I CAN ONLY sit in stunned silence for a few moments.

My mouth still hangs open, a word stuck on the tip of my tongue, and I slowly lower the phone, setting it back down on my desk. A breath of surprise fans over my lips as my eyebrows begin to crease in a frown. I blink a couple times, wondering if the last few minutes actually happened.

Leaving my desk, I turn away, heading for my bedroom door wordlessly, my face feeling stiff from the tears. A pile of white catches my eye and I remember the diary. Not wanting to leave it out in the open, I pick it up, dusting off the cover before tucking it away in my nightstand drawer for safe keeping.

Taking another deep breath, I toss my hair behind my shoulders and leave the room, making my way down the stairs. Once I reach the dining room, I tiptoe toward the window, trying to remain out of sight and behind the curtain. Beyond the rain-splattered glass, I see a pair of gleaming headlights a short way down the street, lighting up the dark, and I assume the caller is sitting in that car.

Pursing my lips together, I stare at the glow for several moments longer, before whirling around and walking quickly to the front entrance. I reach for Audrey's raincoat, slinging the hood over my head. I slip my socked feet back into the damp shoes, sure that I'm just begging to wake up with a cold tomorrow.

"Where do you think you're going?" The sharp voice behind me causes me to freeze, my eyes closing in chagrin.

Sighing, I turn around slowly to face Sofia. Her arms are folded tightly over her chest, and Clark stands a short ways behind her, in the kitchen, looking mildly apologetic.

"I thought I told you to go to your room," she says pointedly.

I raise an eyebrow, shrugging. "I went. It was great, thanks for the suggestion."

Her glare is enough to stop me from shooting off another witty remark. "I left something in Zoe's car," I say, sighing as I build onto the lie I already told her earlier. "She's just dropping it off."

"Fine," she says begrudgingly. "But be quick. This isn't an excursion, and you're still in trouble."

I refrain from saying anything more, not having the energy to be civil, merely nodding before pulling the door open, exiting out into the cool air. It feels quieter out here, the patter of the rain significantly gentler than the last time I was outside, and everything feels still, and ominous. A car drives by, tires gliding through the water, and the sound is almost soothing; a reminder that I'm not entirely alone out here.

Taking a breath, I walk down the drive, keeping my eyes riveted to the headlights. I stick my hands into my pockets, lowering my head slightly and feeling my shoulders hunch. Despite the situation, I feel relatively calm. So many things have happened today, I feel like I'm prepared for anything and everything. How could it possibly get worse?

I'm nearly to the passenger door now, and I swallow, taking a moment to register how incredibly stupid I must be to get into a random car at night, just hours after having my worst fears of attempted homicide confirmed. Shaking my head in dark amusement, I reach for the handle pulling it open and slipping inside.

It's even quieter in the interior of the car, sheltered from the rain, and the air is warm. I feel as though I've been searching for some semblance of warmth this whole damn day, and the sensation seems to slow my heart rate a little. Pursing my lips together, I reach up slowly, pulling down my hood and turning to the left to look at the other person in the car for the first time.

There's a fire behind his ice blue eyes today, his mouth pulled into a firm line, and for a few moments, he simply gazes at me, and I don't look away, unable to decide whether his presence comforts me or frightens me. There's one thing that can be deduced easily; he is not impressed, and I seem to be the source of his irritation.

When he doesn't say anything, I decide to speak up, knowing Sofia is expecting me back inside shortly. "Are you here to give me answers?" I question confidently, raising an eyebrow.

"On the contrary," Mason says, finally speaking, and he's unfazed by the question. "I'm here to get some answers of my own."

I'm not sure what information he could possibly be seeking from a girl who doesn't remember anything past a few weeks ago, but I don't press the issue. "Where have you been? You were avoiding me."

He sighs, looking away and leaning back in his seat. It's the first time I've seen him look weary, and one of the very few signs that proves he actually is human, and not some cryptic, unfeeling robot. "Doing damage control," he explains, and his answer only leaves me with more questions. "People saw us together at the party. I knew you would try to talk to me at school again so I tried to make sure that couldn't happen, at least not in public." His voice is serious as ever, and because of this, I refrain from barking out a laugh at the bizarre words.

Instead, I just shake my head. "Why?"

Sticking to true Mason Byrne nature, he evades the question, turning back to face me, all traces of tiredness quickly vanishing from his features, and being replaced by the cold rage that was evident before. I feel myself shiver involuntarily, my eyes widening. "What did you do to Dylan?" he demands.

I can't stop the laugh of hysteria from escaping this time.

Of all the things I expected him to quiz me about after calling me to secretly meet with him, my relationship status with Dylan Sanchez definitely isn't one of them. He seems to stiffen slightly at my reaction, looking ever more guarded than before, as though that's even possible.

"Is something funny?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Grinning, I try to smother any remaining giggles that threaten to bubble up out of my throat. After the day I've had, this all just feels surreal. "What the fuck is going on?" I ask, unable to completely snuff the humour out of my tone. "Are you being serious right now? You called me out here to ask me that?"

His expression is entirely stoic, and he shows no signs of breaking. "Yes, I am. And yes, I did. I need to know." In the spaces between his words, I detect that he's becoming even more irritated by me, though that feels a little unfair. I should be the annoyed one.

My smile fades away as I study his expression, and I purse my lips. "We broke up," I say, voice lacking emotion. "I thought everyone knew that by now."

"Shit. I don't know why I thought this would work." He closes his eyes in what appears to be anguish, breathing deeply through his nose as he reaches up to run a hand through his dark hair, and I find my own eyes following the movement before returning back to his face. He sits in angry silence for a few beats, clenching his jaw. Then he looks at me, startlingly blue eyes catching me off guard, as they always do. "You need to get back together."

"What?" I choke out in disbelief, jerking backward into my seat. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"It doesn't matter," he says, dismissing my inquiries. "You just need to."

Defiantly, I straighten up, folding my arms over my chest. "Pretty sure you don't control me. I have no interest in being with Dylan."

He rolls his eyes in obvious annoyance. "This isn't about interest."

An anger begins to course through my veins, starting as a burn in my chest and spreading throughout my limbs until my whole body is on fire. I narrow my eyes in a glare. "I think I was right the first time. You're the one I should be staying away from. What is wrong with you?"

"Sorry for giving a damn about your well-being," he retorts.

I stay quiet, and we maintain eye contact in a charged staring contest as I try to talk myself out of reaching over and punching him in the face. I don't know who this boy thinks he is to tell me what to do with my life, and who to be with, but I won't have it. And claiming it's for my own good? He's delusional. My hands ball into fists, and I decide the best option is just to get out of the car and leave. I don't need to deal with this today, nor do I want to.

"Look," he says, the word harsh and clipped. "If you could just forget about screwing around with your sister's boyfriend for one second—"

The words cause me to flinch, my head rearing back again, and I stare at him with wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

He goes still, his gaze leaving my face and dropping to his lap, as though he regrets the words.

I feel the unmistakable sting of tears, though my jaw still clenches. "It was never—" I start, but then I stop myself, my stomach dropping to the soles of my shoes with a deep sense of dread. "Hold on, how do you even know about that? No one knows about that."

The words in the diary flicker through my brain. He knows.

He meets my eyes again. "I know a lot more than you think."

A chill attempts to run down my spine, but I'm too angry and humiliated for it to even register. This must mean he has answers, but I'm too angry to listen to them. Instead, I grit my teeth, placing my hand on the door handle, every part of me screaming at me to run. "Clearly," I spit, despite the fact that I'm rapidly blinking.

His face is marginally softer now, but it does little to quell the embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he apologizes quietly. "That was out of line."    

I can only scoff, shaking my head as I look away, willing myself not to cry and wondering why I haven't gotten out of the car yet.

"Your relationship with him doesn't matter to me," he says. "Do whatever you want. It just needs to look like you're still in love with Dylan."

Breathing deeply, I glare at him through somewhat blurry vision. "Tell me why," I demand, though my voice trembles a little, and I curse myself for it.

He shakes his head. "Not yet. This is Plan A. Telling you is Plan... Z."

Curling my nose in disgust, I push the door open, tired of him, tired of the conversation, tired of everything and more than ready to just collapse into bed. "Alright, go to Hell, then" I remark, stepping out of the car.

Mason leans over onto the passenger's side, quirking an eyebrow. "Gladly. We can meet for coffee. But I'd rather we both stay alive right now. That's why you need to do this."

Pausing, I grip the top of the door, paying no attention to the raindrops trailing down my face and soaking my hair. His words hold a certain weight that causes my stomach to sink, and the gravity of his tone goads me into believing him. I want to laugh, and completely brush off his insinuation that my relationship with my ex-boyfriend is life or death. But instead, I just feel a flare of fear that starts in my chest and seeps into my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

I shake my head slowly. "What does that mean?"

"All in due time," he murmurs, his features not seeming as hard as before. "Take care, Alina."

Frustrated, I close the door, stepping back onto the sidewalk, and he wastes no time in driving away from the curb. Staring blankly at the house across the street, several windows lit up in the dark, I remain rooted to my spot. I blink as the rain trickles over my eyelids, creating the illusion of tears, and attempt to process what just happened.

The first thing I register is that Mason absolutely knows what happened to me.

In between all of his cryptic riddles, and vague answers, this fact is easy to ascertain. And in some twisted way, he may just be looking out for me, but he must be benefiting from it somehow as well, since I don't believe he's doing it solely out of the goodness of his heart—if he even has one.

The second conclusion I come to is that he wants me to believe Dylan is the one who did this to me.

And that he might try to do it again.

The fear in my chest intensifies, and I haul in a shaky breath, trying to brush it off. Turning back toward the house, I try to make myself walk. No, there's no way. Dylan cares about me too much to ever harm me physically. He hasn't even tried to talk to me since I broke up with him, and he seems to be respecting my boundaries now. Half the time, he resembles a puppy.

But I can't ignore the fact that I've gotten glimpses of the darker side hiding just beneath the surface.

I pull the door open, stepping inside the safety of the house and trying to keep my breathing under control. Numbly, I kick off my shoes once more, padding past the living room and the hushed voices coming from inside, and making for my bedroom. Once I'm on the other side of the door, I lean against it, taking another moment to calm down.

Suddenly, I feel as though I'm seconds from falling apart, and I quickly walk across the room to my bed, collapsing on top of it, hoping everything will go away by the time I open my eyes again.

✘✘✘

I'm in a dream, that much is obvious from the surrealism of my surroundings.

Once again, I'm in that dark forest, adrenaline coursing through my veins and terror in my heart. Fog drifts in the spaces between the trees and wraps around my ankles, making it impossible to know whether I'm alone or not. Judging by the way this usually goes, there's someone lurking in the shadows.

A twig snaps in the distance, and I hold back a whimper, before breaking into a sprint. I do my best to dodge branches and roots as I run, well aware of the footsteps hot on my trail.

The voice calls out to me, shouting my name in the dark, but it's recognizable this time, causing my blood to run cold. Their tone isn't malicious, more desperate than anything, and it almost makes me stop. I don't, because I know how this dream ends, and I know that I can't trust the voice, no matter how non-threatening it sounds.

Changing my course, I dash to the left, running a short way before ducking behind a tree. The bark of the tree trunk is rough against my fingers, and my posture is rigid, too scared to move, too scared to breathe.

The footsteps slow until they come to a halt, and I see the gleam of a flashlight searching through the trees. I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Allie," the voice comes again, gentle but with an undertone of irritation. "It's me! You don't have to be afraid!"

Soon, they sound too close for comfort, and I panic, going into fight or flight mode, and ultimately choosing flight. I burst forward from my hiding place, jumping over the brush and down toward the sound of rushing water. Despite how much I try to prevent it, I lose my footing, landing on my rear and rolling down the bottom of a small hill.

They seize my vulnerability as an opportunity, following me down with hasty footsteps. Rolling over onto my back, I turn to face them, knowing I've lost, and the only way to wake up is to let this play out. My eyes brim with tears as I look at him for the first time, the sight of his face somehow making all of this worse.

"Please, no," I whisper, seeing the telltale glint of the blade that haunts even my waking brain.

Dylan takes a step closer, raising it above his head, tension throughout his arm. "I have to do this," he grounds out, a danger to his wide brown eyes. I lift my arms in a feeble attempt to protect myself as he prepares to plunge the knife into my flesh.

It comes down fast, slicing into my skin with a sickening sound, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream, seeing stars and writhing on the ground. He pulls it out heartlessly, and I squint at him through bleary eyes, whimpering in pain and feeling blood rise in my throat. As he looks down at me, eyes still deranged, I come to a terrifying realization.

I haven't woken up yet.

Instead of coming to in my bedroom, my own blood is spilling over my lips and Dylan is crouching down, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair as I try to recoil from his touch. "Sleep tight, Allie," he murmurs.

Using what little strength I have left, I roll over onto my good side, searching in the darkness for something unknown to me. "Help," I call weakly. "You have to help me!" I crawl across the dirty ground slowly, toward the figure that's barely visible through the trees.

Somehow I know it's my saviour, come to rescue me, and a flood of relief washes over me.

But all of that disappears the moment they step into view, the face obscured by shadows, standing over me without sympathy.

"Where is he?" I ask frantically, though I don't know who it is I'm asking for.

They ignore me, acting as though I'm not bleeding out at their feet.

"What do we do now?"

"Bring her to the car."

Fingers latch around my ankles, beginning to drag me to the waiting vehicle, and all I can do is scream. I scream and claw and shout and cry until I wake up.

My bedroom is still dark when I finally escape the nightmare, and a glance at the clock on my nightstand tells me it's nearly three in the morning. Still panting, I push myself into a sitting position. My hair sticks to my face with sweat, and I realize I neglected to change out of my damp clothes before I fell asleep. Swallowing, I begin to tremble violently as I try to rid myself of the remnants of the dream.

As much as I don't want to think about it, I'm incapable of thinking about anything else. It's a given that Dylan was the star this time, due to my conversation with Mason, and the events that took place did seem somewhat falsified compared to usual. Though the fact that my brain could conjure up those images so easily is extremely upsetting.

I can't help but wonder who the other people in the forest were; the rumored saviour and the heartless accomplice. The faces were dark, as though all I needed was a light to shine upon them and I'd have my answers. Shaking my head, I begin to wonder when I started taking my dreams as gospel truth.

Regardless of whether they're true or not, if I can help it, I won't be sleeping any time soon.

And now I have the rest of the night to decide if I believe Mason, and whether or not I'll heed his words of warning.