"You can't be serious," Logan mutters into his cup.

We're sitting opposite each other across the coffee table. I just got home after wandering the streets all night, and I know I must look like a madwoman with mascara smudged around my eyes and my white dress twisted and wrinkled from the weight of my coat. To make matters worse, I've got the nervous nibbles and have distractedly polished off two chocolate glazed donuts before even touching the coffee.

Now I reach across the table and squeeze Logan's hand. He looks up, and his eyes are deep pools of worry.

"I have to do this," I say. "I really don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice, Cass." He sighs heavily and shakes his head. "Look, this whole thing is your world – not mine. But I trust you when you say a certain assignment is dangerous, and as someone who loves you, it's damn hard to watch you run into it blindly."

I leave my cold coffee behind and pace the room. Logan and I have been friends since the first day of high school, and pretty much ever since, I've shared this part of my life with him. Fast forward a few years and friendship turned into something more. Now here we are on what should be a romantic Saturday morning of breakfast in bed or a walk in the cold winter sunshine. Instead, we're in turmoil. Again. So I spill the whole story. I tell him how my powers have been waning for the past few weeks, how dreams have been haunting me. And all this before the contest.

I sink down next to him on the couch, and he squeezes my knee.

"Cass, what's this business about a contest?"

I take a deep breath and try to organize my thoughts. "Details are scarce, but I know this much: We work in teams of good against evil. The memory stealers will be looking to extract memories from important, powerful people around here – like the mayor or researchers at the university. Then they'll transfer those memories to people who shouldn't have them. We have to stop that from happening. And only we can do it because when you can powerfully copy and transmit a memory, you can also stop someone else from doing it."

"Um, Cass, this whole thing sounds insane. I mean, if these stealers win, the whole city could fall apart."

"Exactly."

"Shouldn't we be calling the police or doing something concrete?"

"And tell them what?" A smile of amusement lights my face for a fleeting second.

Silence.

"Look," I say, "when you have these sorts of powers you can't operate along with ordinary rules and laws. It's impossible."

"OK, fine. So what happens next?"

"Well, in normal circumstances, I wouldn't be too worried. I'm confident and know what I'm doing. But lately..."

"And that's why you're going to take this big risk."

Even though I keep saying to myself – and said to Logan – "I have to do this," I haven't made my decision. The idea of failing to transmit the soulmate memory properly and losing my powers – this whole part of myself – is terrifying.

As if reading my mind, Logan glances at me out of the corner of his eyes. "If you lose your powers, the other memory catchers will just have to ramp up their skills and do this contest thing without you, Cass. And beyond that, what's so bad about giving up this side job of selling memories and instead living an ordinary life?"

At those words, a shiver shoots up and down my spine. I see her suddenly, the one who lost it all, and then she disappears.

"Cass, are you OK?" Logan pulls me closer. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just meant there's so much more to you than this whole memory chaser thing."
I attempt a smile, but it's probably more of a grimace. Good thing I can't see my own face at the moment.

"It's all right." I let myself settle into his arms and try to push away the memory I wish some other memory chaser – or even a memory stealer -- would take from me. But it stays there, heavy and deeply attached to my mind like a poisonous veil.