Everything in me lost root for a moment. I felt as if I were falling off the ground on which I stood, or maybe falling up into the air, toward the flat white sea of clouds--I couldn't be sure of anything but the notion of being cast adrift. The world blurred except for my focus on him . . . after all these months, these days of searching, he was simply . . . just . . . there . . .

I wanted to call his name, but I found that my voice had abandoned me. I nearly lost my footing and stumbled a bit, but Paolo caught me and held me up. His touch brought me back.

"It's him, isn't it?" he near-whispered, something of regret in his tone. We weren't entirely in the open; there were some ragged trees before the lawn cleared of everything but grasses.

I nodded, unable to speak, the sound of the waves and wind coming back to my ears.

"Who are those people?"

"I don't know."

As I said it, almost as if hearing our conversation, the cloaked figures on either side of Henry turned, taking their time. Their shapes were entirely disguised with their robes; I couldn't tell if they were men or women, young or old--nothing. And their masks hid their faces. The masks! They were terrifying . . just smooth, flat black things with eye and mouth holes that were darkened, some sort of mesh, maybe. I couldn't see anything that gave a hint of who they were, and I instinctively crouched lower, hoping to hide myself more. Their outfits exceeded my understanding of who and what the Circuit was. They'd been devious and cold, cruel--the Circuit members--but they'd been human, and they'd not hidden who they were. This dissemblance touched the very core of me . . . whatever this was, it felt sinister beyond what I had expected. My terror for Henry and what they'd done and were planning to do grew rapidly.

I made to move out of our hiding, but Paolo anticipated it and held me back. "Let go! I have to go to him--"

"Those people--" he whispered back, his breath hot against my cheek, "--no. What are they? I won't let you go out there."

His worry gave me pause--but was this more deception, from him? Was he supposed to hold me back?

We stayed where we were, observing Ms. Indelicato as she seemed to try to talk to the strangers. She was gesturing, practically bowing at one point . . . she looked far less in command than she'd been in front of me, and I took some pleasure in that. These must be her superiors. The whole time, I looked back and forth between her and Henry, but he remained unmoved.

"Look!" Paolo gasped, squeezed my arm more tightly, held me to him.

At first I was annoyed at his restraint, but then I realized what was going on. One of the dark-clothed figures had made a gesture, a very simple hand gesture as if pushing away an insect, and the other was now holding something out, something as black as its robe--it was difficult to make out, but it must be some sort of weapon . . .

The sound rang out clear and quick, and for a moment, I didn't quite understand what had happened, but then as we watched, Ms. Indelicato crumpled to the ground, her white top blossoming red.

Paolo and I looked at one another. We knew, then, the severity of the situation. I straightened up, trembling. I couldn't say I was sorry that woman was dead, but if they were willing to kill one of their own . . . what could they do to us? Maybe it was time to go . . .

As if reading my mind, Paolo whispered, "We have to get out of here . . . please, Nadia!"

I pulled back. This wasn't how this ended, I was sure of it, with the two of us running off and leaving Henry.

"This is bad. We can't help him right now. We can come back . . . after we know--"

"No!" I shook free of him. "You know what I want. I can't leave him. If I leave now, they'll take him somewhere I'll never find him. I can't risk it!"

"But they'll kill you--"

"I don't care! My life means nothing unless he's in it. If they take him, I might as well be dead!"

Paolo stared at me, as shocked as I was at my outburst. Then he sighed, caused me to look into his dark eyes, which I couldn't read. "I care about you," he said quietly. "A lot. You've been saying it's all about him, but I kept thinking maybe . . . maybe if you knew me better--"

"It's not about that," I cut in, distressed. There was no time for this. "It's . . . something I can't explain. He's somehow--a part of me. I feel it. I know it."

"And there's no room for me?"

"I--" I looked at the ground. "I don't know."

He began to breathe a little more heavily. "I'm just nothing to you?"

His jealousy confused me. "You know that isn't true--"

"After last night? Everything we talked about? You'd rather die for someone you hardly know than stay with someone who loves you?"

"Paolo, stop! I--" What had he said? What . . . what? There was no time to think of it. No time! Why had he said it? "I can't listen to this." Burning, I shoved him back from me, but he was too strong, too hard, and held steady. "I don't have to explain myself to you!" I insisted. "You can't say something like that hoping I'll change my mind. I can't do this right now! I don't have time! You know how I feel about you. I . . . love being with you. You know that." He softened, and I looked directly into his deep brown eyes. "But I have to get what I came for!"

I almost freed myself of him, but he pulled me in so fast that I couldn't stop him, and when he kissed me as if it were the last chance he'd get, as conflicted as I was, in spite of what was happening beyond us, I couldn't help falling into it for a moment. Then he drew back, looked meaningfully at me, breathed in and out, fiercely. I stood, torn, but determined. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just found you again; I don't want to lose you. But," he added decidedly, "if you're sure, at least let me try to help you. Just promise me one thing."

"If I can."

"Promise that you'll let me protect you."

"Paolo--"

"Please, Nadia!"

This needed to move. "Fine. All right."

Resolutely, we left the safety of the trees and stepped out into the open, where the robed figures still stood, either side of Henry, and Ms. Indelicato's body still lay motionless on the ground. Neither of the strangers made any indication that they were surprised to see us. They didn't budge. They didn't speak to each other. Though we couldn't see their expressions, I was sure they didn't have any. It was as if they'd known we were there and were just waiting for us to come out.

And Henry . . . he hadn't moved, either. He remained crouched over as if he were ill. With each step closer to him, though, I felt an almost physical reaction--something like electricity moved through me, like little shivers of excitement running up and down my body. It was being near him. I hadn't felt it with anyone else, even Lucas . . . this was certainly him, and my eyes were locked on him as we approached, but he wouldn't turn up toward me. I didn't know if his eyes were closed, if he were out of it or with it . . . no idea. Oh, what had they done to him?

But I wasn't going to be afraid of these people. I couldn't show them fear.

When we were within several yards of them, next to Ms. Indelicato's dead body, one of the masked figures held up a hand to stop us, and we conceded. I'd play along . . . perhaps . . . if it got me what I wanted. "I'm here for him." I nodded toward Henry, who didn't move.

The stranger to my right--the one who'd not put up the hand--shook its head, slowly. Of course they weren't going to just give him to me.

Paolo stood beside me, tall, unflinching. I did feel safer with him there, more protected. Bolder.

"Then what do you want from us?"

For some moments, they seemed to just stare at me; I had no understanding of what they could be thinking. Then, the one to my left held up a hand, shook its finger at me. "You've been a bad girl," it said in a deep, ominous, mechanical voice.

My jaw began to tremble, but the anger was growing faster than the fear. "I don't know what that means--I don't know what any of this means. Why can't you just leave us alone? Please . . . please let me take him with us. We don't want anything to do with you--we'll leave and never look back!"

"You must be taught a lesson," said the right one.

I snapped my head toward it. "Do whatever you want to me, but just leave Henry alone."

"Nadia, no . . ." Paolo was quiet, but I knew he was as on edge as I was.

I stepped closer to the masked figures. They held up their hands, and I stopped. "Choose," said the left figure.

Taken aback, I frowned. I didn't understand. Choose? Choose what? I looked to Henry, panic growing in me. Was this some test or game that I had to pass? How was I to know? He gave me no clue.

"Choose," repeated the dark voice.

"Choose what?" I cried.

Paolo moved to stand in front of me. "It's some sort of trick," he said.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a man passed right by me and Paolo--we hadn't been paying any attention to what was behind us, but of course Ms. Indelicato had said she'd had a guard with her! Now here he was, large and forbidding, carrying a gun that was far bigger than what I had or even what the strangers had used to kill Ms. Indelicato. The guard stopped somewhere between us and the robed figures, right by the edge of the cliff, and stood as if waiting for some sort of command.

"Choose, or we will choose for you," came the voice once more, steady and robotic, no rising emotion evident in it.

I turned from the guard to the strangers, frantically attempting to comprehend. I wanted to scream from frustration, but then, just as I began to ask again for clarification, I stopped before I'd started. All of a sudden, I knew what they meant, and my heart sank deep within me. No. No, they couldn't be asking that . . . It couldn't be what they meant. Why would they want me to choose? What good would it do? But I needed to learn a lesson, just like Henry had . . .

"You have thirty seconds," they said--one of them or both of them, I didn't know. I heard them but didn't see them in that moment. All the moments were blurring. All the noise was rushing, wind, ocean, screaming . . . the sand draining out to chase the water as it pulled back from the land . . . faces materializing out of mist . . . the other me disappearing before my eyes . . . Tell Lucas! But where was he? Where was Lucas, now? He would've known what to do!

And then, inadvertently, I glanced down at Henry again. He'd moved--I was sure of it. Yes! And he was moving still, though at a controlled pace . . . He was lifting his head, but with so much difficulty, and as he did, I saw the silencer strapped under his chin, against his neck. A shock of pain pierced my throat, memory of wearing the device myself, and I understood why he was unable to interact. His face, though--his eyes lucid as the sky, clouds pulsing beneath the storm of his brow; his mouth partially open, teeth ground in a grimace of determination--our gaze suddenly met, and the meaning of all the world was in it, all the searching we'd done for one another over these months, the endurance we'd needed to make it back to each other.

"Henry!" I breathed more than spoke, unknowingly, almost, as my heart moved to meet his.

"The choice is made."

I snapped back to attention. "What? Wait. No--I didn't choose--"

I tried to reach for Paolo but could never have been faster than the gesture from the masked figure. Everything next happened so quickly that it was difficult to process: Paolo darted for the guard with the gun, the guard's weapon sounded, and Paolo stumbled backward toward the edge of the cliff . . . and then was gone.

So quickly--he was just gone.The last thing I saw was his shape silhouetted against the whiteness of the sky, and then he was swallowed by the air and the sound of the waves.

Incredulous, doubting even though I'd just seen it with my own eyes, I stood stunned on the grass, void of understanding. It was some illusion. Some lie--more deception. It couldn't possibly be! He'd been right there . . . right by me. Why had he done that? Why had he gone for the gun? My legs threatened to collapse beneath me, and yet I felt compelled to run to the edge of the world and make sure what I'd seen was real--but no! What would I see? I couldn't!

When the world stopped buzzing and I came back to my surroundings, I noticed that they were moving, the strangers. They were speaking to one another and lifting Henry from the ground--

No!

I started toward him, but the guard--I'd forgotten about him! He was right next to me and took hold of my arms from behind.

"Henry!" I shouted, struggling in vain against the huge guard. "Henry! Don't take him! Please!" I couldn't lose him again, when I was this close to him!

The cloaked figures held him under his arms, were making him begin to walk with them, and he looked weak--so weak . . . as if he'd be unable to stand on his own feet if they let him go. They were leading him away from me. This couldn't be happening like this . . . after everything I'd come through . . .

And then, as they passed within a few yards of us, he broke free. God knows what it took him to do it, but he'd fooled them enough that they'd thought he couldn't, and he took sudden advantage of that to pull out of their hold and dash toward me. He was there before me, all at once, in a whirlwind of desperation and electricity and effort, his tormented face inches from mine as he forced himself to speak in spite of the searing pain I knew he felt:

"Re-member--Lucas--!"

My body felt on fire as the guard holding me pulled me backward. Henry stumbled, the masked figures taking firm grip of him again, much firmer this time, and yanking him quickly away.

I watched them go, frustrated tears streaming down my face, trying to get some clue of where they were taking him. I was sure they'd drive or fly away somewhere, and I'd never see Henry again, but they left the cliffs and went back where I'd come from with Paolo, the patio by the pool. Once they were beyond my sight, I broke down, just my whole self seemed to melt. I was a mess, enraged and confused and terrified with everything that had just happened. The person restraining me (if I could call him a person) remained unmoving, just standing there, pinning my arms behind me, making sure I couldn't run anywhere, but after several moments, he forced me back into the house. I didn't see any sign of Henry or the masked strangers, and I'd lost all fight, so it was easy for him to shove me inside and lock the door, stationing himself outside.

There I was, back inside the room I'd left maybe twenty minutes ago, but infinitely hopeless. Moving for the sake of moving, I dragged myself up the stairs, into the room where I'd spent the night with . . . with Paolo. When I got there, I sank onto the unmade bed, curled up, and sobbed.