(Thanks for sticking around this far! And thank you for the votes and the wonderful feedback. I've updated the changes for WTW and they should reflect whatever is happening in LAD. I'd highly encourage going back to chapter 28 and reading from there to get an idea of these changes. Some of them are pretty drastic (e.g. what Willow and Sam did to Alec, and what Alec does at the end).

I'll be updating the sequel every Sunday. Until next week!)



My breath creates a white cloud with each ragged exhale. The industrial neighborhood is as quiet as a graveyard as we walk through its dark streets. Somewhere in the back of my hectic mind, I consider this. This place looks creepy and inhospitable, and I wonder what we're doing inside it. How bad of a turn did our lives take that we have to tiptoe through a decrepit neighborhood in the middle of the night?

At some point, I hear a yowling cry, followed by a crash, and jump nearly a foot in the air. "W-what was that?"

"Druggies and indigents," Willow whispers. "We've run into a few of them here since we got here. Don't worry about them. They're the least of our problems."

How reassuring. "How long ago did we come here?" And why the hell are we here?

Willow tilts her head in consideration. "Four—no, five days. We had to leave our last hideout."

"Because of the . . . Shroud?"

"Yes."

"Did that man at the diner have to die?" I ask, gripped by sadness over his untimely demise. The poor guy probably had a loving family expecting him to return home after his shift. A widow who will never know why her beloved had to die. Kids who will grow to old age and always look back on a life empty of their father.

"The Blank condition is irreversible," Willow says. "We've learned that the hard way many times over the last eight months. If we left him alone, he would have gone on a killing spree. Countless people would've died before someone put him down."

"Was it reversible in my case?" I'm afraid to know.

She trades a glance with Janie. "To some degree."

Not a promising response. There's an uncharacteristic coolness to her voice, like she's being civil with me but there's no feeling behind it. Eight months later, it seems we still haven't put aside our differences about Sam.

I shake my head. The movement pulls at my sore neck and reminds me of the bruises I have. "I was locked inside a room. Do you know anything about that?"

"Sorry, love," Janie chimes in behind me. "We had to."

I don't think I'll ever get used to Janie's friendliness. "Why?'

"You weren't yourself," Adam says with a concerned look aimed my way.

At least one person is in my camp—and doesn't make my body prickle with suspicion.

I wiggle my foot to dislodge a pebble in my boot. My shoes look like they've seen better days. Well, they've probably seen more than I could ever hope to remember right now. It's a weird thing to fixate on at a moment like this, but I can't help it. I must have picked these boots out myself. Placed my feet in them, traveled for miles in them, but they're completely foreign to me. They hold no meaning, and it leaves me surprisingly empty and disconnected.

I mull over Adam's words for only a moment before I figure it out. My most recent memories involve Blanks. Specifically, me. Despite his best—and painful—efforts, Sam failed to save me from this strange condition. All he could do was slow it down.

Anything could have happened in eight months.

Not least of which is that Marcus and I are mortal enemies now.

"Okay," I begin, sticking my frozen hands under my armpits. Too bad I didn't think about finding a jacket before I went running from a dark and sinister building. "So, it's obvious that you locked me up because I blanked. What's up with the riddles?"

"Adam came up with them," Janie supplies, winking at him. In the soft moonlight, his face doesn't redden but I'm almost certain he's blushing. "He has a poetic side that's just dying to come out."

"Shut up, Jane."

She snickers to herself before continuing, "The riddles were necessary. Willow wiped your memories of the last eight months, but we had to lock you up because we had no way of knowing if you'd wake up normal or if you'd stay a Blank."

"It wasn't easy," Adam grumbles, rubbing his side.

If I was anything like those Blanks back at the facility, I'd imagine not. And it would explain my bruises.

"What made it difficult was stopping you from killing us without killing you," Willow continues. "It's like trying to tape an alligator's mouth shut without getting your hand bitten off."

That sounds like something Carson would say. My stomach pangs at the memory of my friend. Carson, the southern boy with the heart of gold and a deep need to prove his independence. The Blank I left behind at the Gardiner base. Eight long months ago.

"We finally managed to knock you out and that's when I compelled you," Willow says. "We had to keep you locked up to make sure it worked, but at the same time, we didn't want you to be trapped in your jail cell forever in case something happened to the rest of us."

"So you gave me clues to help me find my way out," I conclude.

We reach the ramshackle building, where Marcus is propping the massive double doors open for us. He's holding a chain and padlock, which he uses to secure the door handles once we're inside. Still without a word, he slides off his backpack and takes out a flashlight, using it to light his way down the dirty corridor.

"Blanks aren't known for being bright," Janie is saying as I stare after him. "Their skills seem to be dependent on memory. If a person knows how to drive a car before they blank, for instance, they retain that skill. Same thing goes for shooting a gun. But Blanks don't seem to know how to problem solve in new environments or pick up new skills. Hence the riddles."

"Whoever figured that out is a genius," I say appreciatively.

Janie cocks an eyebrow. "Are we absolutely certain that April here doesn't remember a thing? Because I'm pretty sure she just patted herself on the back."

Before I can let that sink in, we hear a squeal down the corridor ahead of us. I tighten up as a brightly-clothed figure streaks toward Marcus and leaps at him. He staggers back a step at the force, but instead of fighting off the girl wrapped around him like a python, he laughs and supports her weight by placing his hands on her rear.

It gets worse. The breath is knocked out of me when they share a full-blown, rigorous kiss right there in front of us, complete with tongue and an exaggerated moan from the girl. It's only when she pulls back to smile seductively at him that I sort of recognize her. A busty blonde with chin-length hair and pouty lips. I'd spotted her in Marcus's company a handful of times when we were at the facility. I didn't realize they were so . . . close.

"What took you so long?" the girl says as she slides to the floor, still pressing her body up against him like she can't stand on her own. "You've been gone for hours."

"April, you probably don't remember the succubus—I mean, Saige," Janie says in a voice filled with loathing. "And for once, I envy your memory loss."

Willow brushes past me and marches toward the pair. As she does so, more kids walk around the bend and join us. There's Pablo, one of Marcus's buddies from the facility. His long dark hair is braided into corn rows, and he's sporting his characteristic I'm-such-hot-stuff swagger. Lisa is among them, the petite blue-eyed girl with the invisibility ability. Her meekness tells me she hasn't changed drastically in the last eight months, unlike practically everyone else. I also recognize her caramel-skinned friend, Rachelle. Good to know they've made it.

There are about five others I don't know very well. Including myself, that makes thirteen of us. Thirteen out of dozens of teenagers. I'm afraid to ask what happened to everyone else.

"Why didn't you lock up the building?" Willow demands from the group, her voice authoritative instead of characteristically soft and understanding. "April wound up on the other side of town because of your negligence. She would be dead by now if we hadn't been in the area and heard the gunshot."

"I'm glad you're okay, April," Lisa says meekly, her blue eyes soft.

Rachelle gives me a nod. "Yeah, welcome back."

"Hey, don't blame us." Pablo makes a gun sign with his hand and cocks his finger at Saige. "It was her job to lock up after you left."

"Says who?"

"I do," Marcus answers, his hand on Saige's waist in a markedly possessive gesture. "You guys have been refusing to give Saige a chance to prove herself. I wanted her to feel like she's contributing to the group."

I wish Lisa's and Rachelle's camaraderie was enough to put me at ease, but I'm struggling to keep the flood of pain at bay. I don't know what hurts more, Marcus's cold shoulder or seeing him with some other girl in his arms. I thought what we had was special, but was I simply naïve? Or was I arrogant enough to think I could keep someone like Marcus, who has girls like Janie and Saige lingering in the sidelines of our relationship?

Janie's peal of laughter distracts me from my spiral of self-deprecation. "And how did that work out for you, Marcus? You gave your flavor-of-the-month a chance to prove she's more than deadweight and it nearly cost someone's life. Your ex-girlfriend's life, for that matter."

Saige extricates herself from his embrace and crosses her arms, glaring at Janie. "First of all, I'm not his flavor-of-the-month. We're in love. Secondly, it was an accident."

"No, it was damn convenient."

Marcus rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on."

"Are you accusing me of something?" Saige says, her voice quivering with anger. Her eyes have narrowed to slits. With her alabaster skin bathed in the glow of the flashlights around us, she looks like a pissed off ethereal creature.

She's dead wrong if she thinks she can intimidate Janie that easily. "Why, yes," Janie answers in a lazy tone. "I am. April's cell is closest to the exit. We all know that she would've taken the stairs down and gone straight through those doors. You've had it in for her for months now. What better way to get rid of her than to set her up?"

"Unbelievable," Saige says quietly. "I've had it in for her? What about you? You're a bully. All you do is pick on me because I'm not part of your special gang. And I'm not the only one who's worried about April, if you recall. We all are. She's a Blank, for God's sake."

"So you admit you wanted her dead."

For a moment, I think Saige is going to hit the roof, or grab Janie by the neck and toss her out of the window. Instead, her face crumbles. Gone is the image of the avenging goddess and in her place, a delicate and vulnerable girl. "How can you stand there and accuse me of these horrible things?" she demands, tears streaking down her beautifully delicate face. "I'm not a murderer. And I know I'm not strong or brave like you guys, but I'm trying so hard."

A chorus of protests breaks out in the group as people rush to comfort her. With a wail that seems to be wrenched from her gut, the girl wraps her arms around Marcus's waist and sobs into his chest. He folds his strong arms around her and gives Janie a steely look over her head.

"You need to stop, Janie," he says calmly. "We're all in this together. We need one another if we expect to make it another day, let alone another week."

"Yeah? You should be giving that pep talk to April, not me."

For the first time since the diner, he looks at me. It's like grabbing onto livewire, the electric feeling that runs through me when our eyes meet and hold. The juxtaposition of old and new makes my head spin. His hair is an inch longer. There's a small scar on his right cheekbone that wasn't there before. He seems to have lost some weight, his muscle mass leaner than it used to be. But the breadth of those wide shoulders evokes memories of what it felt like to rest my hand on them. And his smoldering dark-eyed gaze reminds me of his intelligence, usually masked by cockiness and bravado, but so salient during the quiet moments between us.

I'm sorely mistaken for thinking he'll respond to Janie's remark about me. He breaks eye contact with me, moving on like I'm not significant enough to hold his interest. "We have six hours until sunrise, and then we start moving. Adam, get the food."

As Adam reaches into his overstuffed backpack, the kids flock around him. "Tell me you got Chipotle," a burly blond-haired boy in a letterman jacket says. I remember him as Jones, the guy who had to carry Willow out of the base after our truck was compromised. "I've been having the craziest craving for a burrito with steak and extra guacamole."

"Sorry, majority rule wins," Willow answers as Adam pulls out a bunch of individually wrapped burgers, which he distributes to the group.

We start moving down the corridor until we arrive at a huge factory room with a high-beam ceiling and rusty machinery strewn everywhere. One corner of the room seems to have been carved out for us. It's decked out with a long table and chairs, soft-glowing candles, and makeshift sleeping bags. As we make our way toward it, Marcus and a still-sobbing Saige break off from the group and disappear into another room.

It doesn't bother me. It does not bother me.

Pablo looks around once we've settled into the chairs and says, "Who is this 'majority' I keep hearing about? I don't remember voting."

Janie bites into a French fry and smiles coyly at him. "That would be me and Willow. Our powers, our rules."

I accept the burger Adam offers to me and work on unwrapping it silently. That explains how we're able to afford food. Willow's hypnosis, while powerful enough to make anyone believe anything she wants, doesn't work on an active mind. And Janie's ability is like that of a siren, making someone feel so relaxed and encompassed by her presence that they'll forget everything else in the world. I can just picture the scene: Janie gets in front of the cashier at the burger place first and lulls him into a tranquil state. Then Willow takes over and convinces him to give them more than a dozen free burgers and fries.

"Then why are we staying here?" I ask. Ethical dilemmas aside, I'm sure they could've gotten us a dozen nice suites at the Ritz-Carlton.

Pablo breaks out laughing. I stare at him. "What?"

"It's just so funny to hear you say that when you're the reason we're stuck in this shithole."

"Excuse me?"

"What Pablo is trying to say," Willow begins with a warning look his way, "is that you suggested we try to avoid human-congested areas as much as we can. Malls, hospitals, airports, parks, hotels. Less risk of casualties, both ours and innocent people."

It does sound like something I'd suggest. It makes a hell of a lot more sense than exposing ourselves and others to danger. "I take it everyone isn't on board with that plan."

"There is such a thing as private resorts and lodges," Pablo drawls. "But you two are such pussies. You'd rather we live like that meth-head we ran into yesterday."

Janie throws her crumpled wrapper at him. It hits him in the cheek with a satisfying thwap. "Call me a pussy one more time. I dare you."

"Would bitch work better for you?"

Adam gets up and stops her before she rounds the table on him. Pablo smiles snidely before he stuffs the last of his burger into his mouth and gets up. "Lovely meal as always. I've worked up a different kind of appetite."

He lifts his eyebrow at one of the girls. She smiles and follows him out of the factory room, her giggles bouncing off the walls as they disappear into the corridor.

I realize I haven't taken more than a few bites out of my burger. The earlier hunger has been replaced by a deep heaviness in my gut. I place my elbow on the table and cradle my head. Everything is a mess. Nothing makes sense. And not knowing the past makes it impossible for me to predict what could potentially happen every second, every minute.

"It's confusing, isn't it?" Janie says to me.

I look up at her, unnerved by the warmth I see in her eyes. "Your one-eighty-degree attitude isn't helping with the confusion."

"Trust me, eight months ago, I didn't think we'd ever be friends either. But like I said, a lot has changed."

I know. The only constant tonight is the inconstancy around me. I get up. "I'm tired. Where do I normally sleep? Unless you want me to go back to my jail cell."

"Over there." Adam points to a sleeping bag right next to a stone column.

I thank him and head over to it. There's a backpack sitting on it. I lift it and start to move it to the side, intending to get right to sleep and hope something makes sense in the daylight tomorrow, but I pause. I lost my home when Sam died and my fake mother disappeared. This backpack probably holds everything I have left to my name.

I rifle through it, pulling out various unfamiliar items. Matches, a flint and starter on a keychain, a sturdy flashlight, jeans and a t-shirt, a switchblade, a handgun, bandages, painkillers, several folded up maps, rope, a phone, a water bottle, and about a dozen energy bars.

Seems like I'm prepared for a freaking apocalypse.

I take out the flip phone, surprised to see it among the items. Then I tell myself I shouldn't be surprised: I'm sure I've been separated from the group numerous times in the past. Surely having phones makes it easier for us to communicate and to coordinate.

Somewhere at the table, Janie laughs and cracks a joke at Adam's expense. I power on the phone, my heart racing faster. There's a lock-screen that takes me about four tries before I think to use the first four letters of my last name in numerical form. The contacts list shows a bunch of familiar and unfamiliar nicknames that I assume belong to the group. Buzzcut, Frizz, the Captain—obviously, Marcus—Siren, which has to be Janie.

I'm guessing it was too risky to use our real names in case these phones fell into unwanted hands. I go into the call log, disappointed to see that I haven't received a single phone call from the Captain in over a month. It seems I've tried, without success, to reach him twice this week. That says something about the state of our un-relationship. This ice age between us is Marcus's doing. Janie called me his ex-girlfriend, which means we were together. Did we break up because he cheated on me?

I swallow hard. There's no point in trying to rationalize it, is there? It won't undo what's already been done.

I thumb over to my messages, sitting up straighter when I notice I have five new texts from an unknown number. Each one is more frantic than the last.

4:13pm: Babe where are you? Call me when you get this.

10:05pm: Is something wrong?

3:43am: Now I'm worried.

It's dated yesterday. That must have been when I blanked and Willow had to block my memories. The other two texts are from today. There's nothing to suggest who they're from.

6:52pm: She got to you, didn't she?

And then an hour ago: I know you don't know who I am anymore. And I don't expect you to trust me. But you can't trust her.

An icy feeling slides into my chest. I look over at the table, where Janie is still cracking jokes and Adam is shaking his head like he doesn't want to hear any of it. Willow isn't paying attention to either of them. She's staring straight at me.

When our eyes meet, she looks away and calmly picks at her fries.