Most of the kids in the cafeteria are staring at me as I slink back to my table. I keep my head down and sink into the chair opposite Willow's. Her full lips are parted, eyes wide in surprise. I wince. "Was it that bad?"

"It was very brave," she says reassuringly.

I rub my brow. I don't know how to explain my reasoning. That I was trying not to let my emotions dictate my judgment. That one act pales in comparison to being able to eat. They'll think I'm a freak—and they would be right. No one in their right mind would have done what I did.

Carson's eyebrows are pulled low. "You didn't have to go that far."

"Not like I had much of a choice," I say, defensive now. "Marcus is the only one who can stop Rudolph."

"I get that. I just don't want you sticking your neck out for me like that." He's getting more agitated with every word. "It's bad enough that you took this on all by yourself, but don't get yourself hurt because of me. I can take care of myself."

"She was trying to help you," Willow says. "You don't have bite her head off for it."

He sighs and scratches the side of his neck. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just have a thing about letting people think I'm some kind of a charity case."

"I—I didn't—" I can't get the words out. He's right. I did decide on my own that he needed my help. I thought he'd be happy to receive it. Friends have each other's backs, don't they? "I'm sorry, Carson."

"No, you shouldn't be apologizing," he relents. "Thanks for what you did. It took a lot of guts facing Marcus like you did."

I wish I could believe his troubles have been erased, but even though he's smiling at me, I still see the flatness in his eyes.



Around four in the afternoon, a basketball match starts up in the gym and a crowd gathers inside. I start to refuse when Willow asks me to join them, until she whispers in my ear, "Carson could use the distraction."

We sit at the top of the bleachers and watch the game between Marcus and his friends. Rudolph is among them. At one point, Marcus body-checks him while he dribbles the ball. He topples to the floor, cracking the side of his head against the hardwood. Unsurprisingly, the referee doesn't call a foul on Marcus.

I'm not interested in the match, but I have to admit that it does wonders for the morale of the group. These kids might be scared and helpless, but their spirits haven't been crushed. Even in a place like this, people still want to find a reason to laugh and cheer.

Two unfamiliar teenagers join us thirty minute into the game.

"Can we talk to you guys?" the girl asks.

She's a tiny little thing with big brown eyes and curly dark hair that flows down her back. The guy is her opposite in every way: stocky, square-faced, and blond. In size, he's the kind of person Marcus would want at his table, but there's this timidity about him, there in the way his shoulders are bowed forward and the way he scratches his neck nervously.

"Um, sure," Willow says.

"I'm Rae. This is Nate."

He nods his head in greeting, and we take turns introducing ourselves. "One of the girls in our block was taken that first night," she begins. "And some of us have been thinking that . . . maybe the ones that are gone made it back home."

"Rae and a few others are thinking of quitting," Nate says. "They'll let those men take them away instead of going back to their blocks."

Willow's lips are compressed. Everything about her expression tells me she's thinking what I'm thinking. I track Marcus's skilled moves as he dribbles down the half-court and tosses the ball to a teammate. "It's a bad idea. Too risky."

Rae throws up her hands. "That's just it. We don't know if there are any risks involved. No one has gotten hurt yet, right?"

"The bracelets—"

"Hurt like hell, but they haven't caused any long-term damage. Why would the people who brought us here put so much effort into not hurting us if they're just going to kill us for losing their stupid game?"

"They've also put a lot of effort into kidnapping us," I argue. "They're not going to let us walk away. We know too much. The first thing your parents would do when you get home is call the police. That's the sort of publicity I'm betting our kidnapers wouldn't want."

"What does that mean? They're never going to let us go?"

She's on the verge of hysteria. Nate puts his hand on her arm and squeezes. I shrug, unable to think of a way to comfort her.

Rae squares her shoulders, trying to be brave despite the tears in her eyes. "Sounds like we're in trouble whether we stay here or not. I'm taking my chances."

"Rae—" Nate starts.

"I can't stay another day," she says, jumping to her feet. "I just want to go home."

I hear the sob in her voice as she stumbles down the bleachers. Down on the court, a panting Alec watches her race out of the gym and looks up at us quizzically, his skin glistening with sweat.

"I think she's made up her mind," Nate whispers.

I bite the inside of my bottom lip. There's a bad sensation in the pit of my stomach, cold and hollow. "You're not going to do it, are you? You shouldn't."

"Maybe it really is as easy as walking away and we're wasting time doing nothing. I don't know. I have the rest of the day to think about it." He gives us a tight smile and follows Rae.

"They've got a point," Carson says. "If all of us just gave up, would the Takers really murder eighty-plus people?"

"There are millions of teenagers in this country," I counter. "We're nothing special."

"Maybe we are," Willow says.

"And we're back to this," Carson drawls. "Why are we special again?"

Willow shrugs. I spend the rest of the basketball match trying to find the answer.



Rae and her friends stay behind in the cafeteria when we head upstairs that evening. They watch us leave, but they don't follow us. They're planning to endure agonizing electric shocks on the off-chance that they'll get a free ticket out of here. Nate glances back at them, and I can tell by his rigid muscles that he's vacillating. He doesn't join them, which hardens my wavering certainty. The only way to survive this is to toe the line.

We wait upstairs in front of our blocks until six p.m. Our bracelets beep fifteen times and then reward us with painful zaps that rock through our bodies. I try to avoid the awful zap by rushing in as the clock strikes six, but that doesn't work. And crossing the threshold before the hour results in getting hit by an even more overwhelming surge of electricity, so that's not an option.

I'm not sure what the point is. To remind us in a painful way that we're at their mercy? To mess with our heads and keep us in an unending state of apprehension? Either way, I agree with Marcus when he mutters, "Assholes," before he goes into his bedroom.

He swaggers into my bedroom later that evening when I'm alone. Camille is in the lounge room with Alec, and Carson's resting in his room. Marcus is dressed in nothing more than his sweatpants. He's all hard muscles and tanned skin, built solidly without Eli's bulk but not remotely as lean and sinewy as Rudolph. He's somewhere in between, and it makes him more formidable somehow.

And attractive. There's no way he doesn't know the effect he has when he's half-naked. Olive-toned skin stretches across the span of his broad chest and shoulders. A menacing tattoo of a snake slithers over one half of his torso. His stomach is rippled with muscles. And further down, a hint of a V-shape that disappears into his low-hanging sweatpants . . .

I jerk my gaze up to his face. "W-what are you doing here?"

He smiles knowingly and leans against the doorframe. "I'm not here to make a social call, if that's what you're wondering."

"Hardly."

"That's no way to talk to a teammate, Rose. So, where's the box?"

I figured that'd be the reason he would come in here—other than to harass me. Marcus held up his part of the bargain today. When we went to the kitchen hallway for lunch and an early dinner, Rudolph didn't send us back empty-handed. He glared at us and growled under his breath at Carson, but that was as far as he dared push the limits imposed on him.

And now Marcus is here to claim his due and flex his muscles. Because we both know we're not teammates. He doesn't work well with people, and neither do I. This is a relationship of convenience for both us.

I nod toward the dresser. "Top drawer."

He takes out the case and studies it. He shakes it, lifting it to his ear. Then he turns it over in his hand and studies it from every angle. "You tried forcing it open?"

I feel vulnerable staying seated on the edge of my bed, so I get up and cross my arms. "I didn't want to risk damaging whatever's inside it."

Marcus holds the case between both hands and tries to pry it open. "What the hell is this thing made of?" he growls when he gives up.

I look down at my bracelet. It's the same silver metal as the case. If the bracelet functions with an electronic signal, maybe that's what it would take to open the case, too.

"You've got that look in your eyes."

My gaze lifts to his face. "What look?"

"Like your mind's hard at work coming up with something." He smiles slowly. "You had the same look when you decided to kneel earlier. I didn't think you were going to do it."

Unable to hold his intense gaze any longer, I lower mine. It settles on the snake tattooed on his skin. The monstrous serpent coils around his shoulder and one bicep before its head and tail meet over his heart. The fanged mouth is gaping wide open, about to devour its own tail.

"Isn't that the Ouroboros?"

He lifts his hand and runs it over the tattoo. It almost seems self-conscious, like he's trying to hide it. "Is there anything you don't know?"

There's a lot I don't know. Like why he chose this symbol, a representative of the eternal cycle of life and death and the constant renewal of an indestructible universe. It doesn't suit someone with a combustive temperament whose deepest thoughts can't possibly go beyond how best to satisfy his basic needs. Maybe he thinks snake tattoos are cool.

"You're changing the subject." Marcus hands the case back to me, that careless smile grazing his lips again. I don't know how he manages to make a smile appear so lethal. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"About what?"

He steps closer when I don't answer, tilting his head down. I hate that he can make me feel so off-balance without trying. "You've never been kissed," he murmurs.

I flush immediately. "I'm not going to let you torment me over something that's none of your business. I'd like you to leave now. You can do whatever you want with the case."

We stare at each other, caught in a silent struggle of wits. Then his smile widens. He slips the case into my drawer and turns back to me. "You're easy to tease. Makes my time here a little more interesting. And who knows? Maybe someday you'll come to me for something more than saving your friend's ass."

I open my mouth to tell him he shouldn't hold his breath when Alec appears at the doorway. He glances between the two of us. I'm worried he'll start something with Marcus, but all he says is, "There's something you need to see."

His urgent tone grabs my attention. "What is it?" I ask as we follow him down the hallway and toward the lounge room.

"I think we're on TV," Alec answers.