(Sorry for the delay! It's been one of those weeks where I'm either too busy or too exhausted to write. It might have affected the quality of my work. Next chapter will be a treat to make up for it! I'll do my best to have it by 6pm EST on Sunday).



Hermes: Tell your friends not to go sightseeing around town again.

April: Are you spying on us?

Hermes: You are a group of human teenagers. It doesn't take a genius to know that sooner or later you'll grow bored of one another.

April: Why are we here anyway?

Hermes: You'll find out in due time.

April: Okay, then tell me something else. Where are our friends?

April: How do I find someone who knows how to reverse the Blank condition?

April: Where is the Shroud hiding out?

Hermes: You always expect easy answers, don't you? Take this as a much-needed lesson in patience.

April: You can't just expect us to trust you.

April: We both know you're not even human.

April: Give me something here.

April: Hello???



April: Why are you lying about being the security guard from the facility?

Hermes: What makes you think I'm not?

April: Based on the way Doctor Hansel described you, I think I would've noticed if I'd met an alien.

Hermes: How astute of you.

April: So? Why?

Hermes: He was your stepfather's ally. It was the quickest way to get you to trust me.

April: So why send me to Hansel? You must have known he'd tell me the truth.

Hermes: Your quest is one of truth, April Parker. I can't plan your course for you. Only help guide you along it.

April: What does that even mean?

April: You really suck at the whole guiding thing.



April: How well did you know Sam?

Hermes: Well enough.

April: You must hate him.

Hermes: Why is that?

April: I'm betting he was your jailer. He probably tortured you like he did the rest of us.

Hermes: You're building common ground between us on nothing more than your imagination. Are you sure it'll be enough to support us both?

April: Or maybe you did like him. Why else would you be helping us now?

Hermes: The line isn't drawn right down the middle. It's crooked in some areas.

April: That makes you a traitor to your own kind.

Hermes: Sometimes, it's possible to be both loyal and disloyal.

April: I don't believe that.

Hermes: Then perhaps your line could use more flexibility.



April: How old are you?

April: Sensitive topic?

April: Point taken.



My conversations with Hermes get me nowhere. He's always evasive, either responding with ambiguous remarks or he'll just turn the question around and make it about me. And when he's not being evasive, he's simply ignoring me.

Two and a half weeks pass. The others are restless to do something. Find the others, keep looking for more skippers. Pablo even throws around the idea that we should make our location public so the Shroud and Gardiner will both come for us and then take each other out. Thankfully, his suicidal idea gets shot down by Marcus and the others.

I might've enjoyed the reprieve from the insane world I stumbled into if it weren't for the nightmares. All night every night: sweaty and heart-pounding nightmares, the kind that make me startle awake and then find it impossible to go back to sleep. And when I sleep during the day, the nightmares still find me.

"You won't remember on your own," Willow tells me one day when I mention her hypnosis is failing. "Not everything. But some memories are too powerful to contain. Your brain will find a way to let them out somehow. In this case, subconsciously."

We're walking together through the wooded area around the cabin, heading back from sightseeing at the river. Or at least, that's what we told everyone we'd be doing when we left the cabin, but the truth is that Willow is the cause of my memory deficiency and I've been trying, futilely, to get her to reverse the hypnosis.

She hasn't budged on the issue, but strangely enough, talking to her about this has brought us closer together. Janie is a great friend as far as I can tell, someone who's quick to make me laugh and unbelievably loyal, but she's not into the deeper stuff. Her idea of therapy is snapping at people and losing herself in the simpler pleasures: shopping, drinking, and boys.

Willow and I are the same in some ways. We take in information and reflect on it until it's as worn as old leather, and then we file it away for later use. Just in case. We also keep our thoughts close to our chest. That's how I know there are things she's keeping from me. Her motives, her beliefs and feelings. Maybe even her alliances.

"It hasn't all been bad," I tell her, digging my bare hands in my armpits for warmth. It's gotten chillier the past few days: it snowed for most of Sunday and early Monday morning. The snow crunches beneath our boots now, wet and hard and slippery. "Some of these memories I've been dreaming about . . . they're about Marcus and me."

I hope my cheeks aren't as red as they feel. Somedays, the bad dreams slip away and I'm engulfed by warmth. The details of my time with Marcus are fuzzy, just snippets of shared touches, meaningful looks, and honest words, but the emotions they evoke are not. Love and joy, two concepts I've glimpsed from a distance my whole life, experienced them in measured, tantalizing bites that've always left me hungry for more.

For a brief period of time, they overwhelmed me. Overwhelmed all of the pain and stress. I was happy. So why would I throw that away?

Willow's gaze is focused intently on the steep hill we're climbing. Now that we've had more downtime, she's taken the time to straighten her blond hair and it's almost to her waist now. I like the frizzy look better. Makes her feel more familiar. "Marcus told me you remember why you two broke up," she finally says.

"I didn't know you guys had become best friends again."

She sticks her hands deeper into her brown bomber jacket and hunches her shoulders. "We've gotten closer. We talked about Eli and everything. Made peace with our past." She laughs. "Or tried to, at least."

"Did he tell you about the things I said to him?" The thought makes me more than a little upset. I didn't peg Marcus for the type to go around complaining about me.

Willow looks at me then, her hazel eyes somber. "April, he didn't have to tell me anything. All those things you said—you did it in front of everyone. It was like you wanted to do as much damage as possible. Like you were making sure there was no coming back from that."

My chest is heavy. "Why?"

She opens her mouth and then shakes her head. "Like I said, if you pull on one string, the whole thing might come apart. Some strings aren't as important as others, but this one is. I might as well just tell you everything else."

"So do it." I breathe a frustrated sigh. "I already know so much. About Hermes, my relationship with Marcus, Davey, even the times when I blanked and—and killed people. These things haven't made me so stressed out that I've started blanking again. Maybe I'm better now. I need to use this chance to find a cure or stop the Shroud or something."

"What you've been through is much worse than you think. Trust me, April. It'll destroy you if you're not ready for it."

Her quiet tone makes me feel colder than the weather. I shiver and huddle into myself. "But you'll tell me when I am ready, right?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

Willow sighs. "I didn't block your memories to punish you. I did it to help you. So of course I'd tell you when you need them again."

"Okay. I'll take your word for it."

She bites her lip. "Marcus doesn't love Saige."

The abrupt change in topic throws me for a loop. "How do you know that?"

"Isn't it obvious? He's not losing his mind trying to find her. He barely mentions her at all. And besides, as bad as what you said was, you can still come back from that. The damage is reversible." Her mood grows darker. "It's not like anyone died."

I wish I were that optimistic. Marcus is a passionate person, someone who feels wholeheartedly. Anger, loyalty, affection, love, hate. He's not someone who can easily switch between these deep-seated sentiments.

But he's also not someone who's incapable of change.

"You haven't forgiven Alec, have you?" I say, knowing this is more about them than us.

Willow steps over a large rock, using the trunk of a tree to support herself. Her leather boots are just as worn as mine. Janie's boots look like they're straight out of the box, which they probably are, with the way that girl spends money on clothes. Clothes she never takes with her anyway, since we don't have space for it.

"Growing up, Alec was the only one Sam never touched," she says. "We were all put through hell, but Alec was Blaine's son and therefore off-limits to Sam and his team of sadistic doctors. He had everything he wanted. Toys, candy, unlimited TV time, you name it. And then he got his ability, and it made things worse. Here's this kid who's never known a day of suffering in his life, and now he has the ability to make people feel better about their shitty lives.

"I lived with Alec in that place for years, but I didn't get to know him until Sam ordered me to get close to him. I thought he'd be full of himself. Not like Marcus—he's tough because life has made him that way. But I thought Alec would think he was better than us. I expected him to pity us. Instead I got to know this smart, thoughtful guy who would give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it."

"That sounds like him," I murmur. Or it used to.

One corner of her mouth crooks into a smile. "I didn't buy it at first. I'd push his buttons to get a reaction. I'd ask for really ridiculous favors just to prove he was faking being so kindhearted, but he never complained. He saw the best in me, too. He encouraged me to stand up for myself. To be my own person. Knowing someone so genuine and warm in a place like that . . . he was the best thing that'd ever happened to me."

"Until he killed Sam."

She shakes her head. "No. As much as I'd like to blame Alec or Sam, I'm responsible for how things turned out. Sam gave me an order once. He told me to give Eli the metamorphosis inhibitor serum no matter what it took." Willow lets out a short laugh. "And I rose to the occasion as always. Sleeping with Eli gave me a way out of my relationship with Alec."

"Why?" I ask, stunned.

"I was lying to him constantly, using him to spy for Sam. Manipulating him like Sam did to me." She kicks a pinecone into a thick shrub. "I knew it wasn't right, but I couldn't come clean to him about that. Because of Sam, and because. . ."

"You didn't want to lose him," I guess.

"Yeah. So I sabotaged my relationship with him. To save him from Sam. And me. So much for that. You know what's really messed up? I've had eight months to think about Sam's death, and I was wrong about why Alec killed Sam. Sam was a horrible human being. He never lifted a finger to hurt us, but he manipulated us and brainwashed us and made other people hurt us. I told myself that Alec did what all of us wanted: he got payback. He was strong enough to break free of Sam and do what we've always fantasized about deep inside us."

I nod. In some sick way, it makes sense. There were times I wished Sam wouldn't return home, that he'd die in a car accident or fall asleep and never wake up. I'd be free of him. Free to breathe and make choices and live my life without feeling like I'm trapped under his shadow.

"I know better now," Willow continues. "Alec didn't kill Sam because he's strong. He did what it took to get back in his father's good graces. I guess, in the end, he learned how to be ruthless from his father and how to be deceptive from Sam."

"You really think so?" I ask, shocked.

"He's still with Gardiner. That should tell you everything."

I don't bother protesting, because she's right. Alec has been after us out here in the real world. He could've run away, betrayed his father, and even reached out to us for refuge. Based on this conversation, I'm guessing he never did. He didn't need to.

He chose his father the moment he killed Sam.

The cabin looms up ahead at the end of the trail. I stop Willow with an arm on her shoulder. "I don't think anything's black and white. The only person who can answer for his actions is Alec. And maybe someday soon, we'll get the chance to ask him."

"Does it matter? Have you forgiven him?"

I fumble for an answer, trying to sound flippant when my stomach is knotted with old pain. "Sam was my stepfather, but he wasn't the easiest person to live with. Did he deserve to die? I don't think anyone does. But he hurt a lot of people, and it was bound to catch up to him sooner or later. I'm just sorry it had to get to that point."

Willow's eyes rove over my face like she's searching for something. She gives me a small smile. "I've missed seeing you like this."

"Like what?"

"So composed and . . . together. Like nothing could faze you. It's reassuring."

Oh, great. The more I learn about my dark period, the more I think I was simply stark raving mad.

"So what have you been doing?" I ask, curious all of a sudden. "I can't imagine this has been your life for the past eight months."

She leans against a tree trunk. "For a while there, I tried to find a substitute for Sam."

"What kind of a substitute?"

"My biological father."

My eyebrows shoot up. Our birth mothers are dead, but what about our fathers? Could they still be alive? I can't believe it took me this long to think of this.

"And?"

"He's dead."

"How do you know that?"

"Sam sent me messages, too," Willow says. "I guess he knew that I'd be . . . lost without his guidance. It was a dead end anyway. Gardiner had hunted him down and killed him years ago."

"I—I'm sorry."

My hopeful expression must tell her what I'm thinking, because she shakes her head. "I couldn't find information about the rest of our fathers. Sam didn't give me clues about anyone else. But it's not a big leap of imagination to think they're dead, too."

"No, it's not," I murmur. "I just wish—"

The sound of a gunshot jolts through me. Willow and I look at each other, wild-eyed, before we both bolt in the direction of the cabin. Screams and a succession of gunshots follow, and one of the windows to the right side of the porch blows out.

I whip out the handgun that Marcus has been training me to use, taking the safety off as Willow shoves the door open. It takes a moment to adjust to the dimmer interior lighting. I train my gun on the two guys wrestling by a broken chair at the breakfast table. My heart's in my throat. They're both our guys. Am I supposed to shoot someone?

I jump when Willow's gun goes off. The kid on top falls forward and doesn't get back up. Jones shoves his attacker off and scrambles into a corner, gasping loudly and shaking in abject terror.

Willow stumbles outside. I stand rooted where I am, my hands trembling. "What happened?"

There are three bodies on the floor, not including the attacker.Not Marcus or Janie. It wouldn't be them, of course: they left with Pablo hours ago for supplies. Not that this is any better. In the last couple of weeks, I've gotten to know some of these kids better. I've shared meals and sleeping quarters with them, trained with them, went on patrol with them. And now they're dead, and I want to weep from the injustice of it, that they made it so far only to be killed when they finally felt safe.

We've lost so many people in such a short period of time. It's like for every step we take, we lose ten times as much ground.

Jones points a finger at the attacker and rubs his throat with his other hand. "He blanked. He—he told us he flipped like everyone else, but he must have been lying. Jesus Christ, he would've killed me!"

"Why did he lie to us?"

"How the hell would I know?" he shouts at me.

I turn and head back outside, finding Willow in a corner next to a folding chair. Her back is against the wall, knees pressed into her chest. She's smothering her sobs into her folded arms, but she can't do anything about her shoulders. They quake with the force of her sorrow.

"Willow—"

She shrugs off my hand. "P-please. Not right now. Just leave me alone."

I sink into the chair beside her, staring out at the red-pink glow in the horizon as the sun goes down, ignoring Jones' rage as he takes his anger out on the dead Blank's body. Thud. Thud. He kicks him over and over, unleashing his fear into fury and finding some modicum of power in a situation that's spiraling beyond our control.

I sit there with the heavy knowledge that that could've been me. It was me not too long ago. And if I don't do something about it, it won't be long before someone puts a bullet in my brain.