It’s pouring by the time our session is done. Elizabeth offers me a ride, but I turn it down. I have a lot to mull over—a walk in the rain is just what I need. And I managed to have the foresight to wear an actual raincoat today instead of my usual hoodie; I’ll stay dry enough. Elizabeth tries to insist—says I’ll get too cold. But she finally lets me go when I tell her I’m just heading to the library.

 

When I reach the curb of the parking lot, I look up and barely catch sight of a man half hidden by a bush. He’s leaning casually against one of the buildings across the street from Elizabeth’s office plaza and doesn’t seem to have seen me yet. But he looks familiar.

 

It’s only when he lifts one hand to adjust his sunglasses—sunglasses in the rain?—that I realize it’s the man who was staring at me when I ran into the wall. Have I got another stalker? Or should I add paranoia to the list of mental disorders brought on by my injuries? Most likely he just lives nearby, and now that I’ve noticed him, I’ll see him all the time—like how when you buy a new car, you suddenly start seeing the same model everywhere you go. Still, I’m creeped out, so I duck my head and grip my backpack straps as I pivot and head in the opposite direction. I’m only two blocks from Elizabeth’s office when my stomach rumbles. I was so nervous about my appointment—not to mention keyed up about Benson—that I forgot to eat breakfast. Now I’m famished.

 

I’ve been hungry a lot lately. Like, starving hungry. When I came in from seeing Quinn yesterday, I think I ate twice as much lasagna as usual. I was going to ask Elizabeth about that, actually, but after everything that’s happened this week, I kinda forgot. I assume it’s a sign that I’m healing—that my body needs more fuel for repairs. Whatever it is, my stomach is screaming for food.

 

Part of me wants to head to the library anyway—maybe Benson and I can go grab lunch. He did say we should get together, away from work. But sanity worms its way into my brain and I realize that showing up soaking wet and bedraggled at someone’s work is not really a great way to fish for a date. Home first. And maybe I should borrow Reese’s car to go to the library; it is really coming down.

 

Looking nice for Benson didn’t matter before. But now . . . When I reach the house, the front door opens on silent hinges and I’m several steps up the stairway before I hear Reese’s voice. “It’s really not a good time, Liz. Tavia took off this morning and didn’t tell me where she was going. Did she even make your appointment?” Pause. “Oh! Well, in that case.”

 

Startled, I turn my head toward the kitchen, my ears perking up when I catch my own name. Reese’s steps are coming toward me and I instinctively duck out of sight as she carries the phone into the front room to peek out the window.

 

Watching for me.

 

“The blond guy again?”

 

Liz. Elizabeth? My stomach clenches within me as betrayal fills my chest. She’s telling them! Therapists aren’t supposed to do that. I clench my jaw, but I creep quietly down the stairs as Reese says, “She drew him?

 

That’s excellent!”

 

I curl my knees up to my chest, shrouded by the shadow of the winding staircase, and try not to make a sound, to not even breathe. “You’re sure? He looks just like our descriptions from Sonya? But— wait, he talked to her? That doesn’t make any sense, does it? Is there a possibility of a mistake?” She fumbles for a second. “Let me write that down.

 

Quinn? Okay. A-ver-y,” she says slowly, writing. “I’ll look him up. It’s not a name I recognize, but you know how extensive our files are. Plus I can call in a favor. I have a friend in records who’ll keep it quiet.” I hear her sipping something and she swallows quickly, then says,

 

“The Earthbound triangle? At his house? So you think he knows what he is?”

 

I’m sick as I hear all my secrets dropping from Reese’s lips. “No, I agree, it must be. I’m happy to check out the one on Fifth as well. Were you able to get a house number from the picture? Maybe whoever lived there was a Curatoriate. There might be something left that we can use. But get me the sketch for sure—this could be the break we need.”

 

The sketch… why did I have to leave my drawing with Elizabeth!? “How long do you think we have before we have to do the pull?”

 

A long pause follows and I can hear from her footsteps that Reese has started pacing again. “I am still worried about it burning her out. I always have been. We both know she’s no good to us if her brain is destroyed.

 

But if she’s basically doing a slow pull on herself ?”

 

She pauses, listening, for a long time while I assume Elizabeth is talking. As the seconds tick by, I start to sweat, wondering what in the world Elizabeth is telling her now. Finally Reese makes an affirmative noise, then says, “If it really is him, then she must be—” Her feet stop.

 

“Liz, do you think she’s too damaged to resurge?”

 

I swallow, hating the word damaged coming from Reese’s lips, no matter how frequently I apply it to myself.

 

Reese sighs. “I wish I shared your confidence. But then, you’ve observed her much more closely than she ever lets me. Thank the gods for you or we wouldn’t know anything.” She changes position now, one hand resting on a jutted hip. A power position. “The triangle changes everything. He knows something. What are the chances he’s a Reduciate? Oh forget it; anything higher than zero is bad news. No, no, I think trying tonight is hurrying too much. Especially when we’re so close. Might be so close.”

 

Not tonight. Not for whatever it is that they want to do to me. Is relief the right thing to feel in the face of all this?

 

“I’ll move my trip up; I don’t think I can get out today without the higher-ups finding out, but I can swing tomorrow, assuming the sketch matches our descriptions.” Reese murmurs several affirmative noises before taking a shaky breath. “We have to watch her carefully. If she figures it out on her own, best-case scenario we lose her. Worse case, it damages her beyond use.”

 

Damages me?

 

“I hope so,” Reese says after another long pause. Her voice carries a melancholy I can’t reconcile with the content of the conversation. “We can’t hide her forever. I’m already worried. My sources are giving me mixed messages. That usually means they’ve found something and are trying to hide it. We all know what happens when they start circling,” she adds, and though I can’t say why, a tremor of fear shoots down my spine. “We can probably keep her alive for at least another week, but after that . . . all bets are off.”

 

Keep me alive? I can’t breathe. It’s like taking one hard punch after another. Darkness scrabbles at the edges of my vision and I want to throw up and black out all at once.

 

Reese turns, heading back to the kitchen, and I try to curl up smaller— draw even deeper into the shadows.

 

“Just pray this Phoenix connection is legit. I have zero leads if it’s not, and we’ll have to proceed on our own. And that probably means running.” She sighs. “I hate running. Yeah, I know; one step at a time. I’ll be there soon.”

 

I hear the beep of the phone disconnecting, then the familiar sounds of Reese pulling on a coat, grabbing her jingly keys, the hum of the garage door opening.

 

I throw myself away from the wall and crouch by the window, parting the blinds just enough to watch Reese’s car slip down the street. Once she’s out of sight, I count to ten, slowly, then flee from the house, half-running down the sidewalk, momentum fueling my gait until

 

I have to slow down, clutching an ache in my side. My breath comes in ragged gasps and all thoughts of hunger have flown from my mind. I look around, unsure for a few moments of where I am. My mind tries to sort through the conversation I just heard, but nothing makes sense; everything is wrong. So very wrong. I don’t know what to think and all I really want to do is sink to the ground and cry.

 

The words I heard ring through my head over and over, but the more I consider them, the less sense they make. Why would Quinn have anything to do with my past? I would remember if I’d met him before. Wouldn’t I?

 

My memories were pretty patchy right after surgery, but they’ve been mostly whole for months now. Surely I wouldn’t forget him. Not with the way he affects me.

 

Unless that’s why he affects me.

 

But why would the triangles change anything? They’re just weird

 

glowing things. I want to groan out loud. Why did I have to tell Elizabeth about them? Stupid!

 

I’m walking without any sense of direction and hardly see the other people on the sidewalk as I pass. I don’t know what to do. Betrayal is an icy spike through my chest; I’m more alone than ever with no idea who I can trust.

 

It was always Elizabeth.

 

Now there’s no one.

 

Only myself.

 

And Benson.

 

My phone is in my hand before I can reconsider, a toneless ringing trilling in my ear. “Please answer, please answer,” I whisper as three rings sound, then four.

 

“Tave?”

 

“Benson.” I look in both directions before whispering, “Can you come get me? I’m in trouble.”