There are hordes of people at Klyde Warren Park, drawn by live classical music and tons of street vendors selling everything from hipster t-shirts to hot dogs. A lady pushing a stroller cuts in front of us under an archway and hurries off with her bald husband trailing after her. They aren't the only ones rushing past us. Everyone is moving with purpose and excitement, and I feel completely overwhelmed by the thought that there's an enemy amidst us who is planning to turn this joyous day to one of tragedy and loss.

We meander through the crowds, scanning our surroundings for anything out of place. Marcus is so close behind me that I feel his body warmth, and his hand makes an appearance on my shoulder occasionally, when the writhing mass of bodies grows too thick and we're swallowed by the noise and jostling. His closeness is reassuring, even though I think this protectiveness of his is more out of habit than deliberate concern.

What am I supposed to be looking for, Hermes? I ask silently as my eyes scan the lawns. I spot Pablo happily scarfing down hot dogs near a street cart and Janie basking in attention from three guys dressed in jerseys, while Willow fiddles with her phone, hunching her shoulders and acting secretive and suspicious of anyone who gets within two feet of her.

Anxiety rises in my gullet like heartburn.

"You're doing it again," Marcus says.

I raise my eyes to meet his, which are squinting against the warming midday sun. In this light, they have brown flecks that make them even more captivating.

"Doing what?" I ask.

"Second-guessing yourself."

I almost smile self-deprecatingly. It's always been a source of discussion between us. My wishy-washiness. The fact that I can't formulate a plan and carry it out like some unshakable military general. Or like Marcus. I've seen him bulldoze through situations when everyone else thought he was wrong. And sometimes he was, but you'd never know it with the way he'd act. That kind of confidence and resolve—I envy it. I want it. Sam spent so many years shaking the ground beneath my feet that I don't think I'll ever gain firm footing.

"I prefer to think of it as being thorough," I answer.

"You still think too damn much." He lifts his eyes for a moment to take in the scene around us. "It's a nice day and we're standing in the middle of a park with all kinds of things to do. The music could use some improvement, but how about enjoying yourself instead of worrying about why we're here? We had some good times when you did that, if I recall."

He says the last part softly, but the words are heavy with meaning. With everything that's happened between us, his gaze feels like a soft caress across my skin. Intimate and knowing, and my body warms with the memory of his touch. How did I spend the last few days completely oblivious to this potent atmosphere between us?

"When did you fall for Saige?" I ask.

Marcus's eyebrows shoot up at the abrupt change in subject. "What?"

"She said you two are in love." My stomach is hollow, and it takes a lot for me to continue. "I guess it happened while I was too busy chasing after . . . well, whatever."

He stares at me without answering for a long and painful moment. "You think I fell for her?"

"It's not crazy to think you could love someone after a month together, right?" I swallow and lower my voice. "You told me you loved me two weeks after we left the facility."

It took me almost three more weeks after that, but like with everything else, I did a lot of overthinking about it. I've never loved anyone, romantically or otherwise, and I wanted to be sure it wasn't just because Marcus was the first guy I'd ever dated—so to speak.

Naturally, he didn't take it well the first time he said those three words and I blurted out, "Thank you." And he wasn't the most patient guy during the weeks that followed, while I made up my mind about what I wanted, as he put it. It wasn't until he was fighting for his life after a gunshot to the stomach while retrieving a flipper in Boise that it sank in how devastated I'd be without him.

"Yeah, right." He brushes a palm over his thigh, sweeping invisible lint from the rough faded denim of his jeans. It gives him a chance to avert his gaze and focus on something else. "Saige wanted you to think it was serious. So did I because . . . I wanted you to feel the way I've been feeling since you left me. Like I'm not worth your time. Like everything we've done and said to each other didn't matter in the end."

"It did," I breathe.

"And yet you still broke up with me."

"I know that. I remember. But the truth is it's a mistake I'll regret for the rest of my life," I answer with heartbreaking honesty.

I keep my expression open as he scrutinizes me, looking for something to hold against me, something that reaffirms how much he should distrust me. I hate that he feels this way, but I know better than to think everything will magically be okay. People like Marcus don't trust easily. And earning back their trust—well, that's asking for the same miracle twice.

I scan the crowds out of habit as I think of more to say. My gaze freezes on a figure deeper in the meadow of trees, about two hundred feet from where we stand. The figure is no more than a silhouette. With all of the thick clouds in the sky and the shade of the trees, there isn't much sunlight today, but it doesn't explain the human shadow. This is an entirely abnormal sighting, maybe the clue we've been waiting for.

I clutch Marcus's arm and squeeze tightly, my fingers digging into his flesh. "Ow! Jesus, you need to trim those nails," he grouses as he jerks his arm away and rubs at the spot.

"It's here," I expel sharply, my eyes fixed on the shadow.

My heart's beating faster. I'm certain it's looking at me now. Watching and waiting.

For what?

Marcus sounds like he's on high alert when he says, "Who? What?"

"There. Do you see that shadow?"

There's a pause as he searches the spot I'm pointing at. The figure is partly obscured by foliage, but it's hard to miss. For me at least, since he finally says, "I don't see anything. You talking about the same shadow you followed down into the cave?"

"I don't know if it's the same one, but it's definitely the same kind."

Willow notices us whispering, our expressions clearly concerned, and she nudges Janie before coming over to us. Janie gives the boys chatting her up a cute wave and a seductive smile before joining her. "What is it?" Willow asks.

"Shadow. To the left of that big tree." I keep it short and terse, remembering the order she gave me to follow the last shadow I ran into. Then again, the fact that I don't have an overpowering urge to go after this one means she hasn't been messing with my mind again.

Willow blows a strand of curly blond hair from her face. "It's not me," she says emphatically as though she realizes the direction of my thoughts.

"Who were you texting just now?" I ask.

She looks like I've struck her. Her hurt expression hardens into anger, and she thrusts her phone out to me. "Jones. He's still acting like the sky is falling, and I've been trying to calm him down. See the damned texts for yourself."

I don't look down at the phone, feeling ashamed for putting her on the spot like that. It's one thing to know that she's on my side, but it's a whole different thing to deal with her constant secrecy. It'd make anyone paranoid.

"What's with you two?" Marcus asks.

"It's nothing," I answer. I'd hate for us to devolve into more blame and distrust. "I'm sorry," I tell her.

She nods curtly, still evidently pissed.

"As much as I love team drama, we're going to have to deal with bigger problems first. Like maybe the freaking shadow April keeps talking about?" Janie shivers, looking oddly like a vulnerable kid. It's a huge contrast to the confident young woman from a few minutes ago. "You think maybe that's the Ancient we're looking for?"

"No," I say automatically.

Marcus lifts his eyebrows skeptically. "No?"

"It's not an Ancient. I'm sure of it."

I know this, but I can't begin to describe how or why. The shadow just doesn't feel hostile. It's less of the manifestation of an enemy and more of . . . a message for me.

As though it hears my thoughts, the shadow turns around and disappears into the trees.

I step toward it, only to be stopped by Marcus's sudden grip on my arm. "What are you doing?"

"I think I'm supposed to follow it."

"After what happened?" Pablo asks. "Man, you just love to play around with your life, don't you?"

Marcus's expression makes me tense for a long battle, but neither of us get a chance to argue our case. A sudden commotion makes us all turn back to the path. A trio of young men are crowding around someone, and judging by the angry voices and the hostile way one of them steps up to get in the target's face, it's clear where this is going.

"Oh shit, it's Jones," Pablo exclaims.

Jones tries to shove past the group and is immediately pushed back. With a threatening growl, Marcus stalks toward them. "Get away from him if you know what's good for you."

The leader of the pack turns around to face Marcus. He's a big bald guy, nearly a head taller than Marcus and twice as muscular. He has a large orange stain on his white shirt and a dripping plastic cup in his hand. "You friends with this asshole?"

Without answering, Marcus steps around him and throws an arm around Jones' shoulders to pull him away. He walks away without looking back, like he's confident the bald guy won't come after him. Which he doesn't. With a disgusted sound, the stranger wipes his wet hand on the napkin one of his buddies hands him and together they move along.

I turn back to find the shadow, but I can't see it. Relax. If it's meant for me, it'll wait. It has to or we might've just missed our big break.

"What the hell are you doing, Jones?" Marcus barks when they join us. "You want to die today? That guy could have easily crushed your stupid head with his fist."

Jones' frantic eyes barely register the threat. His clammy skin is soaked with sweat and he can barely keep his hands still.

"Something is wrong," he moans.

"What's wrong."

"I don't feel good."

Willow places her hands on his shoulders to steady him. "Jones, stop. You're sick. You need to go back—"

He drops to the ground and starts seizing.

People notice and rush over to assist. He's flipping, I think, my heart racing faster. We stare at him helplessly until someone in the audience claims to be a nurse and adjusts him so he doesn't hurt himself. It doesn't last more than twenty seconds. His eyes snap open, unfocused and wide with bone-chilling terror. Then his mouth opens, too.

"DANGER!" he shrieks. "DANGER! DANGER!"

"What the fuck?" Pablo yells.

The nurse tells us to back up and starts to add more, but I don't hear the rest. The beautiful music and the sounds in the background are ripped from the air by sudden noise. Shrill, so loud it wedges its way into my earlobe and ravages it mercilessly. Noise so familiar that I've heard it in a nightmare or two since we left the facility.

The noise treatment from the white room.

Everything starts to go dark. I reach out to find an anchor, but my friends are writhing on the ground in agony and I'm all alone in this burgeoning dark. The noise stops as suddenly as it began, but the darkness continues to devour me like a starving beast.

The last thing I see before it takes me is the mass of people around us, no longer laughing or chatting, but eerily still and silent like standing corpses. But with those milky-white eyes of theirs, all of them turned in our direction, it's clear that they're not dead.

They're Blanks.



(A/N: Almost at the end! I'd say about another five chapters to go. But there will be a third book and I've been thinking more and more about how it's going to go, so the journey might not be over yet. :)

For those of you still here, thank you so much for the support.)