Esme stood on the snowy road, her eyes scanning the empty street for any sign of Cindy. The thought of driving all the way up to Uden—or worse, facing off with Bella—made her groan.

Bella always wanted Jason by her side for everything. Her overprotectiveness grated Esme's nerves, like a mother hen refusing to let her chicks stretch their wings.

With a tired huff, Esme sprinted toward Cindy's house. Winter wind bit sharply at her cheeks, and the ice beneath her boots cracked with each step. She didn't bother knocking—she shoved the heavy door open and letting a rush of cold air spill inside behind her.

"Cindy!" Esme called out.

As she stepped forward, a sharp sting shot through her foot—an old scrap had ripped open again.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.

Emma had stopped healing her wounds unless they were serious.

Finally, she found Cindy sitting on the edge of her bed, her dark eyes locked onto Esme with an unreadable expression.

"Great," Esme said, catching her breath. "I need you to come with me to the power plant."

Cindy raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I need to make sure Lukey is actually dead," Esme explained quickly. "And I need to deal with Greyson."

"Just you? Alone?" Cindy's voice was flat. "What about Jason? Or Jade?"

"Jason's basically a hostage of the housewife," Esme groaned. "And Jade's somewhere. I'll figure it out on the way."

Without a word, Cindy grabbed Esme wrist. One moment they were in her room, and the next they were in Bella and Jason's living. Esme glanced around, noting it had been a long time since she'd set foot here.

"Maybe she poisoned him," Esme whispered.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Cindy murmured, sinking down onto the sofa.

Esme let out a soft giggle. Cindy looked different now—harder around the eyes, quieter. The girl who used to patch her wounds at the infirmary seemed long gone.

"Shouldn't we just rush in and grab him?" Esme asked.

"Might snap her out of her control-freak phase," Cindy replied, pulling her purple tuque lower over her ears.

"Oh, so we're like ninjas now?" Esme gasped.

She pictured them as sleek shadows, sneaking through enemy territory.

"Wait, let's duck behind the sofa," Cindy whispered.

Without hesitation, Esme dropped beside Cindy, the sofa's rough fabric scraping her knees. She peeked over the edge, biting back a laugh as Bella glided into the kitchen in fluffy slippers.

Bella moved so quietly, so serious, it made Esme's chest shake with suppressed laughter. She had no idea they were watching her.

"We just gonna to spy?" Esme whispered.

"No," Cindy said flatly. "We'll wait until she comes back and then scare her."

Esme grinned. Perfect. She'd always loved jumping out at people—Emma and Jade never saw it coming back at the house. It was the only game that never felt old.

"Boo!" Esme yelled, leaping up from behind the sofa.

Bella yelped, almost tripping over her slippers before catching herself. Her glare snapped to them like a whip.

"What are you two doing here?" she snapped.

"Esme wants to head back to the power plant," Cindy said, cutting her off before Esme could speak.

"I'm not going with you," Bella shot back.

"Jason!" Esme called, turning dramatically.

She imagined him blasting Luke with his beams while she slashed at that noodle arm with her barbed wire.

Bella narrowed her eyes, her voice sharp. "He's injured."

Esme threw herself onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh. "And apparently, I'll die if I go alone!"

"It's safer to stay inside," Bella said, arms crossing like a wall.

"This is important," Esme insisted, practically bouncing off the sofa.

Bella had definitely turned into one of those overprotective girlfriends. The type who would checks their partner's Instagram every ten minutes or reads their messages.

"You do know this house could collapse and crush you in your sleep, right?" Cindy deadpanned.

Cindy bopped away, coming back a second later.

"I saw Preston, Nevaeh, and two others. One girl was lying on the floor, laughing and pointing at the ceiling," she reported.

Esme grinned, knowing exactly who. "Mia? She's there? She's literally hilarious."

Mia always acted weird, but that was the fun part. Esme remembered seeing her spray silly string at a teacher before dashing away.

"Mia?" Bella frowned.

"Uden's biggest stoner," Esme said, hands on her hips. "She gets caught selling drugs."

"Drugs are illegal," Bella snapped.

Cindy leaned against the wall, rolling her eyes at Bella's earnestness—just as the door burst open. Jade glided in on a slick patch of ice, slamming the door behind her. She turned sharply to face them.

"Jade! Mia is at the power plant!" Esme blurted out.

Jade raised an eyebrows. "Why are you two here?"

"Trying to convince the housewife to let her boyfriend out," Cindy said, rolling her eyes. "But she's refusing."

Bella cut in sharply, "He needs to stay inside."

"Where is he anyway?" Esme asked and vanished in a blur before anyone could answer.

She flung open doors until she found the guest room. Jason curled beneath a red coat, bandages wrapped around his face, hair sticking out at odd angles.

"Jason!" Esme shook him roughly.

"Don't wake him!" Bella's voice warned from the hall.

Jason stirred slowly, blinking groggily at Esme.

"Come with me to the power plant," Esme urged.

"We were just there..." Jason rasped.

"Luke might still be alive. Greyson might've screwed up."

Cindy appeared behind them. "I saw Preston, Nevaeh, Mia, and another guy. "

Jason'a eyes widened. "What boy? Maverick?"

Esme wondered if it could've been other boys from Uden Academy—maybe Will or Andrew.

"Does Mia have powers?" Jason asked.

"No, but she's usually high or drunk. She flashes people, trips, pull pranks," Esme said, hauling him from the bed.

"I'm fine staying here," Jason sighed.

Esme crossed her arms as Jason crawled back into bed. She could handle this on her own—she was the fastest—but Cindy's help wouldn't hurt.

"Alright," Cindy said, pointing right at Bella. "If Esme or I end up dead because of Luke, it's on you."

Before Esme could even fire back, Cindy's hand clamped around her wrist again, and the room dissolved into darkness. Cold air hit her lungs. The smell of concrete and rust replaced the scene of Bella's house.

"You're such a badass now," Esme said with a grin.

"Well, Bella can't keep playing the controlling housewife," Cindy muttered beside her.

Esme nodded toward the long, black hallway ahead. "This way."

Their footsteps clicked on concrete, the sound bouncing off the walls. Even though Esme had been here before, the darkness twisted everything—every shadow moved wrong, like it knew they were there.

Esme squinted up, scanning for the jagged hole Jason had blasted open.

Dust still clung to the edges like frost.

"This is where you fought him?" Cindy's voice echoed.

"Yeah. Pretty sure he's not dead," Esme said, tugging the barbed wire from her belt. The metal glinted dully in her hand. "Might give him a makeover if he's still breathing."

Cindy scanned the hallway, while Esme spotted the jagged hole in the ceiling. The crumpled debris beneath confirmed her suspicion—that's where he'd be.

"There!" Esme grabbed Cindy's wrist and ran forward, the wind whistling in her ears.

They skidded to a stop near the rubble. Luke lay beneath shattered drywall fragments, his arm limp.

"He's not moving," Cindy whispered.

Esme leaned in close, heart hammering, smelling the sharp tang of dust and something metallic. Before she could react, Luke's eyes snapped open, alive, and that limp arm twitched again.

She yelped and stumbled backward as he shoved the rubble aside. A sharp, cold laugh escaped his lips, slicing through the wind-whipped halls.

"It's been some time since I faced you two," Luke sneered.

Esme couldn't help grinning, heart hammering as she bounced on her toes. The last time she'd faced him was on the highway, using that noddle arm to whip them. She'd almost died.

Almost.

"Your noodle arm looks like it needs some sauce," Esme shot back, barbed wire coiling in her hand.

"And you need to die," Luke hissed, the limp arm dragging behind him with a wet scrape.

Ilya woke with her cheek pressed against a thin, worn sweater. The fabric was scratchy—almost like steel wool against her skin—and smelled faintly of detergent. A pulsing ache throbbed behind her eyes, like someone knocking from the inside her skull.

The floor beneath her was cold. She slowly turned her head, blinking at the pale ceiling, until her gaze found Layla slumped against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees. Angel stood near the door, face filled with concern.

"What happened?" Ilya rasped.

"You had a seizure," Angel said.

"From what?" Ilya asked, wincing as her head throbbed.

"That's why we're asking you," Layla replied softly.

Ilya's stomach twisted as she tried to recall. She remembered a metallic taste in her mouth. Then vomiting. The sudden drop into black. No fever, no cough—just hunger gnawing at her ribs, and the dizzy haze that had been creeping in for days.

"Do you have anything for my head?" Ilya asked.

"We'd have to go to the infirmary," Layla said cautiously.

Ilya clenched her jaw. She needed something to stop the noise in her head. It wasn't wasn't just the pain anymore. Her thoughts buzzed and tangled until she could barely tell what was real. The craving for her pills wasn't just a want; it was need. Just a few seconds of quiet.

"We should go there then," Layla suggested.

Ilya tried to stand again. Her knees buckled. Legs trembling, she lurched forward, heart hammering. She caught the wall just in time, breathing ragged.

"We'll go after we talk," Angel said firmly, stepping forward to guide her into a nearby chair. "Does your medication cause seizures?"

Ilya took a shaky breath. "They ran out of my antidepressants months ago," she said slowly. "I've been taking a different brand. I don't think it's that. I just—" She swallowed. "Maybe I was just exhausted."

Layla leaned in close. "Are you addicted?" she whispered.

"Addicted? To what?" Ilya asked sharply.

Angel and Layla shared a look and Ilya's stomach turned. She hated that look. The one that said we think she's lying.

Angel stepped out of the room without a word. A moment later, he returned holding a small, dented trash can. He tipped it toward her, and Ilya felt her breath hitch.

Inside were the empty blister packets—her medication, all gone.

Her mouth went dry. How long had she been taking that much?

"You think I'm addicted?" she snapped. "No! I'm taking what I need."

Sweat slid down her temple. Her skin felt too hot. She hadn't had her period in weeks—but that was malnutrition. Stress. Starvation. Nothing else. It had to be nothing else.

"Do you not believe me?" she asked, quieter now.

"We'll run the test," Layla said.

At that moment, the door creaked open and Talia stepped in. She looked at all three of them, then calmly sat in front of Ilya, holding out her palm.

In her palm were three small pills. They were meant to calm anxious nerves, but her body didn't respond well. Sometimes they steadied her. Sometimes they made her pulse spike and her head swim.

"Do you want these?" Talia asked coolly.

The word yes pressed against Ilya's teeth before she could stop it. She wanted them. Wanted the silence that came after. Wanted to stop needing to want them.

"I should look after the children," she declared. "I don't have a drug problem."

Talia carefully placed one pill into Ilya's palm. "It's for your headache," she explained.

Ilya placed the pill on her tongue and swallowed hard. It scraped down her throat dry. Relief bloomed almost instantly—but so did the strange flutter in her chest. Just one. She told herself it was safe. She needed it anyway.

Talia handed the remaining two pills to Layla. Her younger sister's brows furrowed as she stared at the small white tablets.

"It's fine, Layla," Ilya said, smiling with effort. "I'm not addicted to drugs."

Later, in the hallway, with the pill dissolved in her gut. Her body wavered, light-headed, and the edges of her vision blurred. She pressed against the wall, taking a shaky breath.

Layla's dark eyes met hers. "Have you thought about doing drugs?"

Ilya flickered her eyes away, heart tightening.

Why couldn't her sister just trust her? She knew she wasn't addicted. All she desired was the support and the relief the medication offered. It's not like she's getting high.

Her fifteenth birthday had slipped by in silence on June fifteenth. No cake. Just her and the kids. And the pills. Always the pills.

She should be thinking about dreams. About her next math test. Instead, she calculated the hours until her next pill. Counted how many were left. Pretended she didn't crave them the way other people craved food.

Layla guided her into the kitchen, fingers wrapped gently around Ilya's forearm.

"I'm the one who caught you having a seizure," Layla said. "What were you doing before?"

"Getting a drink," Ilya muttered.

She knew that wasn't true.

"It was scary, Ilya," Layla whispered.

"It's just hunger," Ilya said, her voice sharper than she meant. "We barely eat. It messes with your body. That's all."

Why would Layla think she had a drug problem? She would never choose that. She was just taking her medication. Like she always had.

"It won't happen again," Ilya said, and turned away.

The children were waiting in the corner—tiny bodies huddled beneath too-thin blankets. They looked at her with wide, expectant eyes.

"Did you get sick?"

She crouched down beside them, and brushed a girl named Mabel's hair behind her ear.

"I just needed to sleep," Ilya said softly.

Her head was still pounding. She peeled off her coat and draped it over two of the kids. A moment later, a boy named Toby tugged her sleeve.

"Ilya, I'm hungry."

So was she.

"We'll get food soon," she whispered, stroking Toby's head.

She had to provide them with the reassurance they needed. She needed to stop focusing on wanting pills to help her headache and stop craving them.

"Will we see our mommy and daddy soon?" one girl asked.

It was always some of the same words. How could she get herself distracted by taking antidepressants or doing anything for headache medication?

Even one pill wasn't enough. She could already feel her body wanting more.

No. Stop.

If she gave in, she'd be exactly what they feared.

Weak.

Worse.

A bad mother.

Scarlett scanned the facility, her breath fogging in the freezing air. The wide, open floor stretched beneath them, sealed beneath a thick, glassy sheet of ice. Metal beams hung loosely overhead, groaning with every gust of wind. The place looked ready to collapse.

Preston's voice echoed from the far end of the room. "I got some tools!"

Scarlett turned toward the sound, Greyson's flashlight beam sweeping across the space until it hit Preston—and a guy she didn't recognize, trailing behind with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

"Whoa! You going skating or something?" Mia asked, her eyes wide.

"What, you bring Mia so she can flash you?" Scarlett asked, her lips curling into a smirk.

The bag Vince carried dropped to the floor with a metallic thud that bounced off the concrete walls. Greyson moved immediately, kneeling beside it, rifling through the tools until he pulled out a sledgehammer.

"We'll use this," he said, standing.

Mia cocked her head. "Are we playing a game?"

"Yeah," Scarlett said dryly. "It's called Try Not to Die."

"Oh." Mia grinned. "I'm pretty good at that. Car almost took me out once."

Scarlett glanced at Greyson. His jaw was tight, eyes locked on Henry, who was hacking at the ice like his life depended on it.

She could sense James's gaze fixed on her; after all, she had been the one to convince him with all this hydro-business.

"We have to crack this top layer," James said firmly.

"You'd better help the Dauntless Leader before he throws you in the water," Scarlett said, watching Preston scurry off.

Mia wandered over, running her fingers through James's hair, and Scarlett caught his embarrassment.

"Your hair is so soft," Mia cooed.

"Stop it, Mia." James muttered, awkwardly pushing her hands away.

Scarlett smirked knowingly. "James actually has a girlfriend, you know."

"The geek has a girlfriend?" Mia echoed, wide-eyed. "Is it Esme or something?"

"She's not my girlfriend," James mumbled.

"You need to loosen up," Mia slurred, clearly half-distracted.

Scarlett's gaze drifted back to Greyson, hammering at the thick ice with determination. The thud of the sledgehammer was steady rhythm, but progress was so slow, and honestly, it looked like it would take them days.

Mia bent over the ice, making faces at her warped reflection—grinning, frowning, sticking out her tongue.

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. "Why is the resident stoner even here?"

Mia shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm bored. So, why not come where all the business is happening?"

This girl could barely think clearly, so Scarlett didn't even have to put in the effort to humiliate her. Mia often seemed lost in her own world, whether she was caught up partying or stealing.

"Well, this business isn't going anywhere fast," Scarlett said, gesturing at the ice. "First the brother shows up, then the place floods. And that." She nodded toward a gaping hole in the side of the building.

"Got any food?" Mia asked, lying on her back.

"If I did, I wouldn't give you any," Scarlett shot back.

Mia pouted as she sat on her knees.

Scarlett edged closer, the beam from Greyson's flashlight slicing across the spreading cracks.

"It's working," he said.

Sure it was. He always said right before everything went to hell.

"We just have to crack the top layer." Greyson called.

"Yes, so when we see the pipe again, we have to leave it," James said.

"And what about all this ice?" Scarlett inquired.

"There's a drain in the middle," Greyson said through gritted teeth, pounding the heavy hammer toward where the drain would be, the metal ringing.

"Oh!" Preston said as he slid toward them with a magazine in his hand.

"Try not to fall in," Scarlett called, watching small cracks form.

Greyson slammed the hammer down to hit the ice.

Preston came beside her and handed over a crumpled flyer. Scarlett shone her light—an ad for the Dunlop Cottage, a sparkling mansion far south on Wasaga Beach, out on its own island.

"What's that?" Greyson asked, snatching the flyer.

"That fancy mansion on Beckwith Island," Scarlett said.

"Probably empty now," Greyson remarked, tossing the flyer.

He went back to breaking the ice as she slipped it into her pocket.

"It's better than sitting around and doing this," she implied, crossing her arms. "Besides, my birthday is coming up."

Her birthday is next week, on September 12th. They haven't been in this dangerous situation long, but she didn't want to die.

"You won't vanish," Greyson said.

"Why would I want to vanish?" Scarlet mocked Greyson, who shrugged but didn't say anything. It had been enough already that she was beginning to doubt getting out of this.

Greyson dropped the hammer with a loud clatter, the sound echoing in their surroundings. He took a step closer, now standing inches away from her. Even with the flashlight beam of light cutting through the darkness, it was unlikely anyone could see them from a distance.

He leaned in, catching her off guard. The kiss was hard. Scarlett's fingers brushed the thin glove on his cheek before she could stop herself. It wasn't just heat or comfort this time; it was him.

The intensity of the moment reminded her vividly of that moment that had happened at Reform Camp.

Scarlett had always been adept at using seduction as a weapon, teasing and taunting those around her to get what she wanted. But with Greyson, everything felt different—more intense and consuming. They were cruel people who kissed as if they were the last on earth.

The kiss had been so fervent and needy that Greyson had stumbled back slightly. Scarlett couldn't help but wonder why this intensity had transformed into an almost primal need for him. Every fleeting touch between them ignited a spark; a kiss lingered in every brush of their bodies against one another.

At first, Scarlett hadn't felt much when Greyson initiated those kisses on her. However, as time passed and their encounters became more frequent, she began to experience something awakening in her. The intensity of it left her heart hammering, and it sparked a new worry: the thought of him dying at the hands of Jason. She wondered if Greyson was capable of expressing his true feelings.

Scarlett pulled back, searching his face. Hard to tell Greyson ever meant what he said or if he just liked the sound of control.

"If this fails, we go there," he told her.

"And how would we get there?" Scarlett asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"I'd have a plan, wouldn't I?" he replied.

"And some of those work out so well sometimes."

Greyson went back to breaking the ice for the drain, but she felt a crack under her own foot.

"Are you trying to get me to fall in?" she snapped, taking a step back as the ice cracked under her boots.

"It's cracking!" James shouted.

All the ice began to slowly clack. It formed along the icy surface, spreading like spiderwebs along the edges and near numerous holes.

"Are we going to drown?" Preston panicked.

"James," Greyson demanded.

Scarlett darted her gaze, acutely aware of this situation. The ice beneath her feet continued to give way, cracking further with each passing second, revealing more of the dark water lurking below. It was slowly breaking, cracks expanding with each second that seemed to pass by.

"We have to get to the control room," James said as he rushed up the stairs with everyone following behind.

Just as the majority of the group ascended the staircase, the ice broke. A monstrous surge of water roared down from the main level, flooding the space they just left. Chunks of ice were ripped apart in the torrent, the tearing sound echoing in the control room.

"It reminds me of those water parks," Mia exclaimed, her face pressed against the plexiglass. "No, wait—it's more like those car washes when you go through but without soap."

"Why did it start cracking? We were barely able to destroy it all," Preston asked.

"I've heard it breaks from temperature or if you break it hard enough. Neither of those were possible," James said.

Scarlett watched the water rushing violently through the closed door. It appeared as though an enormous vacuum cleaner was sucking everything in its path.

Greyson opened the control panel door and stood on a step. He positioned one palm firmly directly at the rushing water, while his other shut the door. He focused, bowled his hands together, and seeing the rushing water form a tsunami. The immense waves began to form, surging toward the drain with palpable force.

As the water crashed against itself, it created an explosive splash that sent droplets flying in all directions, coating the transparent plexiglass. Despite Greyson's efforts to channel the torrent effectively, Scarlett could see it was slowly draining away.

"Aim it all directly at the drain!" James shouted over the deafening roar of the water.

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Greyson snapped back.

Greyson leaned over the railing, his teeth clenched tightly. No matter what he attempted, it seemed the water would never fully drain from its current predicament.

As she sat in an office chair, Scarlett reached beneath her chair and retrieved a small can of diced peaches. She slipped one in her mouth, savouring the sweet flavour.

"Give me!" Mia exclaimed, launching herself at Scarlett.

Scarlett raised an eyebrow and replied, "I'm not giving your high-ass one."

Mia shot back, "We're both Hispanic."

Scarlett smirked at Mia's comment but added with mock seriousness. "Yes, but I'm not Asian," she said, opening the door.

"What, Scarlett?" Greyson asked, his eyebrows narrowing, trying to focus on the running water in the drain. It seemed to not drain but rather flow over the drain.

"Here," Scarlett said, handing him a peach slice. "You think Luke drowned?"

Greyson scoffed dismissively. "I don't care what happened to him. He had been someone useful for punishment."

Scarlett hoped Luke drowned or that Esme killed him. Luke is entertaining to taunt, especially since Greyson won't let it slide if he touches her.

"Maybe focus it on the hole," she suggested, pointing to the hole covered by machinery.

Greyson paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, as he prepared to tackle the heavy debris. He used his one hand to remove the cumbersome pieces. He hurled them into the swift-moving current that surged around them. However, when he pushed forward, it had the opposite effect. Instead of it all going through the hole, the force broke off more of the wall ahead of them.

Scarlett couldn't help laughing. Watching Greyson fight the water like it would actually listen to him was idiotic, but somehow, very him.

"At least it got most of the water out," Greyson said.

Just then, James emerged from the control room to look at the wet area. The remnants of the ice they had been breaking apart were now visible as torrents of icy water streamed in from outside due to the storm.

"The only thing we have to worry about is the pipe bursting from the cold air," James implied.

By this time, Greyson had already made his way down the stairs before James could finish speaking. Scarlett followed behind him, and she noticed how fatigued he appeared; bags were under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped.

"Do we have to wait or break it?" Scarlett asked James.

"Wait," James stated.

"Can we just party around here?" Mia's voice echoed in the room, creeping behind machines.

"Don't touch anything unless I tell you..." Greyson barked before his movements became wobbly. He staggered toward her and swayed as she caught him, unconscious.

"Knew it," Scarlett muttered, groaning.

She placed one of his arms over her neck. She dragged him more than carried him up the stairs into the control room. Setting him against the wall, he slumped as she sat in front of him, eating a peach.

"Honestly," she muttered, "try taking care of yourself for once."

Don't forget to comment and vote!
-Lexi