Page 142

The room begins to soften around the edges. Not blurry, just farther away. My eyelids flutter with heaviness until they ease shut.

"I want you to remember where you were before everything changed."

"I..." My brow furrows, slowly being drawn back to that moment. "I was leaving dance."

"Good." Timothy’s body vanishes behind me, my feet skipping down the stairs. "What do you see?"

"The sidewalk." The words leave me before I realize I've spoken. My fingers twitch. "My dance bag is hanging from my shoulder."

Timothy's hand tightens slightly around mine. “What else?”

"The sun is going down." The candles disappear, and the den fades. "I'm walking toward campus."

My heartbeat begins to climb.

"I'm not alone. There are other students walking on the path. Cars driving by. I can see the top of the bell tower.” The memories sharpen. "There’s a man. He knows my uncle."

The certainty floods me before the fear does.

"He says Uncle Owen had an emergency." My stomach twists. "He says he sent him to come get me and I believe him."

My pulse pounds so hard it hurts.

"I don't even question it."

The world around me shifts.

"I'm following him, but we don’t go to his office.” My breathing catches. The smell arrives first. Sugar. Cotton candy. Sweet enough to make my stomach roll. Cold spreads across my neck, air catches in my throat. "It tastes sweet and I’m getting dizzy.”

His hand presses firmly against my upper ribs. "Breathe."

"I can't."

"You can." His hands move up and down my arms, warming the chill, bringing me back into place.

I inhale and say, “I can’t. It’s dark. So dark.”

The darkness doesn't stay empty for long. I squirm, and his hands clamp down on me, holding me tight. “What happens next?”

At first it feels like I'm floating beneath deep water, weightless and untethered, but then the cold begins creeping into my skin until it takes root. It isn't the kind of chill that comes from winter air. It's damp, heavy, impossible to escape, the sort that steals warmth one inch at a time until I can't remember what it ever felt like to be comfortable.

"I woke up cold," I whisper.

Timothy's arms remain wrapped around me, one hand resting over my side, the other gently stroking the length of my forearm. His touch is slow and deliberate, reminding me where I really am, even as my mind slips somewhere else.

"What do you see?"

I swallow hard.

My hand rises instinctively toward the scar behind my ear before I even realize what I'm doing. The second my fingertips brush the uneven skin, another memory crashes into me so violently my entire body jerks.

Timothy's arms tighten immediately.

"Arianette."

"They knew." The words burst out of me. "They knew about the tracker."

My pulse pounds in my ears as flashes begin breaking apart the darkness.