The icy wind blasted Leo in the face as soon as he left the shelter of the alley, and he stumbled backward and shrunk into his jacket, trying to conserve as much heat as possible. It was freezing. He was already considering going back to Refuge, but then he'd have to face Joel, and he'd do almost anything to avoid that. He had to get out of here before anyone came after him, especially Braken. He didn't want to deal with him right now.

Why was he so mad? He didn't know, and that scared him. He didn't want to explode, but he couldn't help it. When he felt that anger rush up, his mouth had a mind of its own and he said all the wrong things. And every time he did, he hated himself that much more. He wanted to run somewhere far away, where no one knew his name, where no one knew his face, his power, or anything about him. He wanted to start completely over. He wanted to forget everything, even though he knew it was impossible. He didn't want to be a killer anymore. He didn't want to think about hurting himself or others everyday.

He hunched into his shoulders and looked down at his wrist as he slowed to a walk, breathing hard. He hadn't run very far, but he was already winded. He had no energy left, and logically, he knew it was because he hadn't been eating, but he ignored that thought. He didn't like feeling food in his stomach, slowing him down and making him queasy.

After only a few minutes, his fingers and ears stung in the biting wind, and no matter how tight he pulled his hood, it didn't keep the cold out. He was already shivering violently, left weak from his mad dash out of Refuge, and he knees could barely support him. He needed to sit down. 

The crowds pushed him around, and he let them take him wherever they were going. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted to be away.

Leo walked with them for hours until the sky was getting dark. He was exhausted, but as usual, he was terrified of sleep. The crowd thinned out to almost no one, and he finally had to accept that he needed to rest. He would look too suspicious if he was out wandering alone at night. 

He slumped over against the wall of an alley and slid to the floor, burying his head in his hands. It felt like the air froze in his throat before he'd even finished breathing it. He'd never been this cold before, and it was miserable. Even his cell back in the games had been warmer than this. The earth all around and the people near him kept a little heat in. Here, he had nothing. Hell wasn't hot, he decided. It was freezing.

He wanted to use his fire, but it was dark and he was afraid someone would see it. Eventually, he started to feel groggy - not just exhausted, but, heavy, and dragging. He knew that if he didn't keep himself awake and warm, he might not ever wake up again. He wished Braken was with him. He was always so warm.

Snow was melting beneath him, soaking into his jeans and freezing him to the core. He was going to die out here. He couldn't move his fingers, and they'd gone numb long ago. His shoes were wet and his toes were numb, too. Most of his body felt numb, and no matter how much he rubbed it, he couldn't get it to warm up.

Why didn't he go back? The question floated around his mind over and over. He could barely think, but this thought remained clear. He didn't want to be Tristam anymore. He didn't even want to be Leo. He felt the looks everyone in Refuge gave him. None of them trusted him. Frankly, he didn't blame them. He didn't trust himself, either. He knew if he went back, they'd just ridicule him. No one really missed him. Except maybe Braken. He felt horrible that he'd ran off like that, especially after that fight.

Eventually, he had to recognize that he needed to do something. He needed fire, desperately. Carefully, he lit up his palm, but quickly hissed in pain and extinguished it. He'd never burned himself before. His hands were too cold to handle the sudden heat. He bit his lip and tried again, with similar results. After a few other trials, he managed to get one finger steadily burning, and held the tiny flame up close to his chest, praying it would be enough to get him through the night. 

Sometime later - either hours or seconds, he couldn't tell - someone grabbed his shoulder, hauling him up to his feet, and slammed him hard against the wall. He almost passed out right then and there, but somehow remained conscious. 

"It's him," the voice of a soldier said. He'd heard this voice before, in the games. 

He'd been caught.

He wanted to fight back. He wouldn't let himself be taken without a fight. But he was too numb and frozen to move, and was slipping in and out of consciousness even as the two soldiers spoke.  

Don't resist.

We won't hurt you.

Just stay calm.

He didn't think he was very calm, but his heart was slow and heavy. It just wanted to sleep for a while. He tried to whisper something, but nothing came out as his knees buckled and he fell. He was out before he even hit the ground. 

...

Surprisingly, he woke up. Hours later, Leo found himself in a dark, unfamiliar room, lying on a couch by a roaring fire with a few blankets over him. When he shifted, he quickly took note of two very wrong things, even in his foggy state of mind. 

One: his hands were cuffed. He was a prisoner again, left to the mercy of someone else. If this had happened only weeks ago, he probably would have panicked, but now, he just felt numb, like his emotions had frozen as well as his body. 

Two: he was completely naked. 

Immediately, he tried to sit up, but he couldn't move. He was too stiff. Thankfully, the two blankets on top of him covered most of his body, but it still made him feel extremely exposed to have no clothes on in a completely new place. 

What had happened? Where was he?

"Oh," someone said. "You're awake."

Leo tried to answer, but nothing came out except a small gasp of air. 

The stranger chuckled a little, sounding almost comforting. "Don't worry about your clothes. I stripped you so that they could dry and you could warm up. They were actually the main reason you nearly got hypothermia last night."

Nearly? He thought he'd practically died. The explanation didn't make him feel any better about the situation, anyway. "Give ..." His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, and his jaw didn't open like it should. Maybe he'd frozen it shut. "Give 'em ... back."

The other man shrugged. "Okay. They're not dry yet, though."

He set Leo's clothes down on the table next to the couch and attempted to help him sit up, but Leo flinched away from his touch and kept his hands on the blanket protectively. It was a struggle, but he managed to pull his underwear and jeans back on, and sure enough, they were still damp, but he didn't care. It was better than being exposed. The stranger didn't offer to free his hands, and he didn't ask, so he hunched over with the blankets over his shoulders and stared at the floor.

The bandages around his wrists were gone, and he could count each of the scarring slashes. They were all still fiery red, covered in crusty scabs, and still hurt when he twisted his wrists around. The handcuffs rubbed against them uncomfortably.

"Is he dressed?" someone else called - a voice that was all too familiar.

"Yeah," the stranger said.

The door opened, and there he was.

Howell.

Leo immediately froze. He couldn't think, he couldn't move, and he couldn't breathe. His mind was screaming at him to get out of there, to run, but his legs wouldn't respond. Being a prisoner was terrible, but being Howell's prisoner was worse than anything he could imagine.

The fat man sat down next to him on the couch, shifting so that Leo was squished between him and the arm rest. "Welcome back, Leo," Howell said, his voice a web of mockery and fake sweetness. He put his arm around the Unnatural's shoulders and Leo ducked away, bringing his shoulders in and his feet pulled up to the foot of the couch to close himself off. "Ahh, don't be so disagreeable. You know your place is here. You know you don't belong out there. You know ..." He slowly pulled the blankets away and dragged his hand down the scars on his back, dropping his voice down low. "You know you're a monster."

Leo glared daggers at the floor, his fists clenched, his body rigid. Howell tried to get him to look at him, but the Unnatural kept his face away from him.  "Don't ... touch me," he hissed.

"Oh, you're giving the orders now, are you?" Howell chuckled, his grip tightening on his shoulder.

"I am in control -" Leo cut off as a massive shudder ran through his body. "- of myself. This is my body. Don't touch me."

"Bold words, Leo." The fat man chuckled again. "I'm afraid you shouldn't be in control of yourself. Look what you did when you were." He picked up Leo's hands and traced his thumb over the cuts on his wrist. The Unnatural cringed in pain and tried to pull away, but Howell kept him tight in his grip. "I won't allow you to do this again, do you understand? You are mine to control, and you're going to help me find your little friend."

"Joel?"

"Not necessarily, though he is becoming a nuisance. The other one. The silent boy."

Braken.

"What do you have against him?" Leo demanded. "I know you hate all of us, but why him?"

"You wouldn't understand, I'm afraid."

"I'll never help you find him," Leo growled.

Howell grinned, making the fire light seem dimmer. "Of course not. You'll just need a little more persuasion." His fingernails dug into the scabs on the Unnatural's wrist and he let out a gasp of pain, trying to twist out of the man's grip. "Come on," he ordered, pulling Leo up to his feet, and then turned his attention to the other man. "Get him his shirt, cuff his hands behind his back. I don't want him causing trouble."

The stranger unlocked the handcuffs, and the second he was free, Leo elbowed out of their grips and took off across the room, toward the door. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, as if trying to break out of his ribcage. He had to get out of here. He couldn't take being Howell's prisoner again.

The bang of a gunshot startled him out of his thoughts, followed quickly by a searing pain in his leg. He collapsed with a scream and grasped his calf, where he could feel blood soaking through his torn jeans. He'd just been shot. He'd just been shot.

Howell returned the pistol to his belt and dragged Leo to his feet, ignoring the Unnatural's screaming. "Oh, shut up. I just grazed you. You'll be fine." He gave him a shove toward the other man, who caught him before he fell. "Put his shirt on and bring him to number fourteen. If he resists, shoot him again - but don't kill him."

"Yessir." The stranger nodded.

He forced Leo's tattered purple dress shirt through his arms and buttoned a few of them up, enough to keep it on, but not enough to prevent it from slipping down his shoulder. It had always been a little big. Leo wished it was tighter, to cover the dark marks across his chest and back. His calf was on fire, the agony ripping through his body every time the stranger pushed him forward. He thought he was crying, but he couldn't tell. He was covered in sweat, wetting his already-damp clothes and tricking down his face.

The hallway felt a million miles long, and room fourteen was a black hole, sucking in all the light. It looked like some sort of bathroom, tinged with red from Leo's own imagination. There was a big tub sort of thing against the wall, and the room felt twenty degrees colder.

"Leo, listen to me," Howell said, though he barely heard it. "I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't cooperate, I'll have no choice. Will you help me find the silent boy?"

"N-no," Leo whispered, biting his lip to keep from screaming again.

Howell's hand slammed against the back of his neck and dragged him over to the tub, and before he could register what happened, the fat man forced his face under the ice water in the tub. The shock of ice made him gasp in pain, bringing in a mouthful of water, and he lurched up, but Howell kept him down.

He started to panic, and his panic squeezed his chest until his vision was covered in black spots. He was going to drown. He was going to die. His face had already gone numb from the ice water.

Just when he thought it was over, Howell pulled him back up. Leo coughed hard, struggling to clear the water out of his lungs and the spots from his vision.

"How about now?" the fat man whispered in his ear, his breath hot against Leo's freezing skin.

"No," he managed to cough out.

Howell sighed in mock regret. "Look, Leo, you're already half dead. Any more, and you'll be six feet under. Please choose wisely. I'm sure someone will miss you." He chuckled softly and tightened his grip, and Leo cringed, shaking uncontrollably. "So let me ask this one. Where's Joel?"

"No," Leo stuttered.

"I know you know where they are, boy. I'm losing my patience. Joel and the silent boy - and I'm willing to bet that you found all the rest of them, too - are in the same place. You will help me find them, understand?"

Leo opened his mouth, but before the sound even came out, Howell gave him a shove and he toppled over into the tub of ice water with a scream. Immediately, the water around him clouded with blood from his leg, and he went completely rigid as the frozen water seeped into his bones.

"Make sure he's soaked, then cuff him to the pole outside on the roof. I'll come get him when he's ready," Howell said, turning and stalking away.

The stranger was very thorough in making sure Leo was completely soaked, and then he dragged him up the stairs and to the roof, where he used a second pair of handcuffs to trap him on the pole. Leo could immediately feel the water in his clothes start to freeze, going stiff and turning white.

This time, he was completely numb in only a minute. He wasn't shivering. He didn't have the energy. The world was dark and blurry, and sometimes, he thought he saw someone, Braken or Joel or someone, running toward him, but it was just his own imagination. 

After what seemed like years, Howell returned, pulling him up to his feet and dragging him to the edge of the building. The wind whipped at his face and frozen clothes. He barely felt it.

"Alright, Leo," the fat man ordered. "I'm losing my patience. You'll help me, or I'll push you off this building."

Leo couldn't even look. He slumped over onto Howell's chest, barely breathing, his heartbeat slow and irregular. "I'm sorry," he breathed.