"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I mumbled, staring at the decrepit warehouse Obscene graffiti covered every inch of the facade, the wood underneath the paint slowly rotting. But the eeriest part of all was the windows—they stood like gaping holes for the wind to howl through. The wailing of the wind reminded me of a kind of scream that echoed the horrible stuff that had happened inside. Which, judging by the sore-riddled gang that threw bottles at Mason's car on our way here, definitely involved violence and a lot of drugs

"Hey, get off my back, it's the best I could do on such short notice," Mason grumbled and slowly dragged himself out of his Ford to stand beside me under the street light. "Be thankful it's at least empty."

I grunted and rolled my eyes. "Yeah, until your Heisenberg comes back from his drug farm down in Mexico!"

"You got a better idea?!" He bellowed, his amber eyes aflame. I flinched at the hardness in his voice, and my earlier frustration subsided. He was still mad.

"Didn't think so. It's all I got at the moment. Sorry for not having a convenient bunker where I can stash your Frankenstein's monster. So unless you have something good to add, shut up and relax."

-I don't need to relax. I need to scream.

I was actually pretty damn close to breaking, and the fact he'd decided to bring us to a less than nice part of Brooklyn (in the dead of night, as if we couldn't possibly get any dumber) was not helping my mental state in the least.

"Mason, I know you're pissed..."

"Really? No, what could have possibly given you that idea?!"

"... but you can't freak out right now."

He turned to me, the same fury from back at the Kowalski house pooling in his eyes.

"Freak out? I lost my damn notebook, Violet. The Death Ledger, the one thing that Kevin specifically stated you can't lose, to someone else. I think I'm way past the point of freaking out."

I stood firmly rooted in my place, my limbs liquid.

"I thought you said you didn't want to talk about it."

He snickered, lighting a cigarette with shaky fingers.

"Talking or not talking about it won't make much of a difference. I'm still screwed."

I gritted my teeth, heat stinging my eyes.

"Okay," I murmured. "Okay. Let's just... let's just get Logan inside."

He glared at the cloudy night sky for the longest time, his eyes distant. I thought he hadn't heard me when he put the cigarette out, and begrudgingly dragged himself back to the car.

-He's beaten.

It was written all over his face. It had been ever since I'd shown him the writing on the first page. He'd tried to rationalize it, deny it, saying how the book I was clutching couldn't possibly be his, since his was tucked safely in his pocket. But when his round of panicked frisking yielded no book, reality began setting in.

The final nail in the coffin was when he tried to take the notebook from me. No sooner had his fingertips brushed the leathery covers that he was thrown back, an electric jolt knocking him right on his ass. I'd stared at his flushed face in horror.

-Holy crap.

The book was behaving as if Mason was trying to steal it. Another thing clearly outlined in Kevin's famous 'Dos&Don't's' chapter of the manual was the fact that no matter how much we wished, the Ledger couldn't be stolen or forcibly taken from us. It had a built-in defense mechanism, a kind of laser zap that would burn anyone trying to claim it without its Reaper's express permission. At that point, there was no denying it anymore.

The ownership of Mason's Ledger had somehow gotten transferred to Logan. And there was nothing we could do about it.

Overwhelmed and panicked, we both sort of shut down after that. Mason ignored my attempts at trying to talk to him, to try and fix this, forcing his attention to a different problem. Logan.

It was obvious we couldn't leave him in the Kowalski house—the place was a crime scene, and in the state he was in he was certainly a danger to others and himself. But, given his tendency to freak out every time we tried to go near him, Mason had suggested an alternative approach to getting him out of the house.

"I still can't believe I let you talk me into sedating him," I whined as we unloaded a comatose Logan out of the Ranger, and waddled him into the warehouse. The guy was even heavier than he looked.

"Oh, quit complaining. Dude wouldn't even let you dress him, much less consent to following us into the elevator. Knocking him out was the only way to get him out of the house."

Mason huffed and kicked the warehouse door open. I heaved as we blindly trodded through the darkness before Mason paused.

"Drop him," he panted, and with a glad cry of relief, we released him at the same time. His body landed on something solid, scattering a cloud of dust, which made us both cough vigorously.

"Still doesn't make it right. We probably scared him half to death."

Mason shuffled for several minutes in the darkness before a bright light chased away the darkness.

"We? If I recall correctly, he was the one going nuts and throwing shit at us. He deserved it," Mason supplied, the light of the flashlight he was holding pointed at the dirty futon Logan was laying on.

I sucked in a breath. Somebody was jaded.

"Fine, you're right. He's unstable. Question is, what are we going to do with him now?"

After disappearing again behind what I thought was a half-collapsed countertop of some kind, Mason tossed me another flashlight.

"Gee, I don't know, let him chill here for the rest of his life? I'm sure nothing bad is going to come out of that. Oh, wait..."

I sighed as I turned it on, grimacing at the filthy floor. Everything was absolutely coated in dust, glass, and cigarette butts. I was sure I was going to find syringes too, but I decided to preserve my nerves and pointed the flashlight at Mason.

"Oh, quit being a dick. Obviously, we have to figure out how this happened to him and fix it. What I meant was, what are we going to do when he wakes up? He's not exactly at his most rational right now."

The cynicism went out of Mason in an instant and he sighed, draping his head.

"Yeah, we gotta restrain him."

Bile rose in my throat, and I twiddled my thumbs. The memory of Mason pining Logan to the ground, as I stuck a needle into his thigh to put him down, replayed before my eyes, making chills sprout all over my skin. He seemed so helpless. And frightened—frightened above all.

-No, stop it.

He killed the Kowalskis. He almost poked Mason full of holes when he threw surgical tools at him. He was dangerous and needed to be restrained.

I couldn't let sympathy cloud my judgment right now.

"Okay, how do we do that?"

Mason's brows shot up in surprise before he shook his head. He too, probably thought I was going to protest.

"We'll need some chains and padlocks. Maybe even some grates for the windows."

"Yeah, and some supplies. Clothes, blankets, a heater maybe. It's really cold in here. Oh and food. Definitely food."

Mason's face skewered. "Do you really think he eats?"

I frowned. "Why wouldn't he? We do."

Well, in truth, we needed to eat only sporadically, to fill up our energy stores. The rest of our meals were pure, unadulterated, and sometimes really weird hedonism (like trying ant larvae cleverly disguised as Taco filling).

His eyes traveled to slumbering Logan, his gaze lingering on his chest. I knew he was envisioning the Y autopsy incision hidden under the dreadful oversized purple hoodie we'd dug up in Mr. Kowalski's closet.

"You know what I mean. What if he can't digest regular food anymore? What if he starts craving brains?"

"I don't think we're that deep into the Twilight zone," I said, a small smile tugging on the corner of my lips. My heart fluttered stupidly when Mason smirked, his eyes brightening.

"Okay, fine, I'll get him some grub. But don't say I didn't warn you when he starts leaking chicken noodle soup out of his stitches."

"Feel free to shower me in 'I told you so's' if that happens."

I followed him out into the crisp night all the way to the Ranger, shivering in my coat. He stopped in front of the driver's side door, his gaze firmly glued to me.

"You gonna be okay?"

I mustered a smile.

"He's out like a light Mason, and you've shot him up with enough drugs to keep him down for hours. I'll be fine," I asserted with way more confidence than I felt. The truth was, I didn't want to be left alone with Logan. He freaked me out—not to mention that the mere sight of his deep, faded blue eyes made my gut twist with unbearable sadness. But I needed to be practical, and put my fears aside if I wanted to fix things.

I was pretty sure Mason hadn't bought my confidence parade. Yet he said nothing and silently reached into his back pocket. He pressed a vial of tranquilizers and a syringe into my palm and squeezed it.

"If he wakes up and starts freaking again, hit him with another dose."

I nodded, hating the feel of the glass vile against my skin. "Okay, got it, stick him with your animal drugs. By the way, I still can't believe you had horse tranquilizers just lying around in your truck."

My change of topic must not have been as subtle as I wanted it to, because Mason exhaled and let his fingers trail up my forearm. They stopped just short of reaching the collar of my coat, mere inches from my exposed neck. Despite the fact he wasn't touching my skin, I could still feel the nervous heat of his body slamming into mine.

"I'm sorry. For lashing out at you earlier," He said, his voice hitching. "I don't blame you, you know."

I inhaled sharply, tracing the fine lines of his face, the gruff shadow on his cheeks until my gaze reached his eyes. The amount of vulnerability swimming in those amber whirlpools was heartbreaking. I could feel blood rush to my cheeks—it was the chilly wind, I reasoned.

"I never said you did," I retorted, my voice no louder than a whisper.

"You didn't have to. I know you—I know you blame yourself for this. But you shouldn't. This..." He paused, his eyes distant, lost planets. "This one's on me."

I blinked. "What? I don't..."

"I lost the stupid book somehow. I did it and now we're here."

I shook my head. "Mason..."

"No, V. No point in beating around the bush. It was my fault."

I swallowed a burning lump in my throat, doing everything in my power not to cry. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of his hand on my shoulder, of how close we stood, only inches away from each other. I wanted to reach out and hug him, give him some kind of comfort.

"Are you actually assuming responsibility? What has the world come to?"

The moment those words left my lips, I wanted to punch myself.

-Oh, you idiot.

Mason's face hardened, and his lips twisted into his trademark playful and carefree smile. He chuckled and dropped his hand, whatever moment we had shared, gone.

"Yeah. I think your Saintly Mojo is starting to affect me," he said and pinched my nose.

A million things rushed through my head, and I wanted to spew a torrent of apologies at him. For ruining his moment, for dragging him into this mess, for being such an annoying, whiny idiot.

But, my vocal cords refused to cooperate. All I could do was stand frozen in place and glare at him.

Stay safe. I'll be back soon," He said, and without sparing me another glance, jumped into his car and started it.

I watched him disappear down the street, suppressing the tears stinging my eyes.

-Great Violet. Just great. How could you do this?

I'd spent years nagging Mason to be honest and open up to me, waiting for him to finally tear down that wall of snark and sarcasm he'd built around himself and finally let me in. I could have given him comfort, accepted his apology, hell I could have even hugged him. Anything but joke and brush him off like a complete dork.

Sighing, I turned on my heel and stalked back to the warehouse, flashlight in hand. Growling, I went in and bolted the door behind.

-He is never going to trust me again.

Exhaling deeply, I leaned against the cool metal, wishing I could just reverse time when a loud crash made me jump. I turned around and frantically pointed the flashlight at the stygian darkness, my earlier self-loathing placed on hold.

"Hello?" I said before I could stop myself.

No reply. I exhaled slowly and scanned the decrepit warehouse once again. Nothing but torn furniture, mountains of dust and glass, and the acrid stench of mold, cigarette smoke, and pee.

I pressed my lips together and put down my flashlight. I was being silly.

-It's just rats.

Which was still gross, but nothing to freak out over.

As if to contradict me, another loud crash echoed on my right.

"Hello?!" I pointed the flashlight like a laser toward the source, my heart leaping into my throat. Nothing. "Who's there?"

Again, I got no reply. Only the softest sounds of footsteps.

-Holy crap. Holy crap.

Someone was in here. Someone was in here with me. Something crashed again, and I nearly tripped in an effort to get away.

"Hey, hey, don't come any closer! I'm warning you!"

Before I knew it, I was clutching the syringe Mason had given me, frantically searching for the intruder.

Another crash, this one directly behind me. I whirled suddenly, my flashlight trained. I could sense my heartbeat in my ears.

The light illuminated a tall, sickly pale figure standing only a few feet from me.

It was Logan.

And he looked... angry.

-Oh my God.

"Logan..." I stuttered, the light trained on him shaking. The darkness in his blue eyes made my gut do a cartwheel.

No, not blue. But black. Black like the fury he was feeling.

-He is going to hurt me.

I drew a step back. His jaw tightened, as his eyes grew wider. This was how the Kowalskis got killed.

-Run.

"Logan..." I repeated more sternly, my left hand raised, pointing the needle at him.

He continued panting viciously, his eyes burrowing holes in my being.

-He wasn't supposed to wake up.

"Don't."

He lunged.

I screamed.