(I love and appreciate every single one of you that's still reading this).

Six and a Half Months Ago

We rented a yacht after our second encounter with human Blanks and took it out on Lake Erie. It was Willow's first time compelling someone not just to look the other way, but to actively participate in our mission. Not that it mattered at that moment. We were all beyond caring about the nuances between survival and morality. Finding yourself deep in a shootout with relentless blank-eyed killers would do that to just about anyone.

"I should've known," Marcus said for the fifth time since we left the harbor. His hands gripped the railing so tightly I was worried he'd snap it in half. "We saw what happened when we tracked down Dreamer. His own parents tried to take him out. The only reason they were the only Blanks around is because they lived on a farm with no neighbors for miles. I should've known what would happen in a goddamn city like Detroit."

It was just the two of us at the back of the boat, watching the disturbed water in our wake as every meter took us farther away from Phyllis Birnbaum, the second flipper we'd managed to track down. Unfortunately we weren't able to get to this one in time. We barely made our way inside her apartment to discover her blood-drenched body before a dozen Blanks started coming out of the woodwork. We lost two inactive kids before we reached the harbor and dragged the Lady Maiden and her frazzled captain into our mess.

Marcus's jaw moved hard and fast, and I was sure his brain was working just as furiously to make sense of what happened. His anger was a heavy mist around his body, so opaque and stifling he wouldn't be able to see through it. I knew that from experience. I'd seen him struggle with it numerous times before. We all had our ghosts to work with and this was his. But it was more than that this time. His anger was matched by crushing guilt, and as unrealistic as it was to me, I knew he was blaming himself for how everything went down.

I pulled on his wrist until he let go of the railing, and then threaded my fingers through his. It was late summer, but his hand was cold and clammy. I leaned into him, as much for his comfort as mine. "It's not your fault. You know it wasn't. We didn't know what to expect."

"Pablo warned us the odds didn't look good. Twenty percent, remember?"

"The odds of retrieving Phyllis," I corrected him gently. "He didn't specify why it would be so hard. For all we knew, it meant she'd run away soon as we came near her. Or she'd get hit by a bus. There was no way to predict all those Blanks would be waiting for us."

"No. It's not that simple." He punched the railing with his other hand, and for a moment I held my breath, expecting his power to blast half of the boat into pieces. "I knew something was wrong. I felt it in my gut."

"Well, I didn't feel anything, so that probably means I failed us a lot more than you did. Look, you got eight people out of what was literally a warzone. Because of you, we'll all live to see another day. We should be thanking you."

"I don't want your thanks."

I didn't take offense to his brusque reply. "You might not want it, but I'm giving it to you anyway."

"I don't deserve it."

There it was, the heart of his angst. I knew it ran deeper than just this unfortunate incident. "Why not?"

"I'm . . ." Marcus's low raspy voice trailed off. "You know why."

"Because of what happened at the facility you grew up in?" I guessed. Marcus had shared painful details of the brainwashing that Jonathan Blaine had put him through. To prepare him for a situation exactly like this one, when people like us got into the real world and started blanking everywhere we went. None of us had ever counted of normal humans blanking, too. I didn't even know how that could be possible.

He nodded. "Some of those kids . . . the ones I killed—we were close. We spent almost every moment together in that hole. I took the same lessons they did, sat next to them during lunch. Heard them snoring through the night when we shared rooms. Blaine had them chained to that chair and I . . . shit, I don't know how to explain it. I thought I was doing the right thing. I listened to Blaine call them monsters so many times it blinded me to the fact that I was the only monster in that room."

"They were blanking, weren't they?" God knows we've killed our share, both back at the facility and now in Detroit. They were just innocent people, victim to the Shroud as much as we were, but I knew we had no choice but to stop them dead in their tracks. No choice at all. People just didn't come back from being blanks.

Even people like Carson.

My stomach twisted hard. Carson. The boy I promised I'd save but thought I'd failed. It had been three weeks since he'd found me. The fact that he'd tracked me down was chilling confirmation that I wasn't cured. How else would he know where I was, except through some Blank bond we shared?

It didn't go well when Carson walked into the gas station late that night while I was getting gas and buying snacks for the team. I was alone for what might've been the first time. I guess he'd been watching me before then, waiting for the chance to approach.

He was standing behind me when I closed the freezer's glass door and turned around. We stood frozen there for what felt like five minutes, my wild eyes fixed on his blank ones. It felt like he recognized me. Like he was communicating with me. Until some guy tried to walk between us, deliberately shoving Carson for blocking his path.

That was all it took to awaken the Blank in him. He smashed the guy's face through the glass door before I could grab a bottled soda and struck him over the head with it. I didn't know how I made it to the SUV and took off with him draped across the backseat, but after eight hours of driving and obsessing, followed by several frantic calls between me and Carson's brother, I handed him over to his brother.

All to save someone I didn't know would ever be the same.

"Some of them were still kids," Marcus said, yanking me back to our conversation. "I didn't care enough to bother finding out how far along they were. Hell, I don't even know if they were blanking. I held a gun to a fourteen-year-old kid's head and pulled the trigger without breaking a sweat. How fucked up does that make me?"

I couldn't begin to imagine what that was like. Marcus had been through the kind of trauma that people spent years seeing a therapist for. Of course it would affect him so deeply now. All this combustible anger inside him—maybe a lot of it was directed at himself. He hated the person he'd been, and he couldn't move on and grow from it until he dealt with his past.

"I dream about them sometimes."

He said this so brokenly that my eyes prickled with emotion. I knew about the dreams. I'd been near him enough times to witness those nights when he tossed in bed until he bolted upright with an expression of terror. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pressed my face into his neck, holding him tightly as if I could give him some of my calm.

"You're not a monster. You're one of the best people I know. Did you think that maybe it was all Blaine? You were just kids. Even Eli. He got inside your heads and made you believe whatever he wanted. Anyone in your shoes would've done the same thing."

"You wouldn't have."

I snorted. "You know how much Sam's screwed me over for life. What makes you think Jonathan Blaine would've been any different? If anything, the fact that you're out here trying to save a bunch of kids you don't know means that Blaine didn't touch you as much as you thought he did. You are worth a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Marcus. You're a hero."

He turned toward me and encircled me with his arms. His hands might have been cold, but his hard body was not. His heat enveloped me through my layers and coiled deliciously in my belly. "A hero, huh?"

"Yes. My hero."

Marcus's lips twitched. I was glad he found my comment amusing; it lifted the dark clouds in his eyes. He brushed wayward strands of hair from my face. "So cheesy, Rose."

"You love it."

"Yeah, I do." He pressed his mouth to mine softly and pulled back with a twinkle in his eye. "But let's keep it between us, alright? It ain't good for my reputation if these kids start thinking my girlfriend's got me whipped."

I couldn't contain a laugh as I brought my lips up to his for a lingering kiss. We hadn't been together longer than a week, but sometimes it felt like more than that. It felt like years, and maybe that was also because we'd been through more than most people had to put up with in a lifetime. The other reason it felt so long was because there was something about us, Marcus and me, that felt right. That fit. Like two gears in a clock, working in conjuncture night and day in a way that meant they belonged together.

Which wasn't to say it was always easy. Far from it. Some days I couldn't reason with him, and he couldn't always penetrate my layers so easily. But I wouldn't give up any of it for anything. I wanted both the good and the bad, because it all added up to this proud, strong-minded, infuriating boy I was starting to love more than I knew I would anyone else.

Today had been eye-opening in a tragic way. We weren't safe out here anymore than we had been at the facility. Losing Marcus didn't just mean a potential teenage-angst-filled breakup, as painful as that would be. It also meant the possibility of existing in this world without him.

I couldn't fathom how devastating it would be to live on after his death. A lone gear without purpose or will.



I should be used to waking up in unfamiliar places by now, but there's nothing more frightening than the darkness of insentience, thick and sticky like molasses poured over me. It takes everything in my feeble, aching body to break the surface and open my eyes to bright white light and a loud and angry banging.

The cloudy sky looms above while I lie on the ground and take stock of injuries flaring up across my body. New injuries. My right temple is pounding so hard I can't see straight. I touch it and come away with a significant amount of blood.

Shit. What now?

What happened to me? The last thing I remember is . . . the noise. Then all those people around me turning into Blanks. I must've blanked, too, which would explain why I don't remember coming here. But where exactly is here?

Groaning, I roll over and crawl to my knees, pausing a long moment for my stomach to settle. I'm not on the ground like I thought I was. I'm on a rooftop with a closed door—the source of relentless pounding—surrounded by unmoving bodies.

There are at least five of them and—oh God, Marcus is among them. He's on his stomach, clearly unconscious from the way his arms and legs are splayed out. His beanie is askew on his dark head, which is pressed cheek-down on the concrete rooftop. No sight of blood, but that realization isn't enough to counteract the ice-cold feeling in my veins.

I stagger over to him and push him on his back. Right there on his neck are deep red bruises, the source of whatever is wrong with him. Someone strangled him. Me? Did I kill him? No, he can't be dead. I wouldn't forget something like that. I wouldn't do something like that.

I'm barely aware of tears streaming down my face, fueled by a profound fear of something my body knows instinctively, but that my mind can't piece together.

"Marcus? Wake up!" I press my shaking fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. I don't know if the heartbeat I feel is the frantic one pounding throughout my body. Sobs and heavy pants make it impossible to continue talking to him. How did this happen? Who are these other bodies around us? How did we get on this rooftop?

And who is trying to break down the door?

I inhale a jerky breath when he groans. "Rose," he says, the word pushed torturously out of his raw throat. "Run."

I help him when he begins to sit up, but he shoves me away and croaks in a louder voice, "Run!"

Where the hell am I supposed to go? We're on top of a roof and the only exit is the one where someone—many someone's—is trying to break down the door. I know all too well who's on the other side, and there's no way I'm leaving Marcus at the mercy of Blanks. Not as long as I have my sanity.

BANG! The metal bolt on the door bends outward. One more slam and it gives under the inhuman strength pounding into it. They came at us at once, pushing and squeezing through the tight doorway with single-minded purpose. Three, four, seven—I lose count when they crowd Marcus and me. I see him fumble for a gun I didn't notice before. He manages to get one shot off, downing a single Blank, before someone kicks the weapon out of his hand.

I'm overwhelmed. By emotion, by the mortal chaos that consumes the rooftop as Marcus and I fight for our lives—no, for his life. They don't look at me as anything more than an obstacle in their way. An obstacle they won't kill or maim: I've been around them long enough to understand that, although the fundamental fear of these killing machines will never go away. That doesn't stop them from being rough with me as I fight tooth and nail to make sure they don't get to Marcus.

I hit every face within reach, kick out and hear kneecaps snap and bones grind underneath my shoes, until they grab my arms painfully behind my back and slam me facedown onto the concrete surface. I feel pressure on my legs, my back, my neck, and the only thing I can do is scream and watch them beat Marcus into a bloody mess.

"Stop hitting him!" I scream until I'm hoarse in the throat.

He doesn't make it easy for them, but his struggling only delays the inevitable. He manages to sweep three of them off the roof with his psychic-pulse ability before the others swarm him. And then it's over.

"No," I moan, shoving helplessly against the weight on me. I'm in disbelief as I witness the utter destruction in front of me. This can't be real, can it? This isn't happening to Marcus. No one comes barging in at the last second to save him. We've always found a way out. Always managed to get away by the skin of our teeth. Is this how it ends for him? Beaten to death on a rooftop by a horde of Blanks?

"No!"

Tendrils of darkness wrap around my head, and it's all I can do to keep my eyes from rolling back. No. No. I won't accept it. I can't lose him. I dig in with desperate nails to hang on to this moment. You can't control me. I control me. I won't obey you. No more, no—

Control yourself, Sam whispers in my ear.

I let the memories I've created with Marcus overflow over the dark. Good, bad, great. His laugh. The genuine one that springs from his soul and overtakes his face. The quiet look in his eyes when I catch him watching me sometimes. Like I'm everything to him. The way his coldness froze the blood in my veins, and I took it because I deserved every single second of his hate. But they're not enough to fill the chasm of pain that's splitting me right down the middle, and out of that chasm spurts more shadows.

No. This isn't the end.

Control yourself.

I won't believe this is the end. Even when a crack across his face finally downs him. Even when the dark begins to consume my eyesight. Even when one of the last things I see is a Blank picking up the discarded gun.

Control.

Even when—

The gunshot and my scream blend together.

STOP THIS. STOP IT. JUST STOP.

My vicious determination to hold on to myself, to control my ravaging emotions, to fight the darkness reveals light I've never noticed before. Small green sparks hovering in the air like fireflies. I reach out and take ahold of every single one of them—and almost lose myself in the process because, for the first time in my life, I have more control than I know what to do with.

The Blanks let me go and stand around me unmoving. Including the ones that were kicking and punching Marcus a moment ago. They watch me blankly, awaiting command.

They're mine.

Under my control.

I stumble to my knees and almost fall over at the sudden vertigo I experience. There's a thin whining sound in my ears. My breath falls hard, but beyond that, I feel utterly clear-headed. The darkness lies in wait, but I'm bathed in the light I've managed to wrest control of. I stagger toward Marcus and let out a sob when I catch sight of him.

"Marcus!"

His face is swollen beyond recognition. It doesn't look like him. One of his arms is twisted in an unnatural way behind his back. Blood leaks out of his mouth and more of it stains the center of his shirt. The dark crimson on his shirt is evidence that I didn't imagine the gunshot. The first thing I do is check on that. It's the worst of his injuries. Learning first aid became necessary once shoot-outs and knife fights with Blanks became the norm. Learning the difference between gunshot wounds to the head, the chest, the arms and legs. Knowing what to do when an ally is bleeding out on the ground. Like now.

I brush away the tears that won't stop and press an ear to Marcus's chest. Poor movement in his torso. The hole in his chest is making a sucking sound whenever he breathes. What scares me the most—what'll probably be the source of my nightmares from now—is the way he breathes, short and quick, like every small gasp might be his last. He's not unconscious anymore, if his wild and terrified eyes are anything to go by. He's feeling every single second of this.

I'm no doctor, but I know how serious his chest wound is. It's fatal. He's as good as dead if he doesn't get medical treatment now.

How do I save him?

The Blanks watch on with indifference. In the distance beyond the building is the sound of sirens and gunfire. Even if I get him down there and through the chaos, there are too many patients to sort through. Every single person around us blanked. I can't begin to imagine the amount of damage. Marcus is just one more casualty in a mass attack. What if they can't save him in time?

I have to try. I'll do anything to save his life. It feels utterly hopeless, but what choice do I have?

I search the rooftop blindly as if an answer will pop up—and in a way it does. How did I miss the shadow standing in the doorway, witnessing the events on the rooftop? The second my eyes fall on it, it turns and disappears inside the stairwell.

It wants me to follow.

And all of a sudden, I know where it's taking me. Where it took me the last time I followed it. It's going to the crystals. The source of all of this. A place of terrifying power, where I might find something that'll save Marcus's life.

The fact that I might also find the being responsible for taking over the minds of hundreds of people isn't enough to deter me. Sensing what I need, the Blanks gently pick Marcus up from the rooftop and carry him after the shadow and me.