I'd momentarily stunned him, but it didn't last. He stayed exactly where he was, didn't move a muscle. "You didn't answer my question." His tone was menacing, like he'd flipped a switch back to the Henry I'd known in Silverton, in Lake Town . . . killing the Hineses.

But I wasn't cowering this time. "I didn't answer it, because I don't have an answer. I don't know what she or I or whoever that person was wanted to tell Lucas. And I don't know who Lucas is, or what happened to her, or anything else you might want answered. I know only what I've told you." I had to control my fear. I couldn't give him the upper hand again. "But I'm right--aren't I? You want me to remember this."

Henry waited for a prolonged moment before slowly settling back into a crouching position. "I do."

As assuredly as him, I demanded, "You need to tell me what've you been doing to me."

"There . . . wasn't any other way to do it."

"What have you been doing?"

"It could ruin the accuracy of it if I tell you."

"I don't care! You promised me you wouldn't hurt me, that you'd be more open. But you've done something . . . there's no other explanation. How else would I remember this particular moment in time? Why not anything else in the years that must make up my past?"

Henry moved back into shadows like a spider retreating into its web. "All right," he said resignedly. "I've been slipping you draloline."

"Draloline?"

"It's the only thing that brings them back--memories. At least, the memories they've buried."

When I'd remembered that night outside the bank with Henry, it had been after an acquaintance had given me a drug--a gray, powdery drug. That in conjunction with whatever the Circuit had done to my head had brought back the moment I'd dwelt on for days, the shooting of Mr. Hines. Was that what I'd been given all those months ago? Draloline? And now, Henry had been drugging me? "When?"

"When I found opportunity."

I thought . . . how many times had this happened? Three? Four? When I was with him in the woods, I'd drunk whatever water or soup he'd given me. It would've been easy to put draloline in. And he'd given me a water bottle . . . and now this tea.

"The only challenge was at the diner," he said suddenly. "But I managed."

The diner? Where I'd gone with Andy? I'd had an orange juice . . . of course now I knew he'd been watching me. I felt sick to my stomach.

"It works strangely--sometimes right away, sometimes hours or even days later."

I knew that. I remembered the surge of memories rushing upon me as I'd approached that cabin in the woods so long ago. I remembered the confusion of it all, walking in and out of memories.

I didn't even know what to say to him. I couldn't bring myself to ask anything else. I didn't even feel angry at him. What I did feel was tired--so tired. Tired of running, tired of trying to figure out what I thought of him, tired of finding myself lied to and deceived over and over, tired of being whoever I was. What was the point of all of this? Henry didn't elaborate any further, and I wouldn't have responded if he had. Whether he was frustrated or angry or ashamed (unlikely) I didn't know or care, but he abruptly stood and descended the stairs. After a moment, I heard the door to the lighthouse open and shut as he left it. He'd be back; he'd left his belongings. He'd left me, and he needed me, after all.

Content that he'd gone, I stared out the window, out at the stars, at the moonlight descending on the dark shifting waters. I saw a dark shape appear on the sand. Henry's form outlined in moon. I didn't know how long I looked out that window--it felt like hours--but when I did finally lie down and drift back into a dreamless, dark sleep, Henry was still standing on the beach.

I didn't know what to do. I woke the following morning with the desire to get out of the lighthouse, its close, curving walls. So I moved out of its gray into the white dawn light and waded through tall grasses and bristly bushes until I was on rocks, and then on sand. I instinctively slipped off my shoes and socks, and the moment I felt the beach beneath my feet, I felt my chest swell with happiness. It was cool and breezy, so I pulled my jacket closer around myself, but the warmth would come with the sun. The sands were cold, but I didn't really notice. Everything in me--it meant nothing. Nothing at all. Henry, the Circuit, Paolo, these memories, all the confusion--they slipped away the closer I got to the water. The sound of the waves filled my ears, my head; my breathing began to match the calm in and out along the shore. In that moment, I decided to stay there forever. I didn't need anything or anyone. I just needed the eternal waters before me and the sand under me. Away from people and noise and the selfishness that motivated everyone that had come into the short life I knew. Why did I care what my past was with the ocean before me? I didn't want to know any of it. Not if it led only to more manipulation and lies.

I found a spot on the sand where the sun was beginning to touch, and I sat down, knees in front of me, arms atop my knees. I faced the wind and water and closed my eyes, just inhaled and exhaled. Let my mind move only in tune with my surroundings. I wasn't hungry or thirsty. I didn't need anything.

Strangely, I felt moisture on my face, and lifting my hands to my cheeks, I realized that I was crying. It was a quiet cry, just tears slipping from my eyes, but I wasn't even sure why I was crying. It was an overall sense of defeat, I supposed. There was nothing for me to do. I had no hope for anything. It was utter frustration. Maybe I would just sit here until the Circuit found me. It could take months, but knowing their determination and potential resources, it would probably be much sooner. If they never found me, I'd just eventually waste away here on the beach, and I couldn't think of anything more peaceful. If they did find me, they could do whatever they wanted. I just didn't care any more.

I wasn't sure when Henry joined me. I was sitting there for a long time, and I just kind of became aware of his presence beside me. But I had nothing to say to him, and we sat there in silence for a long while, just taking in the beauty around us. We had spent a lot of time somewhere like this. Maybe we'd been together, like he said.

"I have to know what happened," he said, as naturally as if we'd been having a conversation the whole while.

I didn't care. Didn't want to respond.

"Please, Nadia?"

Still didn't care. I put my head down on my knees and closed my eyes, trying to shut him out.

He was quiet for some time; I wondered vaguely if he'd gone. Then, "I can't do it without you."

I smiled to myself. "Mmm. You mean you can't force it out of me, make me do what you want just like you make everyone else do what you want? You need me to cooperate."

"Yes . . ."

I pushed some of my hair away from my mouth and eyes, as it had blown there. "I'm tired of everyone lying to me. I guess I expected it of you, after I met you in Animas Forks and realized you're not the same person I thought you were. But it feels good--that I have something you can't have unless I let you. I'm not sure I care, Henry." I turned to him at last, acknowledged he was sitting beside me.

He was incongruous with our surroundings, though I supposed I was, too. We were both dressed in the grungy clothing we'd worn to Midnyte, certainly not the casual or comfortable stuff you'd wear somewhere like this. I noticed he'd removed his shoes, too, though. Must've liked the feeling of sand as much as I did. He was gazing at me with his pale face, his eyes narrowed under the brightening sun, expectantly, thinking something I couldn't guess. I thought he looked weak, then, against the surroundings. He was tall and brittle, dark in the light. Was he the same person as the one who'd been hurting and killing people to get here?

"I'll do it," I said at length. "I'll take some more. I'll try to remember this thing for you--" he began to smile slowly, kind of creepy, so I added quickly, "--but you have to tell me why this is so important to you."

His grin froze, returned to its normal blank, stoic line. "I . . . can't."

I sighed and looked back out over the water. The sun was playing across it like so many diamonds. "Who are you hiding from, anymore? You're out of the Circuit. What are you afraid of saying?"

"It's not the Circuit. They'll kill me when they find me; I know that. And they will find me. It's only a matter of time. I'm a liability, now, too. But you're not, not yet."

I took a deep breath, knowing he was a brick wall . . . or was he? The emotion I'd seen in him the night before, when he thought I'd had the memory for him . . . his wild eyes, his open mouth with all its excited teeth, his strange dark hair shivering over his forehead . . .

I jerked to attention, excitement buzzing through me all of a sudden. I remembered something that had occurred to me the night before, that I'd noticed but tucked away somewhere until I could understand it.

"He-Henry," I stuttered.

He turned to me, lowering his brow when he saw my agitation. I motioned him forward. He hesitated at first, no doubt disconcerted by my sudden change of attitude. But he leaned toward me enough for me to raise my shaking hand to his head. He pulled back some as I reached for his face, then grabbed hold of my wrist. I stared into his sparking glass eyes, saw the confusion there, shook my head, and, though he was uneasy, he let me brush the dark hair aside from his forehead.

I saw there the smooth, pale skin I'd seen the night before in the moonlight--entirely free of any blemish or scar, and something bottomed out inside of me.

"Who are you?" I whispered, my words trembling on my tongue.

His eyes widened, his whole body tensed, he shrank from me.

But before either he or I could do or say anything else, we were startled by a humming that was quickly growing more pronounced. Henry scrambled to his feet and turned wildly to the sky, where a small black object appeared to be moving toward us. His hand went into his jacket, but before he could grab whatever he'd gone after, there was a strange sound--like some small, heavy object hitting something solid--and then the black thing zipped over us and was gone.

I'd jumped to my feet, too, without even realizing it, and the glimpse I'd gotten of the object before it blurred into the distance revealed it to be something like a drone. It was there and gone so quickly that I was in shock. "Was it them?" I shouted at Henry and at the world and at no one in particular, angry and frightened as I was. "Was it them?!"

I whipped around for an answer, but he was on his knees, a hand at his chest, his eyes glazed and his mouth fallen open in an expression that looked more like relief than anything else. Immediately, I understood.

"No! No, no, no!" I cried, falling before him, taking hold of his shoulders, which felt like nothing, they'd gone so slack. "Please . . . please . . . you're all right!"

But even as I said it, he fell forward, his head in my lap. I turned his face up toward me. His eyes reflected the cloudless sky above. I didn't want this. I didn't think I wanted this . . . I didn't know what I wanted. I hated him--or I'd hated him if he were Henry . . . but was he? I was so confused.

"You're ok. You have so much in your pack--you have to have something to stop the bleeding." Because he was bleeding; it was soaking through his shirt where his hand had fallen away. "I'll go and find it, Henry, I'll find it. You'll be all right!" I was frantic, and I almost dropped him on the sand and stood but his eyes turned on me.

"No." His breath was labored, but he held me there. "You--you have--to go."

I wasn't thinking anything about myself or that drone or the Circuit, but he was right, I had to get out of there. They'd surely be back. They'd found us in spite of all his precautions.

"But my memory--you'll never know what she--I--wanted Lucas to know--I need help with it! Please don't leave me!"

He almost smiled, which unnerved me in my panic. His eyes moving back up toward the sky, he managed to whisper, "It--doesn't ma-matter, now . . ." His head turned and fell from my lap, landing softly on the sand without any sort of sound.

A vacuum had opened around me, momentarily, when I was holding him. I was all of a sudden pulled from it back into a world of soft breeze and calm waves. The indifference of nature was maddening. I pushed him from my lap, and there he lay, a red pool attempting to form around him but quickly soaking into the sand, his white face like that of a porcelain doll, his limbs sad and limp. I marveled for a moment at how beautiful he was--for all his terribleness, he had that broken-bird beauty that Henry had--

But Henry! If this weren't Henry . . . my God! This was--Lucas? Was this Lucas? Whoever Lucas was? Coach Allen! Hadn't he tried to tell me when he was dying? Hadn't he said something that sounded, now that I knew, something like Lucas? And if this weren't Henry, then was he still somewhere out there? A surge of elation lifted my heart, and I felt almost immediate shame for it: this boy was dead--this horrible human. And yet, I hadn't entirely hated him. Oh, I didn't know what I felt in that moment except that I had to get away from there as soon as possible. Only moments before, I'd been sure I'd given up on everything, I didn't care what happened to me. But now--if Henry were still out there--oh, I had to figure it out. I had to get away. I had to move.

Scrambling to my feet, I started to move but stopped short. I had to search him, before I went. I had to, as callous as it might seem. So I crouched beside him, rifled through his pockets, came up with the small, strange gun I'd seen him use before. My heart beat faster; he'd wanted to shoot down the drone--he'd just been too slow. Pity filled me. A feeling I didn't know I could have for this imposter. Looking once more at his face, I surprised myself by bending down and swiftly kissing his cheek. A sob rose in my throat, but I had no time for it. I had to move--and I was also unsure of what else I might feel if I sat there too long with him.

On my feet, I ran as fast as I could across the sand, toward the lighthouse. The day was bright, and I was in stark contrast against the sands and foliage. Something in the back of my mind told me that I'd be all right, though--if they'd wanted me dead, that thing would've had two bullets. I felt pretty sure of that. Still, I couldn't take chances.

I bolted through the door, up the two levels into the third. I didn't take any time to go through the items he had; I merely shoved them back into the bag, slung it onto my shoulder, and raced back down the stairs, out into daylight.

Drones, tracking devices, hit-men and machines . . . I didn't know what else they had, but they seemed to have everything. I was alive because, for whatever reason, they were allowing me to be. It had been this way the whole time. Surely I was moving into another trap or deception or manipulation, but I had nothing else to do; I started off into the wilderness, following the ocean but staying far above it in the tree line as much as possible. Whatever happened next--whatever came at me--it didn't matter. Henry was still out there.

Henry was still alive.