"Stop!" I yell.

Marcus catches himself at the last second. He lowers his arm, but not before shoving Alec to the floor. "Don't touch her."

"What is your problem, man?" Alec says, jumping to his feet.

Marcus steps up to him. He's only about an inch taller than Alec, but between the two, even without supernatural strength factored in, it's clear who'd win in a fight. "Don't pretend you don't know what this is about."

Dread hollows out the pit of my stomach. "Why did you call him a cheating bastard?"

"Camille. I saw this asshole with her. They were all over each other."

Alec bursts out laughing. "You're crazy, dude. Camille never came onto me, and I've never gone anywhere near her, not the way he's trying to make it sound."

He looks frustrated and honest, but so does Marcus. One of them is lying, but who?

Alec has nothing to hide. If he did hook up with Camille, all he has to do is say so. It's not like he and I were involved with each other when it happened. He didn't cheat in any way.

On the other hand, I can't imagine Marcus lying either. He's temperamental and aggressive—but that's just it. He's aggressive. If he's angry at someone, he's more likely to punch them than pull a scheme like this.

"Marcus?" I say. "What's going on?"

He turns his gaze to me. It's still hard and angry, but something is different. His eyes are unfocused as they hold mine. He blinks and the haze clears. All that's left is stark confusion.

"Marcus?" I repeat, softer this time.

He shakes his head. "Forget it."

Without meeting either of our gazes, he marches out of the room.

"That guy is a lunatic," Alec says after a long pause.

I get up from the sofa, my head spinning. "I'm going to go talk to him."

"Come on," he groans. "Don't encourage his behavior."

"It's not like him. I need to understand where this is coming from."

"You mean you want to make sure what he said is true or not." His voice has hardened. "Because you don't believe me when I say it's all lies."

"You're oversimplifying things again, Alec," I say as I leave the lounge room.

I reach the guys' bedroom and pause at the doorway. Marcus is on the edge of his bed, head bowed. His elbows are propped on his knees and his hands hang between his legs. He's staring at the floor, but the moment I take a step into the room, he speaks.

"Didn't you hear me telling you to forget it?"

"Forget what?" I demand, sitting across from him on Alec's tidy bed. "You nearly killed Alec and all because you think he cheated on me. Why would you say something like that? I'd think it's because you can't bear to see two people happy but with the way you're acting now, I know it's not that simple."

"Are you happy with him?" he asks, lifting his gaze.

I blink. "That's not the point. What's going on, Marcus?"

"I made a mistake. I thought I saw something, but I guess I didn't. It wasn't real."

"You hallucinated?"

His jaw twitches.

"Okay," I say slowly. "What exactly did you see?"

"That's just it." He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I didn't see anything."

"What do you think you saw?"

"Maybe Alec is right. I'm going crazy." He glances at my frustrated expression. "In my hallucination or whatever you call it, they were getting it on in one of the bedrooms. Five minutes ago when I walked in on you two, it felt so real I wouldn't have believed otherwise, but now . . . now I feel like I've woken up from a dream and I know it was all in my head."

"Okay." How does one make a mistake like that? Confuse reality with something his mind has obviously created? Maybe the seizure really did affect him in other ways.

"Like I said, forget it ever happened," he says, looking uncomfortable. He rubs his upper arm, drawing my gaze to the blood on his sleeve. I'd forgotten all about the injury he sustained when Harper attacked him.

"Did you get that bandaged?" I say, gesturing to the arm.

"It'll heal."

"If it doesn't get infected first."

I walk over to the metal dresser against one wall and pull open the top drawer. It's an invasion of privacy, what I'm doing, but the need to stay on the move compels me.

Holding a brand-new first aid kit, I approach him and gesture for him to give me his arm. He lets out a weary sigh and rolls up his sleeve, exposing an angry red gash that's stopped bleeding. Out in the real world, he'd need to get stitches for a wound this deep.

Careful not to show how queasy I am, I work on sterilizing it. He sucks in a breath but doesn't voice any complaints. The whole macho thing, I guess. Or maybe he and I are a lot more alike than I thought. Maybe he's used to hiding his vulnerabilities, too.

"I don't think many people understand how much it changes you."

I keep my mouth shut and focus on cleaning the wound, worried he won't continue if I say something. He does so hesitantly. "Rudolph—Steve was this living, breathing guy and in the blink of an eye, it was over. Sure, he was a dick, but I didn't want his blood on my hands.

"You were right. Any time I get angry at someone from now, there's a chance I'll kill them." He clenches his fists on his thighs. "This super-strength is useless. I can't use it for the things I need to do, like break us out or remove this stupid bracelet, but it's there when I could do without it."

"Maybe you can learn to control it," I say. "You can learn to make it work without becoming angry, and shove it down when you are angry. You just need more practice with it."

"I guess."

What has come over him? I've never seen him so agreeable, so easy to talk to. It makes me want to reach through his tough layers, right down to the protected center. It makes me want to know him more than I've ever wanted to know anyone else.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask, reaching for a bandage. "What's your life like? Outside this place?"

Silence fills the air, creating an ever-widening chasm that takes us farther away from the place we were just moments ago. Then, "I live in a group home."

"I thought you were adopted."

I can't see his face, but the change in his tone is unmistakable. "Nope."

I smooth the adhesive ends of the bandage over his bicep. The skin is warm against my fingers, pulled taut over his muscles. There's strength and power beneath his flesh, but his voice is devoid of all of that.

"And the man who raised you?" I ask. "The one who taught you the power behind names?"

"Raymond. I stayed with him when I was a kid. He was an asshole who got paychecks to take care of a couple of little pricks. That's what he called me and Frankie."

He and Sam should both try out for the Father of the Year award. "Who's Frankie?"

"You're too curious for your own good, you know that?"

I guess this amicable period between us is over. Disappointed, I cross the room and slip the first aid kit back into the drawer, on top of bunched up sweatpants that I assume belong to Marcus. "Sorry."

He leans back on his arms, his hands splayed across his rumpled covers. "I'll tell you more on one condition."

"What?"

"You answer a few questions, too." He scrutinizes me with his dark eyes. "I'm not blind. I've seen the way you dodge questions. The way you keep your guard up even with the hillbilly. You're not the only one who's curious."

"Then I guess we'll both stay that way." I don't have to pretend with him. Not like I do with Alec or Carson or Willow, who expect me to behave like a functioning human being able to communicate about feelings and other touchy subjects.

With Marcus, it's different. He's as inept as I am when it comes to this, and it makes it easier to let him see my flaws.

As I walk out of the room, he calls out, "Night, Rose."

I don't answer. Janie is standing at the doorway to my bedroom. She has on this little smile, and I know she heard everything.

"You know, when we first got here, I looked at each and every person in this place. Just to see what they were made of, where they were going. There's all types. The freaks and the frauds. The loved and the castaways. The lambs and the psychopaths. You know what they all are in the end?"

"What?" I ask warily.

"Noise. Boring, unremarkable noise. But you're trying to be more than that, aren't you? Little Miss Wonderful. Clawing her way out of being ordinary. You've almost got everyone wrapped around your finger."

"Jealous?" I snap without thinking.

She steps in closer. "But you're in way over your head. You know that, don't you?"

Her amber, cat-like eyes glow brighter as she peers deeply into mine. I can't look away. My thoughts are drifting like clouds, leaving me to languish in her captivating gaze. Nothing else exists at that moment but her. Nothing else matters. If she wanted to, she could stab me in the heart and all I'd feel is this consuming need to stay lost in this moment forever.

Janie blinks once, slowly, and the trance shatters. She smiles wider. "I guess you're just like everyone else in the end."

"What did you do to me?" I demand, but she's already disappeared into my bedroom.

My mind still feels languid, and it's taking me time to kick-start it back to life. Janie did this. I remember Willow talked to her after the second noise treatment. She said she has a mesmerism ability. That's what it feels like she did to me: she transfixed me, stripped everything from my head and lulled me into a Janie-encompassed trance.

I walk away, intending to return to the lounge room. At the last moment, I veer into Carson's room. Dim light from the lounge room shows his figure on the bed. He's on his back, his face turned away. His snores are louder in here, drowning out the outside world. They're oddly comforting, for now at least. I don't know how I'll feel about that in about ten minutes.

I slip off my sneakers and crawl into the bed that used to belong to Baxter. Alec might be waiting for me in the lounge room, but I can't bring myself to go there. I can't deal with him any more than I can face Janie right now. I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes, ignoring the sharp pang in my chest. The brave girl Alec kissed earlier is gone. All that's left is the coward I've always been.



I sneak into my bedroom early the next morning. The hallway light is on, illuminating my way as I creep up to the dresser. I didn't get much rest last night because of Carson's snoring. It's not because he was unbearable. Any level of noise is enough to wake me up these days, and I spent most of the night falling in and out of sleep.

I pull open my drawer, pausing a moment when it makes a loud metallic creak. I have fresh new laundry again, and the scent of lavender fills my nose. Instead of grabbing what I need, I shift everything out of the way to search for the case.

I can't find it.

Frowning, I take the clothes out one by one and feel around for it. It's not where I left it. It's not anywhere inside the drawer. Did someone take it?

The bed behind me—my bed—squeaks as Janie turns over. She makes a soft sound and resumes her deep breathing. My hands tighten around the sharp edges of the drawer. She must have done it. It can't be a coincidence that the day she shows up here, I lose something. She's more malicious than Camille, judging by her words and her mesmerism trick last night; I should have known she'd pull a stunt like this.

I sigh and slide the drawer closed. What now? Should I wake her up and confront her? She might deny it. Or she might admit the truth and dare me to do something about it because she knows I can't. I'm powerless to stop her in all ways possible.

I gather my things and head to the bathroom. The warmth of a refreshing shower doesn't ease the tightness in my chest. I step into the quiet of the lounge room when I'm done, standing in the path of golden light spilling out of the bathroom. I'm not sure what to do next. Going back to sleep at this point is out of the question. I dump my belongings onto the sofa and sit next to them, running both hands through my damp hair in frustration.

I don't know how much I time I spend sitting there in the darkness. Footsteps heading toward the lounge room pull me out of my head. Marcus appears with a towel draped over his bare shoulder, a toothbrush and toothpaste in one hand and shampoo in the other. He glances at me and jumps. "Shit. What the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing," I whisper.

"Anyone ever tell you only vampires and psychopaths hang out in the dark? You done with the bathroom or what?"

"Yeah."

I expect him to leave, but he doesn't. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," I say again, more tersely this time.

He shakes his head and disappears into the bathroom. I hear the shower running. Fifteen minutes later, the door opens. "Hey, Rose. Get in here. I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

He pokes his head out and gives me an impatient look. "You'll have to see it for yourself. Come on."

I wrestle with my curiosity for a moment before giving in to it. Marcus is positioned in front of the mirror, frowning at his reflection. He's still shirtless. Beads of water cling to his skin, trickling down over his well-defined stomach. He turns to me and gestures to his bare chest. "See anything different?"

"What're you doing?" I ask, flustered. Does he have to drape the towel so low across his middle?

Marcus grins. "Is something bothering you, Rose?"

"No!" I say more emphatically than I intended.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn't call you here to check me out." He tilts his head back and points at the snake tattoo running from his collarbone to his upper torso. "Notice anything different?"

"No."

"You're not even looking," he growls.

Sighing, I focus in on it. The ouroboros symbol is the same size and design, but something is different. "It looks . . . faded." More dark-gray than black now.

"Exactly. Tattoo ink sure as hell doesn't just fade in a few days."

"Are you sure it's an actual tattoo?"

"You think I did this with a black marker?" He gives an angry shake of his head. "I got it in Philly after Frankie died a year ago—"

He stops abruptly and turns back to the mirror. I don't know which shocks me more, that he's from Pennsylvania, too, or that the boy he shared a home with is dead.

The Philly thing can wait. So can Frankie, as much as my brain itches to know more. The tattoo is a more urgent problem. I have a feeling the Takers' fingerprints are all over this one. "Last night, you had a memory of Alec and Camille . . . together," I say. "Now you're saying you got this tattoo a year ago, but it seems like your memory is off."

"Nothing's wrong with my head." He bends over the sink and rests his palms on the edges, staring at his tattoo in the reflection. "I know what happened—why I got this tattoo."

"Then tell me. I can't help you figure it out if I don't know the details."

He scowls at me through the mirror. I remember what he said last night. That he'd talk if I was willing to do the same. It's for a good cause, I tell myself, even as my stomach cramps.

"I tried to kill myself once."

The admission is like exhaling a breath of air in winter: it escapes my lips as a cloud of frozen air. It permeates the space of the bathroom and spreads to every corner, every crack and crevice in the cold stone. Even after the words are gone, they linger everywhere.

Marcus turns to face me. "What did you say?"

"It was a year ago," I ramble on. "Sam, my stepdad—he's always been hard on me. He likes to monitor and control every single moment of my life. It's not like I've ever been rebellious, but he treats me like I'm a dangerous convict that needs to be isolated from the world. He doesn't let me leave the house a lot, and when he does, he calls me constantly to check up on me. He's punished me over the stupidest things, like being ten minutes late coming home after school or not answering my phone the second he calls."

I pause, my throat aching with words eager to come out at once. "A couple of years ago, he was supposed to be gone for the weekend, so I went out for a jog. He called me right on schedule as always. I told him I was at home, but it turns out that's where he was.

"I knew from his tone I was in serious trouble. Which was stupid. I hadn't gone more than five miles away. I couldn't get past how unfair it was, so I hung up on him. He found me half an hour later, walking along a bridge over Susquehanna River."

I remember everything like it's happening again. The cold spring downpour, the way the bridge shuddered every time a car rushed by me, the ball of despair burning a hole through my gut. The helplessness that took over me when Sam pulled up and ordered me to get inside the car.

I lean against the tiled wall behind me, folding my arms tightly over my chest. "I told him to leave me alone. I threatened to jump if he didn't. I thought maybe that would scare him or make him feel something, but he just looked at me with his cold eyes and said, 'You don't have the guts to jump.'

"He was wrong. I—I don't know what happened, but something changed inside me right then. I couldn't think straight. One second I was yelling at him, the next I'd climbed over the rail and jumped into the river in the middle of the night. I didn't want to die, but there was no way I was going home with him. Anything else seemed like a better option. Even killing myself."

"How are you still alive?" Marcus asks.

"Someone jumped in after me. I thought it was Sam at first, but later when I woke up in the hospital, they told me it was some random guy coming down the bridge from the opposite direction. A stranger saved my life while my stepfather stood by."

Silence rattles around inside my head, made worse by the way Marcus is scrutinizing me. It's too much to bear. I want to inhale my words so they're no more than ashes sitting at the bottom of my lungs, but I can't unsay what's been said.

"Oh, God." I cover my face with one hand. "I've never shared any of this before. I don't know why I told you of all people."

Marcus takes my wrist and tugs my hand away. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll treat everything I just told you like it's pathetic. An unforgivable sign of weakness. I guess my new nickname will be Jumper now."

I brace myself for the inevitable derisive laughter or one of his careless smirks and instead get anger. He leans toward me, his jaw tense. "I might enjoy pushing your buttons, but to make fun of you for almost dying? For putting up with abuse? Give me some credit."

His face is about half a foot away from mine, so close it fills my vision. I should be discomforted, but his impassioned words have a strangely calming effect. Still, I can't get over how ashamed I feel.

"I can't give you credit," I reply, trying to regroup, "until you give me something to base it on. Tell me about the tattoo and Frankie. A deal's a deal."

Pause. A corner of his mouth lifts. "I didn't know you were so single-minded."

"I'm not," I admit. "I don't want to talk about what happened that night or any time before or after it. It brings up too many bad memories."

"About Sam, huh?" Marcus straightens up, putting much needed space between us. I use the opportunity to draw in a deep breath.

"Sam," he repeats. "I feel like I've heard the name before."

"I'd be surprised if you never have."

"Funny. I think I met someone named Sam. Maybe recently." He closes his eyes, frowning harder. They open, unfocused like he's somewhere far away. "Tall guy in his forties, decently built. Slick black hair like he's in a fifties movie and the scariest blue eyes."

My mouth falls open. "That's him. That's Sam. H-how do you know Sam?"

"I saw him in a dream."