thanks to ellipsans for the cover shown above! 💕

Isaac's eyes were the trait that had first lured me in. Maybe it was the depth, or the astonishing crystal blue contrasting to his dark lashes. Maybe it was the way they'd almost begged to meet my own.

Now they were doubtful. Above them, thick brows pulled together, creasing his skin where they met.

"Please don't think I'm crazy," I whispered.

Although I was sure I wouldn't be able to do it, the moment I had his focus the words had slid through easily. It would have been so easy to take them back. To feed him more excuses about homesickness or stress. But I didn't, I couldn't, it was lured out of me with the selfish desire to free myself from isolation.

"Wait," Isaac said, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The food in the kitchen was long forgotten, the small television on the wall muted and the wooden table between us growing smaller. "Aspen, this is-"

"Crazy. Crazy, I know." My tone wasn't weak, or tentative. It was understanding. Again, I was reminded of the nervous wreck I was with him only weeks ago, but something in me had awakened. Or maybe something in me had grown up, become old and wise with the terrors I'd experienced.

But I needed him to believe me. Even if it was only for a second.

"I don't know what to say," he said, and I realised that he almost looked scared. Maybe he was holding back, not wanting to offend me by laughing in my face.

"You haven't seen Evan, have you?" I pressed, willing him to see the evidence. Though I'd left out the most gruesome parts of my experience with Professor Blackwood, the fate of his friend was what I knew would strike him most.

Isaac narrowed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his temples. "I haven't. But that doesn't mean he's captured by our psychology teacher."

My teeth gritted together. It made sense, it was only logical that he found flaws in my explanation. He needed to grapple with it, to really believe it.

"What about our lessons?" I asked, "What about that first day we met, when you came to the lecture. What do you remember?"

I was hoping he'd say he didn't remember. That he was like me. But he stared at me blankly.

"What do you remember?" I repeated hoarsely, my shoulders slumping in defeat.

"It was a normal lesson, Aspen," he said, his tone filled with sympathy.

"No it wasn't," I said, desperation lacing my tone. "It wasn't, Isaac. You can remember it, you can, you just have to push through it and remember-"

"There's nothing to remember," he said, cutting me off. "What you're saying is crazy. You think he cast some magical spell that made all of us forget?"

"It's not like that," I said, my voice cracking with impending tears. I gulped heavily. "Please remember."

"I do."

"No, remember really." My eyelids were heavy as I raised my gaze to meet his. His eyes locked with my own, framed with worry for my sanity. But I needed him to know I wasn't crazy. I needed him to believe. "I want you to remember, Isaac. I want you to remember all of what he did."

It didn't happen immediately. But cracks began to splinter his composure, his frown turning from worried to outright confused.

It was working.

"Remember, Isaac."

Maybe it was playing before his eyes, like a horrific cinematic experience produced by his memory, like what had happened to me the moment I'd stepped into Conrad's presence. That would be plausible, with the terrified look that had overcome his face.

If he knew, it could help keep him safe.

Something about the power I'd conjured to break through Conrad's compulsion gave me a feeling of accomplishment. My stooped shoulders were raised in suspense, and my nails dug into the wood of the table.

"Do you remember now?"

Isaac looked at me, his mouth opened in a grimace and his eyes watery. "What - what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," I said. "You remember now. Now you know. You can help me, we can do this. I'm not alone-"

"Aspen." He took a rattled breath, his expression contorting as if he were crying, but no tears spilled from his eyes. "What did you do?"

I pursed my lips together and rose from my seat, the legs of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor of his flat. I rounded the table and clasped his shoulders, pushing further until I was hugging him from behind, my chin resting on his knitted jumper.

"I'm sorry."

But it was for the greater good.

"I can't... he's doing this every lesson?"

"I don't know," I murmured, the feeling of his hair tickling my cheek spreading an unfamiliar warmth across my skin. "But you can't go again. None of us can. I want to - I want to stop him."

"How can you..." his voice trailed off, and then he turned to face me, his lips inches from mine. "You're like him."

The words weren't hopeful, or full of awe or admiration. They were terrified. Disgusted.

I let go of him and stepped back. "I - I don't know." My voice was weak with tears. And then words started flooding. "I don't know. I don't want to be - or know how, but he does. He called me his ally. I don't know why, I don't know how to stop it or really how to do what he does it's just-"

"Stop," he said, and then he was rubbing his temples again. "Stop. Just - just let me process."

I pressed my lips shut to stop a sob rattling out. Instead of the feeling of freedom I was hoping for in transferring the burden to someone else, I was feeling more afraid than ever. It was a delicate balance, sharing my knowledge with him

I hardly knew him after all.

"This is fucked up."

"I know," I said quickly, but he held up a hand to stop me.

"I don't understand what the fuck is going on," he said, "Or what's even real. But I know if I were in your situation I'd be even more terrified right now."

A wash of relief zipped through my veins. He didn't hate me. He related to me.

"If what you've told me - what you... what's in my head is true, then I'm here for you completely."

It was almost too good to be true. I knew that had our situations been reversed, I'd have taken days, weeks maybe, to believe it.

"We need to leave. All of us." His voice was determined.

"All of us?" I asked frantically. "Like, the whole group of us?"

He nodded, rising from his seat and pacing around the kitchen. "We can convince them. You can help them remember - like you did to me."

It was all happening so fast. "Isaac, I don't know if I can do that. I don't even know what I'm doing. He said there was a price."

"A price?"

I hesitated. "That's why he makes them kill people. So he can get the power he needs to control more. To control his own mind too."

"It's a balance," he summarised. His eyes were wild now, and his pacing was growing faster. Muttered words spilled from his lips, but I couldn't quite make out what they were.

"I'm sorry for telling you," I said suddenly, realising how selfish the move was. "I shouldn't have gotten you involved, but I can't keep doing this alone, and Bel and Gia - he owns them, he's already got them completely under control. Gia, she... she killed someone."

The reality of my words hit me like a truck, and I grabbed the counter for support.

"Holy shit," he said, pausing in his pacing to run both hands through his hair. "I don't know what to do. We need to tell someone."

"Who?" I said. "We can't tell anyone - he'll either come for us or just wipe it from their minds. He might even have some kind of protection in case that happens, what if he makes them do something horrific? He has complete control over them, Isaac, and I don't know if I can overpower that."

"How many dashes did you say?"

"What?"

"How many dashes were on his board?"

My heart dropped. "Seven."

"And why has nobody reported seven people missing? Why hasn't anyone searched for them - for their bodies?"

"Because he's controlling them," I said, furthering my point. "He has everything and everyone under control."

"I don't know how to believe this," he said.

"I didn't either. Not until... not until Evan."

We fell into silence.

"Do you think he's okay?"

I shifted my weight uneasily. "I don't know. I didn't notice the dashes until after... he'd lost a lot of blood."

He was silent for a moment, his expression grim. "My memories... they're horrifying."

I blinked rapidly, unable to ignore the sense of companionship it gave me to know he remembered too. The bones snapping beneath the boy on our first day. It wasn't something I could have risked with Bel or Gia, both because they'd regularly been attending Conrad's lectures and also because they weren't quite as strong. Well, maybe Gia could be. But she was also the one that had killed for him.

"I don't know how to tell her," I said. "Gia."

He paused in thought. "You can't ever let her know. It would kill her, to know she... she ended someone's life."

The picture pressed the air from my lungs. I was being crushed.

The burden I'd shared with him was already taking its toll. His already pale skin was ghost-like, and his fingers were shaking as they clawed at his forearms. I walked towards where he'd frozen, feeling an overwhelming wave of gratitude.

"I'm sorry," I said, "You didn't have to come into this mess but I made you. It was selfish. You hardly know me, I've just dumped this on you and you probably think I'm half-crazy and maybe I am-"

He silenced me by pulling me towards him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. The embrace instantly triggered my emotions, and a reluctant sob rumbled through my chest.

"I don't know what is real, but I want to know," he said into my hair. "I need to know. I've always been like that, Aspen, and I want to help. I don't want you to deal with this alone - this mess. We need to get out of here. Even if we can't save anyone, we can save as many as possible."

Another sob accompanied my first, and for the first time since I'd remembered, I felt safety, even if it was a delusion cast by the warmth of Isaac's body.

"I can help convince them," I said. "I can do everything I can."

A silence prevailed, and gradually my breathing slowed against his chest.

"How do I know what's real?"

I thought about that. About the likelihood that Conrad was able to somehow control him from afar. Could he work out that I told him? That I was trying to protect my friends?

"I'll always remind you," I said after a moment. "Just come back to me. I'll make sure he doesn't take you too."

His grip tightened around my shoulders. I gave a silent prayer that this was real. That he really was believing me. He had believed so quickly, and regained composure fast rather than falling into hysterics of fear. I'd never believed to begin with that he'd be able to humour me far enough to understand.

Had that been me that made him so quick to wrap his mind around it all? Had me begging him to understand compelled him to understand? Could I afford to stretch my sanity even further?

As his hand worked patterns over my back I decided I could. Maybe I should have told someone - told him- ages ago. Maybe everything could be okay. We could save our friends. Maybe, from afar, we could stop him.

I just wasn't sure if it was possible to get past him to begin with.