No one could have survived an explosion like that. Agony presses against my chest, pushing the air from my lungs, and for a few seconds I lose count. Lose my will to fight, to run, to live. But I force myself to finish counting to thirty, my teeth chattering in terror the whole time. Then I dart out from behind the Dumpster and tear through the alley without looking back, trying to keep to the shadows even as my leg threatens to buckle beneath me.

 

I have no idea where the bus station is and I hope it’s as easy to find as Elizabeth said.

 

Elizabeth.

 

Don’t think about her—don’t think about her. Don’t think about any of them. Think about surviving.

 

I nearly burst into tears of relief when I see the telltale bright lights ahead. My lungs are aching, but I’m almost there.

 

Then I hear it.

 

The clattering of footsteps behind me.

 

Something whistles past my ear and I shriek when the cinder blocks beside me shatter, spraying me with tiny beads of rock.

 

They found me.

 

The lights of the bus station are so close, but I’m not sure I can reach them in time.

 

And even if I do, what then? I don’t have minutes to stand in line— seconds to buy a ticket—much less hours to sit around and wait for the next bus.

 

I’ll be dead by then, my body riddled with bullets.

 

And then the world will slowly die because I was too blind to realize what Benson really was.

 

It’s too much—I can’t think that big.

 

A boyish face with golden hair flashes into my mind, almost certainly courtesy of Rebecca.

 

Logan. I can focus on Logan.

 

He doesn’t know.

 

I have to go to him.

 

I grit my teeth and hoist my backpack higher. If I die tonight, I’ll never find Logan. Never again. It will be over for both of us. In a flash of understanding, I realize I don’t want to cease to exist without meeting him—even if it’s for the last time.

 

With his green eyes vivid in my mind, I reach for one more surge of energy and force myself to ignore the screaming pain in my leg as I run, stretching my strides, feet slapping the pavement, lungs burning for air.

 

Once I reach the lights, the people, surely the Reduciates chasing me will have to back off to avoid being discovered. Or at least take a more subtle approach. But then, human life is obviously not high on their priority list. They’d probably just kill all the witnesses. More deaths to be laid at my feet.

 

Just run!

 

I hear the gentle rumble of a bus before I see it. It’s the only bus that isn’t silent and parked behind a fence.

 

It’s ready to go.

 

I have to get on that bus.

 

But I’m a full fifty feet away when the last person in line boards. The driver smiles and then looks around the sparsely populated bus station. “Pittsburgh?” he yells. “Anyone else for Pittsburgh?”

 

Pittsburgh. Good enough.

 

I don’t have a ticket.

 

Yet.

 

Twenty more feet.

 

Ten seconds.

 

I squeeze my eyes shut for an instant and try to remember the last time I took a Greyhound bus. It was when I was sixteen and went to visit a friend who had moved out of state.

 

The ticket. What did it look like?

 

My mind swirls and I try to recall the details, the feel of the cardboard in my hand, the green of the logo, the meaningless words.

 

The bar code.

 

What if they have to scan a bar code? My heart beats so wildly it feels like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings.

 

I can’t do this.

 

I’m going to die.

 

I can almost feel the bullets ripping through the skin on my back already.

 

The driver makes eye contact with me and smiles. I stagger to a walk and refuse to let myself look around. As I cover the last few steps, sweat pours down my neck and yet I shiver.

 

I stop in front of him.

 

He holds out his hand.

 

I lift my arm, but it’s only when my hand reaches waist height that I feel the sharp corner of a cardboard square prick my skin.

 

The uniformed man scarcely looks at the white and green miracle before waving me onto the bus with a pleasant, “Just in time.”

 

I cling to the handrail with wet hands, my palms sliding down it as I try to pull myself up—to make a leg that no longer has the strength to stand lift me another step. The adrenaline is gone and my entire body feels like spaghetti.

 

The driver seems to sense my desperation and I feel a large, warm hand at my elbow, helping me climb those last two steps.

 

“Noticed you were limping as you came up,” the bus driver whispers. “You just rest now.”

 

God bless you, sir.

 

But I don’t say the words out loud. If I open my mouth, I’m going to lose it entirely. I nod instead and try to show my appreciation with my eyes.

 

As I set down my backpack, I accidentally drop my ticket. My fingers fumble desperately for the piece of cardboard that saved my life. It has a corner folded down and I straighten it with near reverence.

 

Truth be told, I didn’t do a very good job. Garbled letters march along the bottom, and I think the only word I really got right is Pittsburgh. There is a bar code, but as I squint in the darkness, I realize all the bars are the same length and width. It would never have worked if they’d actually scanned it.

 

But the logo is there, looking very much as I remembered. My breathing speeds up again as I realize just how crappy my ticket is—how lucky I am the driver didn’t look closer.

 

But he didn’t.

 

And so I am alive.

 

The doors are unfolding now—closing—and the driver is pulling his seat belt across his wide belly. I look out the window and see two men in black pants and polos jog into the parking lot.

 

Go, go, go! I silently urge, and the bus driver settles in and begins to ease the gearshift out of park. I keep my eyes on the two men, knowing they can’t see me through the tinted windows. They glance at the bus, but it was literally thirty seconds between my running into the parking lot and the bus leaving.

 

I shouldn’t be on this bus.

 

Still, they’ve got to suspect.

 

A pounding on the door startles me and I lean forward and see the two men gesturing for the driver to open the door.

 

“I gotta go!” he bawls.

 

They flash him some kind of shiny badges that I have no doubt are fakes and the driver sighs and stops the bus.

 

Oh please, no! I’m trapped now. A rat in a cage. After all of that— everything Reese and Jay and Elizabeth did for me—the Reduciata are still going to get me. I feel like sobbing, screaming to the sky the unfairness of it all.

 

Life’s not always fair. I must have heard my mother say that a hundred times.

 

My mother.

 

A crazy idea bursts into my head and I panic, knowing I have only seconds.

 

I hear the door open and I force my eyes shut and think of my mother. Only my mother. Her light brown hair, long plump arms, contagious smile. I gather all my mental energy and try to remember every detail about her. Her smile, her short fingers, her long brown hair, so much like mine used to be.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am. Ma’am?”

 

I look up at the breathless man who was shooting at me not two minutes ago. He peers into my eyes and I struggle to hold a neutral face. His jaw tightens and he moves on, shaking his head.

 

“. . . not here . . . waste of time . . . canvas area . . .” They don’t even try to muffle their voices as they leave the bus without a word to the driver.

 

The driver grumbles about their rudeness, but finally the door closes and I breathe again as the bus eases away from the station—rumbles onto the highway.

 

I need a mirror.

 

I rummage through my backpack until I find a compact in my vanity bag. I open it, and as the bus crosses under an orange streetlight, it floods light over me. And in the mirror is my mother’s face.

 

A soft gasp escapes my lips and I reach out to touch the mirror.

 

No, I have to touch my face.

 

It’s me.

 

It’s her.

 

I touch her lips, her cheeks, her eyelashes, look into her green eyes. Then I smile.

 

And it’s her smile.

 

A funny sensation distracts me as it tickles my palm and I look down to see the cardboard ticket starting to dissolve. It reminds me of the feeling of sand washing out from under my feet when an ocean wave recedes.

 

In a few seconds, it’s gone.

 

My eyes leap back to the mirror. The ticket’s already gone; I have only a minute—maybe two—to gaze at the familiar face. Technically, I could do it again, but somehow I know that after tonight, it’ll feel false and this is the only true chance I’m going to get to see my mother.

 

I stare, willing the seconds to last, but time isn’t like that and soon the long nose is melting into my short one, the muddy-green eyes turning brown, the hair shortening.

 

And I am myself again.

 

And my mom is still dead.

 

My fingers tighten on the mirror that now shows me nothing but myself.

 

Everyone I loved is dead. Or worse.

 

Except Quinn, Rebecca’s voice reminds me, but I push her away. I can’t let myself hope right now. I’m too full of anguish and there’s no room for anything else.

 

I curl my knees up to my chest and rest my cheek against them. A glance from under my eyelashes allows me to take in the passengers on the half-filled bus around me.

 

A mother is rocking a toddler back and forth on her lap. His face is curled against her shoulder, but I still hear his soft sobs. I don’t want to stare, but I can tell by the shaking of her chest that the mother is crying too. A few seats back, a man lays his head against the window and is silent, but I can just make out tears running down his cheeks. A teenager sits across the aisle from me, a hood pulled over her face, headphone wires trailing to an iPod in her hands. Clenched in her hands. I wonder if she’s sleeping until a loud sniff comes from her shadowed face.

 

And so, because I’m not alone, I let my tears come too. On this latenight Greyhound, rolling down the road under an inky-black sky, no one will even notice.

 

 

“I came as soon as I heard.”

 

“I wish you hadn’t.” I’m standing in my office—my real one, my secret one—

 

staring out the windowpane into blackness.

 

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

 

“Fine enough.” My throat is tight and I give voice to the unfamiliar feeling

 

shooting spikes through my gut. “I failed,” I whisper.

 

“No.”

 

“Yes,” I hiss. “She was . . . she was so strong. She shouldn’t be so strong!” My

 

voice is rising, and I despise that I’m so out of control, but I can’t seem to rein it in.

 

“She should be weak—hardly able to function. It should have been child’s play to

 

bring her in once Benson helped her awaken her memories.” I clamp my teeth shut.

 

I won’t let him see me cry. “I don’t understand what happened.”

 

He’s silent for so long I finally turn and look, expecting to see an expression of

 

disapproval. Instead he’s wary. “What if . . . what if she didn’t just change. What

 

if she also . . . reset for lack of a better term.”

 

“To her original strength?” The thought makes fear close around my neck, cutting off my air. “Surely the gods wouldn’t be so cruel.”

 

“But it is possible.”

 

“I think we’ve established that nothing is impossible at this stage,” I say, turning away from him again.

 

“At least we know where she’s going.”

 

“To him,” I say bitterly. “Could it get any worse?” I face him—face the man

 

I’ve known and loved for longer than even my memories stretch. “It’s your turn to

 

be the hunter.”

 

He nods but says nothing. He already knew. It’s why he came here tonight. To

 

take her off my hands.

 

He can have her.

 

We stare at each other for a very long time—sometimes I think words are

 

scarcely necessary between us anymore.

 

Then, without a word or even a goodbye, he turns and leaves—nimbly working the hidden catch on the secret door. I look at the door that only looks like a wall

 

now and I distantly hear the minutes ticking away on my grandfather clock. “Do better than I did,” I whisper.