Everything in me vibrated with terror. I felt as if every fiber of my body had been pulled taut and loosed, like the strings of a bow, and the anxiety threatened to overwhelm me. This wasn't just about me; it was all of us. And the odds were so against us. There must've been thirty or forty people out there. We couldn't possibly take them ourselves. Whatever enhancements we had, however difficult to kill we seemed to be, we could certainly die. I didn't doubt that for a moment. Death wasn't what worried me, though--it was the other things they could do to us, wipe our minds and continue to toy with us for eternity. I'd rather be dead than endure whatever Henry and Lucas and Amirah had gone through. Me? I'd had it easier than them, it seemed, but the constant lying and dissembling and running was enough to drive a person mad. In a different way, they'd tormented me, as well. We couldn't go on like this. Maybe this was it, the confrontation I'd known must arrive.

I sat in a corner of the upper room, able to see the balcony and staircase descending from it but, I hoped, difficult to see from the outside. I debated the best course of action. I could sit where I was, try to shoot anyone that came through the door, but by that point, multiples could be on the balcony, on the stairwell, forcing their way in. I could try to sit on the balcony and shoot them on the ground or as they ascended, but then I was a sitting duck, an easy target. I didn't have the upper hand, no matter how I looked at it.

This room was ugly--pink walls, pale peach carpeting. I sat there, ridiculously thinking about what blood might look like on the carpet, when I heard it--glass smashing down below, gunshots. Multiple gunshots. More glass shattering, some huge thud, like maybe a door falling in. Shouts from Amirah, her yelling something, swearing. I could barely sit still, felt sure I was going to jump out of my own body, and then came a crazy urge to rush to Henry, whatever was going on downstairs, but before I could act on that, an explosion rocked the house. Even though I was distant from the front hallway, I felt and heard it as if I were on the first floor. More shouting--more gunshots--and I was going to jump up and run toward it all when suddenly, there was someone on the balcony--two people--three--all clothed in black head-to-toe, huge guns in their arms, faces covered so I couldn't tell if they were men or women.

I should've gone out there! Should've shot them as they'd tried to ascend the stairs! But it was too late, now, and there was no way I could avoid them. Their hands were at the door, grasping, debating whether to break the glass, and something in me clicked; some switch flipped. I got to my feet at the same moment one of their boots smashed through and into the room. I immediately shot the leg, and whoever it belonged to fell, crying in pain. I strode to the door, grabbed the handle and pulled it open, the fragmented glass frame tearing at the leg still stuck in it. Then I shot point blank the other two standing on the balcony, kicking one out of the way as it fell to get to the other.

The air, the sound of the soft wind breezing past, refreshed me. For the moment, there weren't others on this stairwell. Looking at the ground below, I saw so many people, though, pushing through windows, sweeping into the house.

Suddenly, a hand was on my ankle, nearly causing me to fall. The one whose leg I'd shot--he'd taken hold of me, was pulling me toward him, and I'd stumbled enough that I'd dropped my gun. The others' bodies hindered the man's ability to pull me toward him, but he was strong, and his other hand held something that looked like a blow dart, or something with some type of needle--and who knew what was in that. Just as he seemed about to use it, I recalled my other gun and whipped it out just in time to shoot the man. He fell back and at the same moment knocked the weapon out of my hand, but his grip on my ankle didn't loosen. I struggled to pull free, bending back fingers that just wouldn't slacken. And then there came the sudden but clear whir of a drone. My stomach dropped as I caught sight of it, up against the gray sky, the same sort of thing that had shot Lucas all that time ago on the beach. What could I do against that? I didn't have any weapon near enough to me.

The thing drew closer and I struggled to get out of the man's death grip, anticipating at any moment the impact of whatever it'd shoot out entering my body, but then from behind, another gun sounded, and the drone fractured and fell downward, where I heard it clatter against the terrace.

Spinning, I saw Lucas behind me.

"Come on. This is insane," he said. "There's no way we're getting out of this if we stay." He reached down and pried the fingers off my ankle, then yanked me up to my feet. He picked up my airgun and shoved it in his own pocket.

I realized what he wanted to do. "No. I'm not leaving Henry." I shoved past him and back into the pink and peach room. As crazy as it was, I didn't care. If it all came down to this, I wanted to be with Henry. I made it halfway across the empty space before Lucas caught up to me, firmly gripped my wrist.

"You have to come with me."

"Lucas, no! I won't leave him!"

"They're as good as dead down there. There's nothing we can do!"

I tried to pull free but he was too strong for me. "Can you really leave her? Can you really do it? I can't live without him! Please let go!"

"I don't care. I won't let you die in here."

I scratched and clawed at his hand, but damn him, he had an iron grip. He dragged me out of the room, off the balcony. I half-fell half-stumbled down the spiral stairs onto the terrace. Then before I knew it, we were running across the lawn, away from the house and toward the trees. I should've just sat down, fallen, forced him to stop, but it was all happening so fast, and I was so surprised that he'd done this to me that I couldn't put together two reasonable thoughts. I'm sure I yelled at him to stop multiple times, whenever I could get in a breath, but we were so fast, running as if our lives depended on it, and even when we hit the trees he kept pushing through. This forested area was different than others we'd been in; it was thicker, with evergreens and undergrowth and deep dips in the landscape. I knew it didn't go on forever, but it felt as if we ran forever before we both tumbled and slid into a ravine and were forced to stop. Lucas released my aching wrist at last, practically shoving me away from him as he did.

First thing I did was fall onto my knees, my body wracked with dry sobs that battled with my ability to catch my breath. I realized tears were streaming down my face. I tried to get up again, tried to get on my feet, but my legs gave way, and I knew I had to focus solely on regaining my equilibrium for a moment.

The contradictory bird-chirping and soft, earthy smell of the dirt beneath me crystallized my senses. Beyond Lucas's heavy breathing, I heard a certain footfall, clutched the earth in my fingers and leapt to my feet to find a dark-clad figure coming through the trees right at us. He was there before either of us could get it together, before Lucas could get out his gun. The man took the butt of his weapon and hit Lucas hard in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Then he kicked him, forcibly, and I knew Lucas wouldn't get up for several moments, if he got up at all.

I had nothing--no weapon, nothing. The figure turned my direction, spun his gun around to aim it at me, and I began to back away, hands up palms-out. But I wouldn't beg this stranger for my life. I wouldn't debase myself that way. If they'd killed Henry, what did it matter? But even as I took calculated steps away from this person, I realized that I didn't feel Henry's absence; in fact, I felt his presence.

The man was practically on top of me and I prepared myself to take the bullet when all of a sudden, some shiny thing glinted off his chest, some moisture wet my face, and he paused mid-step. Then he was collapsing, and I scrambled back as quickly as possible to avoid his body crashing to the ground. In his back, I saw the hilt of a knife, and behind him, I saw Henry.

Overwhelmed, I stumbled toward him, and he toward me, and he took me in his arms and pressed me tight to his body, and where our bare skin managed to meet warmth radiated, electricity crackled. I was crying, and he was just holding me, and we were both so wrapped in each other that we didn't recognize what was happening around us. He raised a hand to my cheek, brushed away the tears and blood there, cupped my face in both his palms and sent me spiraling and then . . .

It was over. As quickly as he'd taken me in his arms, I was out of them, and I was waking as if from a dream, the trees around me coming out of their haze into clarity, the several people there solidifying out of the mist of my mind. And when I was back, fully back, from that moment, devastation consumed me. Henry was on the ground, some person in black standing over him with something that looked a little like a gun and a syringe at the same time--and next to that person several others, and next to them . . . a masked figure. Identical to those who'd been at the beach. Faceless, genderless, robed in darkness, and gripping Amirah's arm as she stood next to it. I searched myself but knew I had nothing, no way to fight them, not even a way to endanger myself, which had worked before--there were so many of them--and Henry on his knees, and Lucas on the ground, and Amirah--even Amirah!--subdued . . .

I stood, chest heaving, fingers grasping at air, rootless, unsure . . . I made to move toward Henry, but the person above him pointed a gun at his head, and I stopped.

What do we do? I thought at Amirah, but she didn't even look up at me; her face was sullen, eyes down.

The masked figure suddenly threw Amirah to the ground, where she bent over and began to plead in a voice that sounded nothing like what I'd heard from her: "Mother, please, mother! I tried to do what you asked. I tried. It was Lucas. He--"

One swift gesture from the figure's hand and Amirah immediately stopped groveling. I was both amazed and dismayed to see her display of submission. If even Amirah resigned, what could I do? And she'd called that person . . . mother . . .

Amirah, please! Help me. Help us! Tell me what to do! I tried again, but there was no reaction whatsoever from her. She was as paralyzed as Henry. And Henry--they'd done something to him, put something in him. He sat slumped over, a zombie.

I had to concede defeat. Holding back frustrated tears, fingers clenching into fists, I spoke at last, as it seemed none of them were inclined. "You--you win. Just--please don't hurt Henry anymore. Just kill us instead." No one moved. Not one of them. My eyes stayed on the masked figure above Amirah, the one she'd called "mother." Being unable to make out any indication of feeling from it was infuriating, disorienting. I threw up my hands. "What do you want? Why are you all just standing there? You can't make me choose this time; you know who I'll always choose. Always. If you take him away from me again, I'll come after you. I'll always come for him. You know I will. So just--you'd better just do what you want to do." By this point, my voice had risen. I was on the verge of hysteria, brought on mostly by the terrible unresponsiveness of all of them. "What do you want from me?"

Always have to be the favorite, don't you?

Amirah finally thought to me. I zipped my eyes to her, but she'd made no indication that anything was going on.

Find us. Go north, she went on. Remember the story.

"Where's Xanadu?" I asked. "Where will you take them?"

But at that moment, as I stepped forward, insisting on answers, someone from the lineup jumped at me, something in his hand, and a sudden sting splintered my chest, spreading its warm fingers throughout my entire body, until my breath stopped, and my limbs went numb, and I dropped to the ground. The sky and the woods spun out of focus, and though I tried to fight the encroaching blackout, my mind couldn't hang on, and I lost myself in sudden sleep.

When my mental faculties returned, I opened my eyes into darkness. Hours had passed, but my memory hadn't been affected. I knew where I was. It was night, and I was on my back, on the ground, in the forested area beyond the mansion. Though I was still too lethargic to get up, I strove to turn and look for those I knew weren't there: Henry and Amirah, the ones who'd taken them. They'd surely been long gone. I stopped fighting myself, stopped trying to move arms and legs that weren't ready to move yet and stared up into the trees, above which I could make out a full moon, shining down from a clear sky. The clouds must've passed. I ran over everything in my mind again. Amirah's resignation had shaken me most of all. That, and the fact that they hadn't taken me, or killed me, or done anything but incapacitate me. Why had they left me and taken Henry again? Killing me would've been kinder than forcing me into these chasing games again.

The ache, the ache of his absence confirmed my certain fear that he was gone from me. I allowed myself to feel my unhappiness. When my ability to move returned, I first rolled over and curled up my body into a ball, but I didn't cry. I had no more tears left in me. I wasn't going to cry for them anymore, ever again. What good did it do, except release frustration? And frustration had been crippling me for too long. Action, anger, hatred were what was needed.

Pushing up onto my hands and knees, I crawled, tried to get to my feet but was overwhelmed by a sudden nausea and was forced down for several more moments. But slowly, resolutely, I regained my stability, my stomach, and was able to rise. Standing enabled me to see past the undergrowth, and I was startled to find Lucas, sitting back-against-a-tree, knees up, forearms resting on them, hands hanging limp.

"You yourself, again?" he spoke, his voice abrasive against the warm satin darkness.

I was so surprised to find him there that I hardly knew what to say. "H-how long have you been there?" My own words came out choppy, as if my throat, my mouth, my tongue had been asleep, too.

"Hour or so, since I came to."

He tossed his head back, and when his black hair fell away from his face, I saw it white under the moonlight, except for a massive dark bruise coloring his entire right cheek and under his eye.

"Did you know I was there?"

He nodded. "There's nothing to do with a sleeper but wait for it to wear off."

Annoyance flared in me momentarily, that he left me to think I was all alone there, but then I felt a sudden appreciation. Would I have wanted someone else sitting there, watching me in my paralysis, hovering over me while I attempted to regain my faculties? Lucas had saved me from that humiliation. I walked to him, sat down next to him. "It's--was it what they shot you with, when I thought you died?"

"No. That was an immobilizer."

I sniffed, wiped dirt off my face. "What's the difference?"

"Immobilizer doesn't put you out, just stops you from moving."

"Were you aware, then . . . the whole time?"

He gave a slow, tired nod.

My mind raced back to those moments on the beach, how I'd pushed his body off my lap, searched him, and then . . . then how I'd kissed his cheek. Embarrassment filled me, but I pushed it back. "Are you ok?"

"I will be."

I sighed. "I guess it's just me and you again."

"Are you going to threaten to kill me this time?"

I laughed bitterly. "Are you going to give me a reason to?"

The two of us sat in quiet for a few moments, both of us lost in our own miserable thoughts. I hurt, and I was tired. So tired. Tired of chasing, tired of running, tired of the constant confusion. Tired of being without the only thing I cared about. And I was furious with myself, as well, for losing Henry again before I'd really had the chance to rectify things. It was so obvious, now, that my obstinacy had cost me precious time I might have had with him. I might never get him back. "We have to find them," I said at last. It wasn't so much of a command as a statement.

"I know you want to," he replied.

"They want us to find them, those people. They would've killed us or taken us if they'd wanted to, but they didn't. For some reason, they want it to be me and you, Lucas--me and you who find them. It's like they took Henry and Amirah as hostages, knowing we'd have to come. Why? Why us?" I bit at my knuckles, gazed blindly into the dark trees. "None of it makes any sense. We were going to go up there anyway, weren't we? It's like they just wanted to force our hand."

"Amirah angered them. What she did at that place--it made too much of a scene."

I couldn't disagree with that. "What will we do, though? I have no idea where we are. We don't have a car. Nothing. Amirah had your bag--you don't have the hoverboards, do you?"

"No," he replied, but there was an unanswered question rather than resignation in his tone. "But I've found something."