dad's abduction. She'll find out about that in due time. We don't want to give Agent 24 any reason to kill him."

We both nod and pull out our phones, then wander off to different bedrooms to make our calls.

I sit on the edge of the bed and choose my grandma's contact. I wait, bobbling my head and biting my lip as the phone rings.

"Hi, Aiden," she says. "Something wrong at work?"

"No, but I have something to tell you. It's about my dad." I don't waste any time getting to the point.

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"He showed up at work tonight and wants me to spend the weekend with him."

"What? He's gone for four years and now he pops back into town. I don't know, Aiden. This sounds so sudden."

I exhale. "I know, Grandma. Just tell Grandpa I'll talk to him later about it."

"Aiden?"

"I need you to trust me."

"But..."

"He's my dad," I say with a gravity that should hit home.

"He is your dad," she replies.

"I need some answers, and he needs my help with something important. I don't want to talk about it, but I need you to trust me. You trust me, don't you, Grandma?"

"You haven't given me any reason to doubt you before."

My eyes flick up as my dad enters the room and holds out his hand.

"Grandma, he wants to say something to you." I pass the phone over.

"Everything he told you is the truth," my dad says. As my grandma replies, his forehead wrinkles and his brows rise. "Yes, yes, I know. I'm not trying to take him from you. He'll be back Sunday evening at the latest. Don't worry. Here's Aiden."

My dad hands the phone back to me with a tremendous sigh and leaves the room, shaking his head. He hasn't dealt with family issues in years. That was about as blunt as a hammer.

"I told you," I say to my grandma. "I'm telling the truth."

"I love you, Aiden," she replies. Her words carry a lot of weight, her tone serious and kind. "Call me if you need me or Grandpa."

"I will. I love you too." After that, I say goodbye and end the call.

That went better than I expected. With that done, I leave the room and stop in the hallway as Kayla appears from the other bedroom.

"I left my mom a voicemail," she says. "I followed that with a text. She replied with 'K'."

"That was easy enough."

"Too easy, but whatever."

Kayla and I make our way back into the living room, and a few minutes later, my dad appears from the kitchen. "Anyone for frozen pizza?"

I guess he's moved on after what looked and sounded like a frustrated word with my grandma.

"I'm not hungry," Kayla replies.

"I'm not picky right now," I say.

"Good. It wouldn't hurt to eat something. Anything. Food helps you rebound after an adrenaline rush."

My dad disappears into the kitchen while Kayla and I plop like lead weights onto the sofa. We sit there for a few wordless moments, the night's events having taken its toll on us. I want to comfort Kayla. I want to put my arm around her, but I wrestle with the thought that it'll come across as a cheap move, considering her circumstances.

As several minutes tick by, the smell of pizza makes its way to my nose. And out of nowhere, Kayla leans into me, her head falling onto my shoulder, her hand cupping my upper arm.

I swallow hard. One of my trademarks.

I open my mouth, but Kayla's muffled sobs incapacitate me. Even though it forces her to move her hand, I reposition my arm around her neck, squeezing her shoulder as she buries her face into my chest. When her hand, the one that was resting on my upper arm, touches my stomach, I tense up. I have to remind myself that she's in shock and trying to cope with her father's abduction.

So, I just hold her. I say nothing but wait for her to speak.

Something makes me believe that if my dad had gone with us to visit Kayla's father at the city hall, he could have prevented the abduction. Like, if he had been there for my mom, she wouldn't have died either.

"How did he get into the building, past Officer Tate?" She peers up at me, her glasses crooked on her nose. "I don't understand."

"Maybe there's a back entrance?" I sigh. "Maybe he scaled up the side with suction cups, or parachuted in from a plane? I saw that in a movie once. It's possible." My answers seem shallow and stupid after stumbling from my mouth. "I don't know. That's the truth."

"Guess it doesn't matter."

My dad appears from the kitchen with a pizza on a round cookie sheet. He sets it on the table on top of an oven mitt. The aroma of garlic and pepperoni intensifies.

Kayla pops up from the sofa and lumbers to the table and sits.

I join her. "Did you have a change of mind?"

She stares right through me and shakes her head. "I think my body has other ideas."

"You've been through a lot."

"So have you."

I pat the top of her hand.

My dad sets a plate of steaming pizza in front of Kayla and I. When he settles into a chair across from me, we dig in and start eating. It's cheap stuff, but it tastes good, and it's satisfying. After we're finished inhaling the cheesy, pepperoni starved slices, we realize we had nothing to drink with our meal.

My dad goes all out. Ice water in plastic red cups.

As Kayla sips—my dad, or maybe I should call him, Zane, since he left so long ago—stares at her with eyes that seem dark and beady. We told him everything Agent 24 said as he darted into the stairwell with Kayla's father at gunpoint, including the part about bringing along the elusive Agent 1 who'd defied The Collective for an undetermined number of years.

"So, your father has a hit out on him," he says. "They wanted Aiden to kill him, a ploy to lure me out of the shadows, and I'm sure Zero would've loved for my son to carry out a murder in cold blood."

"That's why they wanted me to be an agent," I say. "A teenager."

"But Agent 24 said the game had changed," Kayla replies. "Despite whatever reason they hate him, they called off the hit on his life, at least temporarily."

"I'm banking on the latter." My dad puts a hand to his chin, elbow on the table. "Somehow, he found out I was back in town, or assumed I was, whatever. Doesn't matter. Point is, he wants me. Or better yet, Zero wants me."

"The mysterious leader of The Collective," I say.

"That's right." He grimaces. "We'll have to come up with a plan when you receive the text from Agent 24."

I nod. Swallow again. Seems like the thing to do lately.

"I'm sorry he took your father, Kayla," my dad says. "I thought we had the right game plan. Not sure how he pulled that off, right under our noses." He pauses. "I'll make this right, I promise. I understand your dad is still alive, but believe me, I know what it's like to lose someone you love."

He's alluding to my mom. The nerve.

"I'm sorry," he continues. "I hate it you're having to go through this. If you need to talk about it, let me know."

I screw my face into a brow raised, chin dropping scowl. "Are you kidding me? You're the worst person to give advice like that."

"Aiden," Kayla says.

"No," I add. "You ran out on our family and someone killed my mom because of you."

"Aiden," my dad replies, "I left because I thought it would keep you and your mom safe."

He stands and starts toward me. "Son..."

"Don't call me that!" I shove back from the table and rise. "I haven't seen you in four years, and you just show up out of nowhere."

"Aiden," Kayla says, "he's still your father."

"Maybe, but he could have at least sent me a postcard, or something, anything." Flames burn the inside of my cheeks, setting my tongue ablaze with anger. "I hate you!"

"You don't mean that." My dad wags his head. He doesn't seem to know what else to say, so he gathers the plates, enters the kitchen, and dumps them into the sink. "You don't mean that. I know you don't."

"We all need a good night's sleep," Kayla says. "We've been through a lot."

My dad glares at me and says, "She's right. She's a smart girl."

As I watch him leave the kitchen and make his way to the master bedroom, my breath pants from my lungs and my eyes burn. I swallow again. This time it's not fear, and it's not hatred either. It's remorse. With the words, I hate you, echoing in my mind, I know down in my heart of hearts that I don't.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my eyes misting and my countenance falling. I know he didn't hear me.

My dad stops short of the bedroom and says, "Wake me when you get that text message. Until then, I suggest the both of you get some sleep."

With my heart hammering in my chest, he looks at me with a tear streaming down his face, and then he closes the door.