I barely had time to snatch up my jacket and bag draped over the banister before Bellamy was grabbing my wrist and dragging me out of my own house. "Hold on," I said, wresting my arm out of his grip. "Just wait a second!" I searched the insides of my bag and retrieved my keys.

A harsh bark of frustration came from him. "We don't have time for this!"

I hurriedly locked my house and turned back to him, but he was already halfway down the driveway.

I darted after him, both confused and annoyed. The tiredness was still fogging my vision and I tripped on the pavement. The street was cast in an eerie shadow, illuminated by the row of lampposts.

I pulled open the door and plopped inside, having just shut the door when Bellamy hit the gas. I hadn't even put my seat belt on.

"What's wrong?" I asked, turning sideways in my seat to face him.

He gripped the steering wheel with white hands, his jaw clenched, eyes staring straight ahead. "I can't find Octavia."

"What do you mean you can't find her?"

"I don't know. She had that dance tonight, but when I went to pick her up for Maureen, she wasn't there."

"Are they out looking for her, too?"

Bellamy paused, like he was unable to articulate the words. "I was about to call them," he finally said. "But then they'd have to call the cops, which would bring in social services and then I'd be taken in for questioning when I could be out looking for her."

I pursed my suddenly dry lips. "So then why did you get me?"

"I was hoping she was at your place, because you're the only other person I can think of who knows Octavia. And right now, I could really use another pair of eyes."

No response came to mind, simply because I couldn't think of one. This was what he'd come to my house for. Not some petty pay-up, but for his sister. Not for self gain. But for help.

The fog of sleep evaporated from my eyes. "You've checked at the dance, right?"

He nodded. "Twice. No one's seen her." He shook his head and hit a hand against the wheel. "I don't where she is. I don't know where I'm even supposed to look. She won't pick up my calls or answer my texts."

"Hey," I said firmly, until he glanced over at me. "We'll find her." I didn't mention that beyond the convenience of me knowing Octavia, I had little idea as to where a fourteen year old would go to. And that was if she'd gone off on her own volition. . .

I quickly banished that thought from my mind.

"It's barely even twelve, it's possible she just got distracted. Or her phone died. Was there an after party?" I asked, snatching out my own phone. Maybe Octavia would answer if she saw the name of someone outside her family printed as the caller ID.

"After party?" Bellamy asked incredulously, whipping his head around to me. The car swerved and my heart climbed into my mouth. "They're just kids."

I said nothing. The call went directly to voicemail. I opened my inbox and shot her a quick text, not asking where she was, just how the dance was going, being incognito.

"What kind of a question is that?" Bellamy asked, his voice bordering on a shout. I cast a look over to him, seeing as he read the message.

"A casual one," I answered. "If she replies, then at least we can believe she's okay. Then we can start looking to where she would've run off to voluntarily instead of . . . any alternative." I mentally chastised myself for even hinting at it and judging by the way Bellamy's grip impossibly tightened over the wheel until I was sure he'd break it, it was clearly the wrong thing to say.

"What, like kidnapped?"

I didn't say anything, but I didn't need to.

Bellamy's fist connected with the wheel again.

"Does she have a credit card?" I asked, trying to think of anything to distract him.

"No," he said, voice low and cracked. "Why would she?"

"Any, uh, . . ." I hesitated, but I had to ask. "Boyfriends?" I felt guilty the moment I spoke it.

Bellamy's face turned disgusted. "What? No. No way. I can't believe you of all people would even consider that."

I ground my teeth, massaging one of my temples in an attempt to think. I had a gut feeling simmering deep inside, one that was hard to ignore. One that made me dubious to see it through. What if I were wrong? But I followed it nonetheless, even if I had no idea what it would lead to. "Drive back to the school," I directed.

Bellamy let out a long breath, like he was on the verge of snapping. "I already told you; I've been there twice."

"You're going to have to trust me on this. Just drive."

***********

The dance was indeed still going on. Though the lot wasn't very full, I could hear the distant pound of music coming from the gym. Bellamy got out of the car and slammed the door shut. He didn't even bother locking it.

"Now what?" he asked, as we strode for the gym. I promptly ignored the stares coming from the few students loitering outside, gazing at my bedtime attire. The jacket was fine, but the plaid pants and bare feet didn't suggest I'd planned on an evening out.

I bit back my hiss as the pebbles from the asphalt dug into my heels.

"Now we look," I said.

"I did look."

But I just kept walking, faster to keep up with his pace. We entered the gym and I was enveloped in a room of flashing lights and loud music. Streamers were pinned across the walls along with a bunch of line lights shaped in the form of snowflakes. The color theme of royal blue and silver shown everywhere until it was all imprinted on the backs of my lids.

I moved through the throngs of kids, dresses brushing against my legs as I went. Bellamy trailed behind me, growing more agitated the farther we went.

"Where are we going?" he nearly yelled. Which, I guessed he had to, over the roar of music and feet.

I pointed to the doors that led into the school and a flash of anger burned in his eyes, sparked by panic. I headed for it before he could object. I was glad when the loud room was replaced by a quiet hall, though the floor was just as cold.

Bellamy fell into step at my side, looking down the hall. "Clarke, we are wasting"—

I held up a hand as I switched down the next hall. If loud music had the same effect on Octavia as it did on me, it would've driven her away. New school, new place. It wasn't exactly the type of environment that beckoned the new girl. It was overwhelming, and I wondered if Octavia would've thought so, too.

"Where are we going?" he asked again, the control over his voice slipping. I turned down the next hall, a line of lockers springing forth at my left hand. "Did you check all the classrooms?"

He tore a hand through his hair. "I checked the halls. I walked through the entire school."

"Even the supply closets?"

Bellamy slowed and came to a halt. His tone turned into a hiss. "Are we back to that? I already told you that Octavia isn't like those girls." A growl came from his throat. "I thought you'd be helping me! Not wasting my time! Forget it," he snapped. "I'll find her on my own."

I didn't bother explaining my theory. "Five minutes, Bellamy," I said, stopping myself and turning around to him. "We're looking for five minutes. I'm not suggesting anything with Octavia other than to look everywhere, including the supply closets."

I continued walking and after a minute or so, he reappeared at my side, his hands bound tightly into fists.

He checked in the first closet and I checked the second. Both were empty and I can tell that with each one, Bellamy was losing what little patience he had.

"She's not here," he said, twisting in a circle. "What if she was taken?" he asked me, eyes already widened to their capacity. "What if someone spiked her drink? No one would notice with all those people. She shouldn't have come."

The panic was getting to him now and I saw his hand go for his phone. "Screw this, I'll deal with the cops."

"Wait," I said. "There's still one more."

"I don't care, Clarke!" he shouted this time, voice bouncing down the hall. "Okay? At least authorities can track phones. They can put out an amber alert. Checking closets isn't exactly forensics."

But I was already walking, down a few more doors and into my old history room. I'd forgotten of a supply closet wedged in the back. It was where Mrs. Andrews always kept the archaic TV. But it held memories, too, of Finn sneaking into the room Freshman year to pour Cherry Coke into empty cartons of milk.

My chest tightened at the thought. My mind went back to the dream and I shoved it away from me as I went over to the door, located in the far, right corner. I placed my hand on the knob.

I heard the voices before I even opened it.

Miraculously, there, sitting cross-legged on the floor was Octavia, opposing a guy leaning against the archaic television. Octavia's back was to me, her light blue dress feathering around her. But when the dim light from the hallway filtered into the room, she whipped around, probably expecting some chauffeur.

Her eyes widened when she saw me. "Clarke?"

"Octavia?" Bellamy asked from behind me.

She looked between me and her brother, and then cast a quick glance at our forth party. "What are you guys doing here?" She noticed my clothes. "And why are you dressed like that?"

I ignored that particular question and returned my gaze to Bellamy. The panic in his eyes was gone, replaced by relief. But that, too, vanished the moment he registered the other guy, still standing stoically in the back of the closet. At first, it was just his usual anger. But it went from that to raw fury in a single moment and I could feel the rage coming from Bellamy. Could feel it like an open bonfire.

The guy was tall for a school-goer. Broad-shouldered with bronze skin. Dark eyes. No hair, which made him look older than he probably was. I noted he wasn't in a tux, just a black sweater and some beat-up looking jeans, like he'd spent a lot of time on his knees. They were frayed and threadbare.

I wasn't really sure where my position at this precise moment was, but I felt like I was acting as human shield. For whom, though, I couldn't say.

When Bellamy spoke, it was like something carved from steel. "Who the he"—

"We weren't doing anything!" Octavia said, stumbling to her feet. The guy went to help her up but at Bellamy's glare, thought it best to keep his hands off. "We were just talking," Octavia explained.

Bellamy laughed humorlessly. "Just talking? Just. Talking? Do you have any idea what you put me through? I was about to call the police, O!"

Octavia's mouth opened, blue eyes wide with guilt. "I'm sorry. My phone must've died. I forgot when you were picking me up. I'm sorry, Bell, but I swear, nothing happened."

Bellamy looked from her to the guy and took a step in his direction. "Right."

"She's telling the truth," the guy said, but him speaking was probably the worst thing he could've done. "No," Bellamy snapped, pointing a finger at him. "You don't get to talk. Not to me, and not my sister. You're lucky you're still standing."

"Bellamy, stop," Octavia said, voice barbed. The guilty look disappeared. "I'm sorry that I worried you guys, all right? But I promise, talking was the extent of it."

"Is that why you're in the back of a closet?" Bellamy asked, the anger dripping from his tongue. "To have a heartfelt discussion between the two of you?"

"Yeah," said Octavia. "The gym was giving me a bad headache and we didn't want to be told to stick around if we were seen in the hall, so we came in here. To talk."

The cold from the floor was beginning to numb the soles of my feet and I pressed one against my pant leg, switching from one to the other, trying to warm them.

"How old is this guy anyway?" Bellamy sneered, jabbing a thumb in his direction as he spoke to his sister. "He doesn't look like a high school student."

"He's not 'some guy,'" Octavia said. "He has a name. It's Lincoln. And he's the quarterback so I'm pretty sure he has to go here in order to be called that."

Bellamy's fists tightened and Octavia abruptly cast me a scared look, pleading with her eyes.

This wasn't what I'd had planned for myself Friday evening, and I stepped in between the two men, my hand raised to Bellamy. "Octavia's fine," I told him, keeping my voice calm like I hoped it would rub off on him. "And I did hear voices before I found them."

"What?" Bellamy hissed at me. "You think I should just be fine with this? Let this guy go?"

Maybe my attempt was having the opposite effect, because I suddenly felt like his anger was what was rubbing off. "Yeah," I said. "Because your sister could've been kidnapped. She could've been hurt, but she's not. She was sitting in a closet talking to someone and lost track of the time. Worse things could've happened. But it's late and I'm tired because someone decided to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night." I took a breath. "But that's okay, because all that should matter to you right now is that Octavia is safe. She is safe. The rest you can deal with tomorrow."

Bellamy looked at me, the anger momentarily tamed. It took a minute of silent debate, as if about to argue again. But then his eyes drifted down to my cold feet. He looked back to Octavia. "Come on," he told her in a voice that held little room for argument. "We're leaving."

She tossed me a grateful smile, followed by an apologetic look at Lincoln.

I was hoping that was it. That the strife of this evening had concluded. Yet before we left the classroom, Bellamy paused and glanced back at the other guy.

"She's fourteen, Quarterback. Before you ever so much as look in her general direction again, remember I know exactly where to find you."

With that, Bellamy joined us in the hall.

I looked back on Lincoln sympathetically, knowing all too well what it was to be on the receiving end of that glare.

*************

We dropped Octavia at home first. I could tell Bellamy was eager to have her back in her own house and I was fine with that, happy the heater was directed onto my cold feet. The car ride was silent and I rested my head against the glass, my relief that Octavia was okay still fresh in my mind.

The hum from the car was relaxing, and I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep until the engine clicked off what felt like only moments later.

"Hey," Bellamy said softly. "We're at your place."

I blinked, the back of my eyes throbbing. I lifted up my head and looked out to my house, the insides of it dark save for the chandeliers I'd forgotten to turn off. Mom wasn't home.

I unfastened my seat belt. "Thanks," I murmured.

"No," Bellamy said, and I looked across at him. He looked tired now, the anger pulled from his voice like the night had taken a piece of him out. He sounded distant, and maybe even a little hollow. "I- . . . thank you, for helping me find her."

He looked slightly uncomfortable thanking me, but I could tell he meant it. A weird feeling erupted in my chest, a strange mix of surprise that he'd said it, and pride that I was the one he'd said it to. At least now I didn't feel as indebted to him. He was rude and condescending and all things in between, but he'd helped me. It was nice to at least be able to return some of the patronage.

"So," he said, thrumming his fingers over the wheel. "I guess this means you get your one question."

I'd completely forgotten about that. I never really thought he meant it literally to begin with. "I don't have to," I told him. "This was for Octavia. I would've come anyway."

He nodded, like he already knew this. "Look, I might not be likable, but I play by the rules." He dropped his hands from the wheel. "Hurry up before I change my mind."

"How about this," I said. "You come over tomorrow when I'm more lucid and, in addition to answering that, you can finally get your jacket back." I didn't know why, but I suddenly wanted that question. Bellamy was shrouded in a darkness I couldn't name, because he never let anyone close enough to see past it. I was curious, and after the collision course that was our meeting, he'd turned out to be less and less the guy I'd originally pegged him as and more of someone I couldn't understand, but found myself wanting to.

He licked his lips, looking from me to my house. He turned back to the black stretch of road in front of him. "I'm not sure that's the best idea. I don't . . . do these sorts of things. I don't give out favors, and I definitely never ask for them." He scoffed. "And I seem to be doing that a lot lately."

I grabbed my bag from the car floor. "It's a jacket and a question," I said. "But if not, I can always just send the jacket via mail to you." I didn't want to force him, after all.

Bellamy exhaled and leaned against the headrest. He looked out his own window and the seconds ticked down, one by one. A minute passed until he looked over at me. I thought he was going to reject the offer. But as I was starting to realize, Bellamy had the habit of doing the unexpected.

"Don't make me any coffee this time," he said.