Maya felt out of place. Her whole life, she'd dreamed of living somewhere more interesting than Colorado, or at least in Denver instead of some random town that was mostly acres of blank land with the occasional house in between. But now that she'd gotten what she wanted, to be in a big city with lots of people, having traveled so many miles and having seen so much, she wished she was anywhere else. That dream was for a grown-up version of her who knew what she was doing, not for the one who, with every passing minute, grew doubtful of her mission.

Portland, Oregon.

Maya counted how many hours she had spent on a bus in the past day and a half—the answer was more than she'd ever spent during her entire life. Hilarious. She stepped into a convenience store to get a bottle of water, hyper aware of her surroundings. Everything made her flinch: the little kid who ran past her to show his father what great candy he'd found, the woman who slapped down coins on the counter as she rifled through her purse for a quarter, the man taking things off displays in preparation for closing. Maya didn't know why she was so tense, but there was no one looking out for her but herself, and that in itself was intimidating.

She paid for her water and stood at a crosswalk just outside, tapping her foot on the ground. As expected, the connection had come back, but it wasn't nearly as strong as she hoped. He was in the city. Where he was in the city was a good question. Walking around and hoping she got close enough to pick up a stronger signal—like a freaking metal detector—wasn't a great idea but the only one she had. If he left Portland before she found him, she was calling it quits and going home.

Her chances were slim. It was eleven pm; scouring the city at night was not going to be fun, especially since she had to make sure no police officers noticed her and asked why she was out so late, all alone. And, yeah, she had to not get kidnapped. Or assaulted.

For the hundredth time since she left her home, she thought, This is such a stupid idea.

And yes, it was a stupid idea. Not a single person—not her, not her parents, not Jack, not Anna, not Jemma, not Nick—would ever say it was a good idea if they ever looked back on it.

But not a single person could say it didn't work, though, because Maya suddenly felt a buzz of energy building up in her head, making her squeeze her water bottle to the point of crushing it.

He was standing right there, on the other side of the road, waiting to cross.

Wow, she thought, disappointed in herself. Her connection must be really bad if it took her that long to notice he was across the street from her.

In one hand he had a clean shovel, and in the other was a bag. She could see some rope and something else—is that a spade?—sticking out of it. Maybe he really was a murderer, after all, or an enthusiastic gardener who'd chosen to get tools at eleven pm.

Something in his posture changed, and his fingers tightened around the shovel. Just as Maya was wondering if he could sense her nearby, too, he looked up at her, mouth flattening into a thin, exasperated line.

They stared at each other for a second. Maya's hand rose in a timid, awkward wave.

And he turned and walked the other way.

"Wait!" Maya called out.

She bounced on the balls of her feet on the curb, watching the red hand with desperate, pleading eyes. Come on, come on. He's right there. I can't lose him now.

When the red hand finally turned into a white pedestrian, she ran across the road, holding onto her Mets cap to keep it from flying off her head. Her foot got caught in a small pothole, and she nearly pitched forward onto her face but caught herself just in time for something to flash in her mind and stop her dead in her tracks.

Don't follow me.

It was in her head. He'd spoken in her head.

Maya swallowed. She'd suspected that, whoever he was, he was like her. Different. Special. Now she was sure. He shouldn't have said anything at all—she might've left on her own, but now curiosity was pulling her forward.

She kept going.

______________________

Jack was surprised. That was who'd been following him for so long? A little girl? It was so outrageous that he suspected she was actually a ghost that trailed him from the motel or somewhere before that. He had no reason to stick around and find out, and on the off chance she really was just a girl, being near him was a bad idea, anyway.

So yes, he walked away. He sent her a quick message, don't follow me, and took twists and turns to make sure she wouldn't find him, not unless she had some sensor in her head, and he doubted it was strong.

Maya her name is Maya.

Jack clenched his hands and kept walking.

She came all the way from Colorado. To see me.

(Why would she do that?)

He shut his eyes tight, willing for his Gift to shut the hell up.

She's human. Gifted. Not a ghost.

I don't want to know, he thought. I don't want to know and I don't care so stop.

No more unwanted information jammed itself into his head. Jack felt heat build up behind his eyes, supernova impending. He shoved the tools he'd bought into the trunk of his car, noticing that the parking attendant was standing outside of her booth with a perfect view of the entire lot. A light explosion inside a car would be cause for concern, even if she looked uninterested in what he was doing. Jack made sure the parking slip was on the dashboard before heading off to find some secluded place.

He found a nearby alley quiet enough and wide enough to let a car inside, but it was in the outskirts of the city, and it was eleven pm. No one would be coming. Taking deep breaths, he leaned against one of the wet brick walls, repeating to himself, "You're fine. This is fine. Just get it over with."

He was so busy dealing with the impending screaming and with keeping out information about Maya that, when a thought that wasn't his own or hers slipped into his head—this is too easy said an unfamiliar voice—he hesitated too long.

Jack pushed himself off the wall—mistake—just as headlights from a car he hadn't noticed hiding in the dark flashed on.

The word cult crossed his mind as the car hit him.

Jack fell into the windshield, cracking it, rolled over the top, and landed hard on the ground with a gasp. His vision blurred—from pain or from the supernova still on its way, he wasn't sure.

He lifted his head carefully, small pebbles sticking to the side of his face, and watched as a woman got out of the car with a satisfied smirk. He tried to get up, only to be shot down.

Literally shot down.

With a gun she pulled out of her belt like a cowboy from 60's television.

He made a noise as he went down again, a scream that was cut off as his lungs started filling up with blood. This wasn't how it worked. Injuries and pain harmed the Gift, made it temporarily less delectable, so the Enhanced always took great pains not to hurt their victims too much before devouring them. It was why he'd never seen any of them use guns. She (Rina her name is Rina) didn't seem to care.

"I was supposed to save you for that bitch Anna," she said, watching as he squirmed and struggled for air. "She ditches us, comes back, and calls dibs on you, all because she's a van Danne—even though I'm the one who found you."

Jack had no idea what she was talking about, but a blurry image flashed through his mind. It was the same dark-red-haired woman with a vulture ring, but instead of a plate with cake, she was holding a beautiful, blue-green vase made of glass. He squeezed his eyes shut until it went away.

Scout. Rina's a scout for the cult.

"I don't think it's fair," Rina said with a frown, grabbing his face to force him to look at her. "I found you, I get you. Now that sounds fair."

Jack nearly rolled his eyes. The pain had gotten unbearable enough so that he couldn't even feel it. He was more annoyed than upset—dying he didn't mind, but he'd be damned if he let the cult have the last laugh. They were not getting his Gift.

"It won't be as good," she said with a sigh, gesturing to the wound and the dark puddle growing underneath him, "but with your power, even what's left will be enough."

Jack laughed. It came out more as a wet cough. She actually looked surprised for a second, flinching back. The heat behind his eyes was on the verge of spilling out. Rina had been unlucky enough to find him right before a surge of power, and he was excited to put it to good use for once. That smug smile was going to disappear, and she would understand just why he was difficult to catch.

Rina put one hand on his throat, squeezing, and put the other on his arm. Jack didn't give her a chance to start taking his Gift—he knew about the paralysis thing and, thankfully, had never gotten that far—and just before her eyes went a gentle violet, he shot out a hand and caught her in the throat.

Then came the supernova.

Jack channeled all of it into Rina, burning her inside out. She screeched like a banshee as her eyes, instead of his, spilled with light. When she went limp, just two seconds later, he let go. Her body crashed unceremoniously to the ground, and then nature took its course. The Enhanced didn't leave behind bodies—once they died, they burned until there was nothing left but pitch-black ash. Rina was no exception.

This was going to be a very confusing crime scene. Jack felt bad for the Portland police.

His vision went blurry again. Right—he was still about to die, but the pile of ash made him happy, and he grinned at it. He managed to turn over onto his side before going unconscious.

He didn't notice the girl standing in the entryway of the alley.

_________________

What. The actual. Hell. Just happened.

At first, Maya thought she was dreaming. She pinched herself, rubbed her eyes, slapped her face, but the ground beneath her feet didn't turn into the warm comfort of her bed. That really just happened—a woman hit someone with her car, shot him, and he killed her with...how did he kill her? And then she spontaneously combusted into flame and was, within seconds, reduced to a pile of black ash.

The red puddle underneath him was growing. He would die soon, and Maya realized that if he did, the screaming would never bother her again. That was what she wanted, wasn't it?

She felt guilty for thinking it, even if it was just for one, what-if moment.

Maya walked into the alley. No one said he was the good guy; the lady he killed might've been the good guy, but he was the only way Maya could get some answers. This was about more than the screaming now. She needed to know what they were.

She stepped over the gun lying on the ground. The biggest thing she'd ever healed was a broken bone—he seemed to have those, too, but getting the bullet out safely enough so that he didn't bleed to death was going to be a new experience.

Maya kneeled down. "This might hurt," she said gently.

She moved his hand away from the wound and held her own hand over it. Bullet shards popped out, along with small pieces of broken bone. Once those were all out, she tossed them into the dumpster and healed whatever problem she could find.

The first thing he did when he woke up and saw her was sigh and say, "I told you not to follow me."