When I cracked my eyes open the next morning, I sat up with a sharp gasp. I didn't remember where I was or what had happened to me. My head spun and throbbed when I tried to get out of bed, so I slowly sank back against the pillows. Panic jolted through me a heartbeat before images flashed through my aching head, almost too quickly for me to comprehend.

Mom. Dad. Shouts. Fighting. Unknown Paradise. Will. Mrs. Callahan. Liv.

A rumpled blanket on a chair beside the bed was the only sign that Will had been there while I'd slept. The bedroom door was cracked, but I didn't try to get up again. My phone was on the bedside table, and I took a steadying breath before picking it up.

I had multiple unread texts from Mom, Dad, and Skye, but made no move to open them. I looked at the time moments before a gentle knock sounded on the door. "Lia? It's me. Are you awake?"

Will's voice was low and concerned. School started in twenty minutes! Before I could talk myself out of it—my exhausted body and muddled mind already protesting at the thought of moving—I rose from the bed. "Come in," I replied, squeezing my eyes shut as a wave of dizziness washed over me.

When he poked his head in, I saw he was already dressed and ready for school. "Hey. How are you feeling?" He asked as he came in. His eyes flicked over my face; he took my hand as he saw me begin to sway.

"Better. Just give me a minute to eat, and then we can go." I tried to sound more positive than I felt. My body felt simultaneously hollow and heavy—as though I weighed nothing, yet had a dozen bricks on top of me. He shook his head before gently tugging me back down onto the bed. He intertwined our fingers and took a deep breath.

I saw the words in his eyes before he even opened his mouth. "You're not going to school today. Mom already called and told them you weren't feeling well. You suffered a tremendous shock, Lia—whether you realize it or not, your mind and body both need time to heal. Try to eat and drink something, rest, and we'll see how you feel in the morning before making a further decision. I'll come straight home after school; Liv and Mom will be home shortly thereafter."

He kissed my head before getting up and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. "I'll check on you between classes and let Skye know you're not feeling well. I love you."

I waited until he'd left before grabbing my phone again. I read Skye's texts first; the concern and confusion bled through each message until it was as if she were in the room talking to me. Where r u? Ur almost never late. Everything okay?

I allowed myself a single, steadying breath before opening both Mom and Dad's unread texts. I read the former's first, choking back any emotion that threatened as I absorbed the words. I felt the shame and regret emanating from each word until I could almost hear her forcing out each syllable. Malia? Sweetheart, I know you must be angry and hurting, but please come home. We can sit down—just the three of us—and talk this out.

My hands shook as I opened Dad's message, struggling to see past the angry tears that formed in my eyes. Malia, I'm so sorry. We both are. We honestly didn't mean for you to find out this way. I know you're probably at either Will's or Skye's house, but please call and let us know you're okay.

A message from Skye came through a heartbeat later. I could all but hear the frown in her words. I just ran into Will in the hall, and he told me ur staying at his place for a while. Did something happen with u and ur parents? Are u okay?

A follow-up message immediately succeeded the first; in my mind, I saw the worry on her face as she'd written each word. Ur clearly not at school. I have a free period after class, so can I call u then? I get the feeling this isn't a conversation for texting.

Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I bit my lip, sniffling. Through blurry vision, I texted Skye back, numb and hollow all over again. Yeah.

It was only when I looked up from my phone that I saw Unknown Paradise sitting on the nightstand. I hadn't noticed it when I'd picked up my phone. As I pulled it into my lap, I heard the same faint laughter from before and froze.

A chill ran through me as I remembered Dad's harsh, angry words from his and Mom's argument. "'I told you to get rid of it months ago! It's already caused enough trouble for me. I don't want Malia dragged into it!'" My heart lurched as I sucked in a sharp breath, nearly dropping it.

I held my breath, tentatively snapping my fingers. The sound hadn't even finished echoing before I was sucked out of Will's guest room and into a swirling void.

When it vanished—leaving me trembling, unsteady, and confused—I had a heartbeat for my dazed brain to register I was standing on cobblestones before my legs gave out. My eyelids fluttered closed as I fell, a loud crack echoing in my brain as my head collided with the ground.

A pained cry broke from my lips, the shrill sound sending a bolt of pain through my already-aching head. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took slow, deep breaths. Rolling both my arms and neck and moving my legs confirmed that nothing was broken. When I tried to stand, however, my head spun so violently that a wave of nausea crashed over me. I sank back down to the ground, vaguely registering men and women moving around me, but I didn't try to move again. 

When I heard the smooth, deep voice from above me, I risked tilting my head back to see who had spoken. "Tu vas bien?" A man around my and Will's age (possibly a year older) peered down at me. I knew and could speak some (read: barely passable) French, but I was so disoriented I couldn't think straight. Forcing my aching brain to sort through the meager French dictionary in my head, I eventually realized he was asking if I was okay.

He offered me a hand, and I gripped it tightly as I slowly rose from the ground. At my confused look, he blushed slightly and began to speak in heavily accented broken English. "Sorry. English not my first language. My name Dimitri Moreau. Comment t'appelles tu?"

The moment he slipped back into French, his body language relaxed. What is your name? was the question.

I forced a weak smile onto my face as I struggled to formulate a response. "My name is Malia. I'm okay, I think." It was his turn to look confused, so I repeated my answer in broken French. "Je m'appelle Malia. Je vais bien, je pense."

No sooner had the last word left my mouth than I sagged in Dimitri's arms, my knees buckling underneath me. His grip tightened as my head fell back against his chest. The pain in my head flashed hard and hot as I struggled to weather the waves of nausea crashing over me.

Taking slow, deep breaths, I held completely still as I felt his strong, warm hand gently tip my head forward to examine the back. I bit back a pained cry as his fingers grazed the raised bump from the fall. When he spoke again, his voice was low and urgent. "I think you have concussion. Please allow me to help."

I had no strength left with which to refuse or accept his request; nodding or responding was impossible. My stomach felt like a ship being battered by rogue waves, and I was grateful I hadn't eaten anything other than the single piece of toast back at Will's.

Will! My eyes popped open as I lurched forward as if to start walking. "I... I have to..." The rest of my sentence trailed off as my eyes slowly drooped closed and I again sagged in his arms. He carefully slung my arm over his shoulder, effortlessly taking my weight.

I stumbled along beside him, his long strides quickly eating up my sluggish steps; if not for my arm around his shoulder, I would have fallen back onto the ground. I couldn't hold back my whimpers as every jarring step made knife-sharp pain flash through my head. He suddenly stopped and pushed a door open, giving me barely a second to register my surroundings. A warm voice began rapidly speaking in French, much too fast for my aching and addled brain to comprehend.

Dimitri's voice never lost its softness as he spoke, though I detected an undercurrent of confusion that hadn't been present when we'd talked. I squeezed my eyes shut as their voices floated through my head. I sagged onto a couch, clenching my teeth as I struggled to hold back the nausea roiling through me. My hand shook as I lifted it; the motion was clumsy and unwieldy, but I managed a weak, barely audible snap of my fingers.

The swirling void from earlier sucked me back in, doing nothing to lessen the nausea and tension pushing down on my brain. I appeared back in Will's guest room a moment later, lurching forward as I landed on the bed. Unknown Paradise lay beside me, exactly where I'd left it.

I clapped a hand over my mouth a heartbeat before a bitter taste flooded it, and I lost my grip on the nausea I'd been battling since hitting my head. When I stopped heaving, I curled up in a ball on the bed, squeezing my eyes shut again as the sunlight filtering through the window stabbed sharp, burning fingers into my brain.

My breathing was sluggish yet sharp as I covered my face with my hands. I heard Will's voice, but it was muffled through the door. "Lia? I'm back. How are you feeling?"

I swallowed hard as I gingerly fingered the raised bump on the back of my head with one hand. I attributed the concussion (and the subsequent nausea) to hitting my head on the cobblestones right before Dimitri had shown up. Will opened the door and stuck his head inside, eyes widening in concern when he saw me slumped over, elbows on my knees, hands covering my face.

"Malia? What happened?" Slowly—one finger at a time—I lowered my hands from my face, barely managing to keep my head from drooping. Blurry chocolate-brown hair appeared in my vision. A cool hand touched my cheeks, then my forehead. "You're burning up." As he cupped the back of my head, I couldn't help but flinch away, a choked moan escaping me.

"Does anything else hurt besides your head? Are you dizzy? Nauseous?" His voice never lost its softness—if anything, it grew gentler.

Speaking without opening my eyes or moving required every inch of concentration I had. "Nauseous." Even with my eyes closed, my weary mind conjured up a hazy image of Will crouching down in front of me.

His ice-cold hand touched my cheek again, and I couldn't hold back the moan that escaped my lips. "Okay. Don't move. I'll be right back." His voice floated in and out of my ears.

When I opened my eyes again, Will was back with a cold washcloth. He gently eased me back under the covers, my weary body all but collapsing onto the mattress. "Mom is coming with a bowl in case you get sick again."

No sooner had the last word left his mouth than we heard multiple muffled voices outside the guest room. "Will? Can we come in?" "Malia? Are you okay?"

"Come on in," Will called out, not moving or tearing his eyes from my face. He gently swiped the cold washcloth over my forehead and cheeks.

I heard the door open, footsteps approaching the bed, and concerned noises from both Olivia and Mrs. Callahan. The latter spoke then, her voice soft and worried. "Oh, sweetheart. You're going to be okay." I heard her turn to talk to Will, but couldn't make out the words.

"Dimi... Dimitri..." I murmured, my voice barely audible. I drifted off to sleep with his face in my mind and my hand in Will's as he sat beside the bed.