The Treatment

CHAPTER ONE

JAMES STARES STRAIGHT AHEAD, WITH no immediate reaction to what I’ve just told him. I think he’s in shock. I follow his gaze out the windshield to the empty parking lot of the convenience store off the highway. The building is abandoned, plywood covering the windows, black graffiti tagged on the white siding. In a way, James and I have been abandoned too, our former selves boarded up and locked away while the world moves on around us. We were supposed to accept that change, follow the rules. Instead we broke all of them.

The streetlight above us flickers out as the sun, still below the mountains, begins to illuminate the cloudy horizon. It’s nearly five in the morning, and I know we’ll have to move soon if we want to stay ahead of the roadblocks. We’d barely beat the one at the Idaho border, and now there’s an Amber Alert issued for our safe return.

Right. Because The Program is just concerned with our safety.

“It’s a pill,” James repeats quietly, finally coming around. “Michael Realm left you a pill that could bring back our memories”—he turns to me—“but he gave you only one.”

I nod, watching as James’s normally handsome face sags, almost like he’s losing himself all over again. Since leaving The Program, James has been searching for a way to understand his past, our shared past. In my back pocket is a folded plastic Baggie with a little orange pill inside, a pill that can unlock everything. But I’ve made my choice: The risks are too high, the chance of relapsing too great to ignore. There will be grief and heartache and pain. Realm’s sister’s final words to me resonate: Sometimes the only real thing is now. And here, with James, I know exactly who I am.

“You’re not going to take it, are you?” James asks, reading my expression. His bright blue eyes are weary, and it’s hard to believe that just yesterday we were at the river, kissing and ignoring the world around us. For a moment we knew what it felt like to be free.

“The pill will change everything,” I say. “I’ll remember who I was, but I can never be her again, not really. All the pill can do is hurt me—bring back the sorrow I felt when I lost my brother. And I’m sure there are others. I like who I am with you, James. I like us together and I’m scared of messing that up.”

James runs his fingers through his golden hair, blowing out a hard breath. “I’m never going to leave you, Sloane.” He looks out the driver’s side window. The clouds have gathered above us, and I think it’ll be only a matter of time before we’re caught in a downpour. “We’re together,” he says definitively, glancing back at me. “But there’s only one pill, and I’d never take it without you. I’d never take that choice away from you.”

My heart swells. James is choosing this life with me, a life I want except for the part where The Program is hunting us down. I lean over, my hands on his chest, and he pulls me closer.

James licks his lips, pausing before he kisses me. “We’re going to keep the pill in case we change our minds later, right?”

“My thought exactly.”

“You’re so smart,” he whispers, and kisses me. My hands slide up to his cheeks, and I begin to get lost in the feeling of him, the heat of his mouth on mine. I murmur that I love him, but his response is drowned out by the sound of squealing tires.

James spins to look outside. He begins to fumble with the keys in the ignition just as a white van screeches to a stop, barricading our SUV against the concrete wall of the highway behind us.

Panic, thick and choking, sweeps over me. I scream for James to go, even though the only way out is to ram them. But we can’t go back to The Program to be erased again. James yanks down the gear lever, ready to floor it, when the driver’s side door of the van opens and a person jumps out. I pause, my eyebrows pulled together in confusion, because there’s no white jacket, no comb-smoothed hair of a handler.

It’s a girl. She’s wearing a Nirvana T-shirt and has long bleached-blond dreads flowing over her shoulders. She’s tall, incredibly thin, and when she smiles, her bright-red lips pull apart to reveal a large gap between her two front teeth. I reach to put my hand on James’s forearm, but he still looks like he’s about to run her down. “Wait,” I say.

James glances over at me as if I’m crazy, but then the other side of the van opens and a guy stands on the running board to peer over the door at us. He has two half-moon bruises under his eyes and a swollen nose. The vulnerability of his battered appearance is enough to make James stop, though, and he restrains himself from stomping on the gas.

The girl holds up her hands. “You can relax,” she calls. “We’re not with The Program.”

James rolls down his window, the car still in drive and ready to launch forward—crushing her—at any second. “Then who the hell are you?” he demands.

The girl’s smile widens and she tosses a look back at her companion before turning to James. “I’m Dallas,” she says. “Realm sent us a message to find you.” At the mention of Realm, I tell James to turn off the car, relieved that my friend is okay.

Dallas walks in front of the car, her boots echoing off the pavement, before she comes to pause at James’s window. She lifts one of her dark eyebrows and looks him over. “Realm must have forgotten to mention how pretty you are,” she says wryly. “Shame on him.”

“How’d you find us?” James asks, ignoring her comment. “We went to the border for Lacey and Kevin, but there were patrols everywhere. We barely got through.”

Dallas nods toward the car. “The phone Realm’s sister gave you has a tracking device. Pretty handy, but you should probably ditch it now.” Both James and I look in the center console at the black phone that was already in the car when we got in. There’s also a duffel bag on the backseat, along with a couple hundred dollars Anna left us for provisions. But is this it? Are we part of the rebels now? If so . . . they don’t look all that pulled together.

“Your friends,” Dallas says, “never made it to the border either. We found Lacey, huddled in her Bug and crying. Seems Kevin didn’t show. I think there’s more to the story, but I’ll let her tell it.”

My heart sinks. What happened to Kevin? “Where’s Lacey?” I ask. “Is she okay?”

“She’s a firecracker.” Dallas laughs. “She wouldn’t talk to me, so I had Cas try and coax her out of her vehicle. She broke his nose. We had to sedate her, but don’t worry, we don’t steal your memories.” She says it in a spooky voice, like The Program is just a monster living under our beds. I’m starting to wonder if she’s sane. “Anyway . . .” She sighs, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “She’s already on her way to the safe house. And unless you’re trying to get caught, I’d suggest you get out of the vehicle and come with me.”

“In that van?” James scoffs. “You think we’re less conspicuous in a big white van?”

She nods. “Yep. It’s something a handler would drive. Not a group of people on the run. Listen—James, is it? You’re superhot and all, but you don’t strike me as a real thinker. So maybe just follow orders and bring your little girlfriend into the van so we can get out of here.”

“Screw you,” I say, offended on so many levels it’s difficult to pick just one. James turns to me, his brow furrowed.

“What do you think?” he asks quietly. I can see his indecision, but we don’t have any other options right now. We were on our way to find the rebels, but they found us first. Lacey is with them.

“We have to get to Lacey,” I say, wishing we could run off on our own. But we don’t have the resources. We’ll need to regroup.

James groans, not wanting to give in to Dallas. His aversion to authority is one of my very favorite things about him. “Fine,” he says, looking back at Dallas. “But what are we going to do with the Escalade? It’s a nice car.”

“Cas is going to drive it back.”

“What?” James asks. “Why does he get to—”

“Cas isn’t on the run,” she interrupts. “He’s never been in The Program. He can drive through any checkpoint he wants. He’s going ahead to scout the trip, get us to the safe house unscathed.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Dallas casts a bored glance in my direction, looking annoyed that I spoke to her. “All in good time, sweetheart. Now, if you’d both climb out, we have a little business to take care of first.”

James and I exchange a look, but ultimately we get out of the car. Cas starts toward us, and for a moment I have the fear we’re getting carjacked. Especially when Cas pulls out a fistful of zip ties.

“What the fuck are those for?” James yells, grabbing my arm to pull me back.

Dallas puts her hand on her hip. “Cas had his nose broken today, and to be honest, you seem pretty volatile. This is for our protection. We don’t trust you. You’re returners.”

The way she says “returners” makes us sound like we’re abominations, like we disgust her. But it was probably just the right thing to say to catch us off guard, break us down enough so Cas could come behind us and slip the ties around our wrists, pulling them tight. Just then I feel the first drop of rain hit my cheek. I look sideways at James; he’s angry, watching as Dallas and Cas go through the Escalade, take out our money, and toss the canvas bag onto the pavement. The rain starts to fall in a drizzle, and Dallas scowls at the sky. She walks around to swipe our bag from the ground, hanging it lazily over her shoulder.

I feel vulnerable, and I can’t remember how we got here. We should have kept running. But now we hardly have a choice, so we follow behind Dallas as she leads us to the van and helps us into the back, slamming the door closed behind us.

James’s shoulder is against mine as we sit in the backseat of the white van. I’ve become hyperaware of everything—the faint scents of gasoline and rubber tires that cling to my hair; the murmur from the police scanner too low to understand. James’s fingers brush along mine, and I instinctively turn. He’s staring ahead, his jaw set hard as he broods about the restraints. We’ve been driving for hours, and the hard plastic has rubbed my skin raw. I imagine it’s doing the same to him.

Dallas glances in the rearview mirror in time to see James’s hateful expression. “Don’t worry, handsome. We’re almost there. There’s been a change of plans. Our warehouse in Philadelphia was raided last night, so we’re going to our safe house in Salt Lake City.”

Alarmed, I straighten up. “But Realm told us to head east. He said—”

“I know what Michael Realm told you,” she snaps. “But then there’s the reality of the situation. Don’t be a child. The Program is hunting us; we’re an infection they intend to cure. You should be happy we’re helping you at all.”

“I’ll be honest, Dallas,” James says in a shaky voice of barely contained rage. “If you don’t take the ties off my girlfriend, I’m going to be a real asshole. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dallas looks in the rearview mirror again, without even a hint of surprise. “What makes you think you can?” she asks seriously. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, James.”

Her voice chills me, and I can see by James’s posture that he knows his threat didn’t have its intended effect. Dallas is hardcore; I’m not sure she’s afraid of anything.

We continue to drive and the landscape changes. Instead of the canopy of trees we left behind in Oregon, the sky here is wide open. But there are still flowers, rolling green hills. And then, towering over all of it, is a massive set of mountains. It’s breathtaking.

Behind my back, the zip tie is biting into the skin of my wrists. I wince but try to play it off when I see how angry it makes James. He adjusts his position so I can lean against him and relax, and together we watch as the country fades to chain-link fences and old mechanic shops.

“Welcome to Salt Lake City,” Dallas says, turning into the parking lot of a low-rise warehouse with crumbling brick siding. I expected a compound, and my panic begins to rise at the thought of being so exposed to The Program. “Technically,” Dallas adds, pursing her lips as she looks around at the neighborhood, “we’re on the outskirts. The city’s much nicer. But we’re more secluded here. It’s dense enough to keep us hidden during the day. Cas did a great job.”

Dallas parks behind the Escalade and cuts the engine. She turns in her seat, looking us over. “Will you promise to be good boys and girls if we cut the restraints?” she asks. “Because we’ve made it this far, and I’d like to trust that you won’t cause trouble.”

Please don’t say anything stupid, James.

“All I do is cause trouble,” James responds in monotone. I turn to glare at him, but Dallas only laughs and climbs out. James looks sideways at me and shrugs, not all that apologetic for antagonizing the rebels who are basically holding us hostage.

The van door slides open with a loud metallic scrape and we’re drowned in afternoon sunlight. We blink against it, and then Dallas takes my arm, pulling me from the van. I’m still adjusting to the brightness when Cas appears in front of me with a pocketknife. I suck in a frightened breath, but he quickly holds up his other hand.

“No, no,” he says with a shake of his head, sounding offended that I’d think he would hurt me. “This is to cut the zip ties.” He darts a look at James, who’s moved to just inside the door, ready to pounce. “Here, seriously,” Cas says, motioning him forward. “You’re not prisoners, man.”

James waits a beat, and then hops down onto the pavement. He turns his back to Cas, but keeps his gaze steady on me as Cas saws through the plastic binding. Dallas watches on, her high-arched dark eyebrows raised in amusement. It doesn’t last long. The minute James is free, he spins and grabs Dallas’s T-shirt in his fist, backing her against the van.

“If you mess with Sloane again,” he growls, “I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Dallas asks coldly. “What will you do?” Dallas is nearly as tall as James, but she looks weak as her thin hand reaches to wrap around his wrist. She’s calling his bluff. I watch as James’s expression falters, and he lets her go. But before he steps away, Dallas’s elbow shoots out, catching James in the chin with a sudden thud before her long leg hooks around his and she takes him to the ground. I yell his name, but James is still, lying there and staring at the sky. Dallas kneels next to him, smiling as she readjusts her crumpled shirt, the stretched-out material slipping off her shoulder.

“Such a temper,” she says. “Too bad you didn’t fight harder when they were dragging you into The Program.” Her words shock me, hurt me, because it’s such a cruel thing to say—as if it’s our fault we were taken. James rubs his jaw, then pushes Dallas aside to climb up. He doesn’t argue. How can we argue against something we can’t remember?

“Now,” Dallas says, making a loud clap, “we need to get inside.” She walks toward the entrance of the loading dock. James mumbles that he’s going to get our bag from the van.

The sun beats down on my cheeks. Without the shade of the trees, it’s hotter than I’m used to. The lot next to this one is empty, and I think Dallas was right about the seclusion. It’s quiet here.

Cas exhales and runs his hand through his long brown hair. On closer inspection, his nose doesn’t look that broken. There’s a small cut over the bridge, swelling in the nostrils, and of course the black bruising under his eyes. Lacey could have done worse.

“Dallas wasn’t always like this,” Cas says quietly. “She had a very different life before The Program.”

“She was in The Program?” I ask, surprised. “She made it sound like she hated returners.”

Cas shakes his head. “She hates what The Program does. Now she spends most of her time training.”

“Training for what?” I ask, watching as James spits a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. Dallas hit him harder than I thought.

“Self-defense,” Cas answers. “How to kill someone if she has to. Or wants to.” He pauses. “Look, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we’re on the same side.”

“You sure?” I turn my shoulder so he can see the restraints still binding my hands. Cas apologizes, and gently holds my forearm so he can start cutting through the plastic.

“Who knows,” Cas says from behind me. “Maybe in the end we’ll all become friends.” My wrists pull apart as the bond is cut, and I rub the spot where the restraints have left my skin raw.

“I wouldn’t plan on that,” James responds to Cas, and walks between us. He drops the duffel bag at our feet and then takes my hands to look over the red marks. He runs his thumb gently over the creased skin, then lifts my wrist to his lips to kiss it. “Better?” he asks, looking sorry even though this wasn’t his fault.

I hug him, pressing my cheek against his neck. I’m not sure if our situation has gotten better or worse. “I’m freaking out,” I murmur.

James turns his face into my hair, whispering so Cas won’t hear. “Me too.”

And somehow those words remind me of something, a phantom memory I can’t quite place. The pill in my pocket could change that—I’d remember everything. I pull back from James and see the look in his eyes, an uncertainty, as if he senses a familiar memory too. He opens his mouth to talk, but then Dallas calls to us from the front door.

“Unless you’re advertising for handler intervention,” she says, “you’d better get out of sight.”

The mention of handlers is enough to make me move. James takes my hand, and we walk toward the empty-looking building, toward what’s left of the rebels, and hope we’re safe from The Program. Even if for only a moment.

CHAPTER TWO

THE INSIDE OF THE BUILDING is cluttered with construction materials: large sealed buckets, piles of dusty bags, and flattened boxes of cardboard. I swallow hard, wondering how we’ll live in an empty warehouse, when Dallas goes to the other side of the room and yanks open a door.

She gestures to the space around us. “This is just the front,” she says. “We live downstairs. It’s safer that way.”

“Are there exits?” I ask, peering behind her to see a dark staircase.

She rolls her eyes. “Are you the safety inspector, Sloane? Of course there are exits, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go out during the day. They’ve been running your story on CNN and I can’t risk you being seen.”

“Did they mention me?” James asks. His anger at Dallas has tempered down, which I guess is positive, since it looks like we’ll be stuck together for a while. My dislike for her hasn’t eased up even a bit.

“You were mentioned,” Dallas tells James. “But they haven’t gotten ahold of your photo yet. Wait until they do; then we won’t be able to hide you well enough.”

James smiles at me and I slap his shoulder. “What?” he asks. “This is good. It means people must be questioning The Program. Why else would we be running from them?”

Cas chuckles and walks past us to make his way downstairs. Dallas stays, her hand on the doorknob, leveling her gaze on James. “Doesn’t work like that,” she says, and I hear the regret in her voice. “They’re going to spin it. They always do. The Program controls the media, James. They control everything.” Dallas seems unsettled about her comment, but she tries to cover it quickly, turning to hurry down the steps.

James watches after her like he’s trying to figure her out, but if what Cas says is true and Dallas has been through The Program, she probably doesn’t even know herself. So James is out of luck.

We descend the narrow staircase to the lower level, which I realize is barely below the street, to enter the first room. It has high windows, though they’re covered with yellowed newspapers. The vents pump a steady flow of air as we pass, sending a chill over my arms. I’m not sure how they have electricity, but I guess the rebels aren’t as ragtag as they look.

In the center of the room is a cracked leather couch and a few folding chairs, but otherwise the space is lonely. Ominous. “Where is everyone?” I ask, worry starting to build. “I thought you said there were others. You said Lacey was here.”

Dallas holds up her hands, telling me to calm down. “It’s okay,” she assures me. “They’re all here.” She heads back into the hallway, and it’s long—impossibly long—until I realize it’s the length of the entire building. Styrofoam peanuts have been swept into the corners. The fluorescent lights above flicker and hum.

“They’re probably in the back,” Dallas says. “This place isn’t so bad, you know. It was the first safe house I came to after getting out of  The Program.”

“You went through The Program?” James asks. Knowing this about her seems to draw his sympathy, but Dallas turns on him fiercely.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she says. “I don’t want your pity. The Program took everything from me—and not just from here.” She taps her temple. Next to us Cas looks down, uncomfortable with whatever Dallas is referring to. “Let’s just say,” she starts again, “they owe me a whole hell of a lot.” Vulnerability passes over her features and she wraps her arms around herself before turning to walk down the hall alone.

“What was that about?” I ask Cas, feeling like I might know more about Dallas’s state of mind than I want to. It seems like a jump, but I think about the creepy handler Roger—how he bartered with the patients. And what they had to give him in return for a moment of their own memories.

“It’s not my story to tell,” Cas says seriously. “But I’m sure you’ll hear about it eventually. Secrets are hard to keep in this camp.”

“Sloane?” The voice is soft as it calls my name. I look up to see Lacey at the end of the hallway. She’s standing there, her blond hair dyed a deep red, wearing a black tank top and a pair of camouflage pants. There’s an explosion of relief and we both start forward, meeting somewhere in the middle with a hug. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” she says into my shoulder. “Your picture is everywhere.” She pulls back, holding my upper arms as she examines my face. “Are you okay?”

I’m not sure how long I’ve known Lacey—can’t remember my past—but since returning, she’s been my constant friend. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “Scared, but fine. James and I went to meet you at the border, but you weren’t there.” Dread slips in. “Dallas said Kevin was gone.”

Lacey gives a quick nod, unable to hold my eyes. “He never made it to the rendezvous point,” she says. “He was taken into custody, I guess. I . . . don’t know where he is now.” Her grip on my arms tightens, and I know there’s more to her and Kevin’s relationship than she ever let on. Whatever it is, she’s not going to tell me right now. She pulls me forward into the room where Dallas and a few others are standing around.

In the middle of the dim space is an oval table with at least a dozen chairs. The wood is warped and some of the seats look like they might collapse, but Dallas grabs one, spinning it to sit on it backward. Her gaze is immediately drawn to the door when James walks in.

James scans the room, pausing when he notices Lacey. “I’m digging the red,” he tells her, even though I think he really means to say he’s glad she’s safe.

Lacey smiles, her expression softening. “Why am I not surprised to see you here, James? Oh, that’s right. Because you’re a pain in the ass who constantly defies authority.”

He reaches to pull out a chair for her. “Looks like we have a lot in common.” After she sits, James pulls out another chair for me and then takes the next spot over. “So, Dallas,” he calls, leaning his elbows on the table. “What’s the plan here? What exactly do the rebels do?”

The three people around Dallas sit down, waiting for her to explain. They look normal—and not “returner” normal either; there are no collared polos or khaki skirts. Regular normal.

“Not all of us have been through The Program,” Dallas starts. “Some, like Cas”—she points to him—“are here because someone they cared about disappeared, committed suicide. Or forgot them completely.” The girl next to Dallas lowers her head. “The Program is everywhere, and it’s becoming harder and harder to find people to fight with us. Especially adults. The rebels are trying to grow, to expand so we’ll have the numbers to inflict real damage. But The Program is always one step ahead of us.”

“What happened to the other rebels?” James asks. “The ones who were in your safe house?”

Dallas wilts slightly. “The place was raided,” she begins, “and the ones who didn’t get away were dragged back into The Program. The official report said they were in recall—a side effect where memories crash back and drive a person insane—but that was a lie. The Program took them into custody to squash any rebellion. But they couldn’t risk another incident.” Her face grows pale. Suddenly she’s not a rebel. She’s just a girl. “The Program makes them disappear.”

“What?” James asks, wide-eyed. “Are they killing them?”

“We don’t know what they’re doing to them. All we know is, certain patients disappear. They never contact us again; they never pop up on our radar. Basically, if  The Program catches us . . . they’ll end us.”

“We have to save them,” James says. “We can’t let—”

“It’s too late.” Dallas waves her hand. “There’s no way to break anyone out of  The Program. We’ve tried.”

“Maybe you’re doing it wrong.”

“Shut up, James,” she says dismissively. “Like you know. We’ve tried, we’ve failed. It never ends well, so we’ve had to write them off. It’s not like it was an easy decision.”

“What are you going to do, then?” he demands. I can’t believe Dallas would just give up. She seemed tougher than this.

Dallas takes a second to compose her thoughts, and it’s like I can see her hardening herself against them. “They’re the accepted loss,” she says coldly. “For now, we’re what’s left. But I’m trying to find someone, something, to help us. When we gather everyone together again, we’ll fight. I promise you we’ll fight.”

Dallas stands, pulling her long dreads into a high knot. She looks rattled by James’s comments, and she can’t hold his eyes. “I suggest you get some sleep,” Dallas says in our direction. “We have plans later, so I’ll need you back here at four.” Before we can ask any more questions, she leaves the room, taking the conversation with her. It’s quiet for a moment, and then James leans over to whisper to me.

“If I ever get sent away, Sloane, I expect you to save my ass. Is that clear?”

“And vice versa,” I say. He gives a definitive nod and then turns to study the others in the room. Lacey is sitting quietly, her arms folded over her chest. This may be the most subdued I’ve ever seen her. It worries me. My stomach growls loudly, and James glances at me before calling to Cas.

“Hey, man,” he says. “Do you have any food in this place? This one”—he hikes his thumb in my direction—“sounds like she’s on a hunger strike.”

Cas laughs. “Yeah. Let me show you around.” I get up, but Lacey is still sitting there, rubbing her forehead like she has a headache.

“You okay?” I ask, reaching to touch her shoulder.

She lifts her gaze, and her eyes are out of focus, as if she’s staring through me. “Stress. Rebels. Who knows?” She smiles weakly. “It’ll pass.”

Her response does little to placate my worry. “James,” I say, turning to him. “I’ll catch up with you in a second.” He leans forward as if asking if everything is all right. When I nod that it is, he walks out into the hallway with Cas. I move closer to Lacey.

“We’ve been through a hell of a lot,” I tell her. The other rebels eventually filter out, and in the quiet, the sadness starts to fill the air. “I’m sorry about Kevin.”

Lacey closes her eyes. “Me too.”

Kevin was the handler assigned to me right after The Program, and Lacey was my only friend. I had no idea they even knew each other until Realm’s sister mentioned it. “How did you get involved with the rebels?” I ask Lacey. The room is empty, but I keep my voice hushed—paranoia engrained at this point in my recovery.

“It was Kevin,” she says. “I met him at Sumpter High, weeks before you ever showed up. There was something about him that told me he wasn’t like the other handlers. We met a few times at the Wellness Center. Talked outside. And then we went out for coffee—in another town, of course. He told me he could see I was a fighter. He asked me to be part of the rebels. Then you appeared, and you were like me—a natural troublemaker, I think.” We both smile at this, but I ache at the loss of Kevin. He was my friend.

“He called me before he disappeared,” Lacey says, swiping under her eyes to catch the tears. “Kevin thought he was being followed and told me to go ahead without him to meet you and James. He said he’d see me at the rendezvous point. I waited so long. I waited until Cas and Dallas showed up, and I fought them when they tried to make me leave without Kevin. I even punched Cas in the face. I fought like hell, but they shoved me into another van and one of the guys swept me away to here—just a few hours ahead of you. I think Kevin’s gone, Sloane,” she says. “I think he’s dead.”

“He could be in The Program,” I offer, although I’m not sure what sort of consolation that’s supposed to be, especially now that Dallas has told us that rebels disappear. “When this is over, we can find him.”

Lacey wipes roughly at her cheeks, clearing away the tears she couldn’t catch. “No,” she says. “He’s over eighteen and he knows too much. They’ve killed him. I know they have.”

“Don’t think that way,” I start. “There are so many other—”

“Sloane,” she says, cutting me off, “I’m actually really tired. Can we talk about this another time? My head is killing me.”

“I’ll be here,” I say. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” I try to make her smile, but Lacey only thanks me and hurries from the room. Alone, I glance around the barren space, processing the fact I’m actually here. I’m a rebel.

The kitchen is a revamped office with a small counter and sink, a white refrigerator, and an old cooktop. “What did this building used to be?” I ask, looking around.

“Don’t know,” Cas says. “This place has been here for a while, but Dallas couldn’t remember exactly where it was. I tracked it down for her; it’s in pretty good shape. A lot better than some of the other places I’ve lived in.”

Cas pulls a couple of burritos out of the freezer and pops them into the microwave. I murmur my thanks and take a seat at the round table while James leans against the counter. Now that there’s actual food, I realize how hungry I am.

“So,” Cas says, motioning around, “I know it doesn’t look like much, but at this location there are ten of us—twelve now. We had about thirty members in Philadelphia, but that includes the ones who were taken back to The Program. We’re not sure how many we’ve lost yet.” He lowers his eyes. “We’re starting to have more safe houses than people.”

The microwave beeps, and Cas puts the burritos on a paper plate and sets it on the table. James sits next to me and immediately grabs a burrito. He quickly mumbles around the food in his mouth that it’s too hot to eat.

“I was never in The Program,” Cas says conversationally. “But I lost my brother to the epidemic.”

I look up, a sharp ache in my chest. “Me too.”

“And my little sister went missing a while back,” Cas adds. “Presumed dead. After Henley died, she kind of lost it. Became really paranoid, said our phones were tapped and that she was being followed. She disappeared, but it turns out she was right about The Program. I watched the handlers from the road as they showed up at the house looking for her.”

“How old is your sister?” James asks.

“She’d be fourteen now.”

A wave of nausea hits me with the thought of someone so young doing something as desperate as running away, possibly killing themselves. “I’m sorry,” I say, pushing my burrito toward James.

Cas sniffs hard. “Thanks. I keep thinking one day she’ll just show up. I’ll give her a big hug, and then I’ll ground her for the rest of her life.” He laughs, but he doesn’t look like he believes his words. He doesn’t think his sister will ever come back.

Cas pushes off the counter and lets out a shaky breath. “I should go,” he says. “I’m exhausted from the drive, and I need some sleep before our meeting.”

“Thank you,” I tell him quickly. “I really appreciate your help.”

“We’re going to help each other,” he responds. “Otherwise none of us will make it. Now, the room at the end of the hallway is yours. But I’ll warn you,” he adds with a smile, “it’s not much.”

“Damn,” James responds. “I was hoping for little chocolates on my pillow in the morning.”

“Next stop. Promise.”

After Cas leaves, James resets my food in front of me, motioning for me to eat. After we’re both done, we grab a couple of bottles of water from the floor next to the fridge. Even though it’s still daytime, it feels like it could be midnight—our days and nights are twisted around now that we’re on the run.

When we get to the room, James pushes open the door and actually laughs. The small room has a twin bed and a shabby wooden dresser. There are no windows, only a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling as a source of light.

“Whoa,” James says, glancing sideways at me. “I sure hope I’m up to date on all my shots.”

I walk inside, relieved to see clean-looking sheets on the mattress. James closes the door and throws the lock before tossing the duffel bag on the dresser. He stands there, looking about the room and I go to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Could use a woman’s touch,” he says, glancing at me. “You up for it?”

I smile, knowing he’s not exactly talking about my decorating skills. But I’m still bothered that Kevin is gone, that Lacey isn’t feeling well. I’m still bothered by everything.

James’s eyes slide over me, reading my expression. “Let’s crash,” he says softly. “We haven’t had any real sleep in days, and I think we should be clear for what comes next.”

“And what’s that?” I ask.

James shakes his head. “I wish I knew.” He exhales and climbs onto the bed. He slaps the flat pillow a few times and then curls up behind me. When he’s quiet, I look down at him. His eyes weaken slightly. “Want to snuggle?” he asks.

We’ve been through so much the past few days, few months, few years, I’m guessing. It’s too great to even put into words, so I nod and settle down next to him.

James moves until his mouth is at my ear. “We made it,” he whispers, the curve of his bottom lip grazing my skin. His other hand slides up my thigh, and James pulls my leg over his hip. Wrapped around him, I feel safer—like I can hold on to both of us.

But as James kisses my neck, I think about the pill in my pocket. We haven’t had time to discuss it, not fully. “James,” I say, my voice hoarse. “We should talk about the orange pill.”

He stops abruptly, his breath still hot against my neck. “Okay.” He trails his lips over my skin for another moment and then moves to rest his head next to mine on the pillow. His eyes read serious, even though he’s trying for calm. “What’s up?”

It confirms my suspicions. “Would you want your past back, all of it—including the bad stuff—if it could make you sick again?”

“Sloane,” he says, “It doesn’t matter. We’ve—”

“If I wasn’t here,” I interrupt. “If I wasn’t a consideration at all, would you take it?”

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“Just answer me.”

James pauses and then nods. “Yes.” He breathes out. “I guess I would.”

“No hesitation?”

He scoffs, getting on his elbow to look down at me. “Sure I’d hesitate. This is dangerous stuff. But The Program took my life—our life together. It couldn’t have been all bad. I want to know who I was, and I want to know what happened to land me in The Program.”

I close my eyes, ready to cry. “Then you should take it,” I whisper. James wants his life back, even if it means he could get sick again. He’s willing to run the risk, so who am I to hold him back? I’m giving him the same choice Realm gave me, right or wrong.

“Sloane,” James says, putting his hand on my cheek until I look at him. “I can’t take the pill. Not without you. And if you weren’t here, well . . . I don’t think I’d give a shit about anything at all. So let’s stop dreaming up stupid scenarios in which one of us evaporates and the other has to soldier on. If you want to take the pill, then let’s talk about the risks. Otherwise, we’re just going to hold on to it and see how this whole rebellion thing works out. Deal?”

James’s skin is flushed, his eyes wide with vulnerability. He’s lying; he wouldn’t hesitate before taking the pill. He’d swallow it down dry, to hell with the consequences. But he’s also stubborn—he would never take my choice from me. And for that, I love him madly. So I press my lips into a smile and draw him next to me once again, snuggling close until we both drift off.

CHAPTER THREE

THOUGH THERE ARE NO WINDOWS, the harsh overhead light from the bulb slowly draws me awake. James is turned away, calm and quiet with sleep. I’m not sure what time it is, but my body is restless. I get up and take the pill from my back pocket, staring at it through the plastic Baggie.

If there were two, would we take them? How could we when a possible side effect is death? Besides, aren’t James and I happy now? Would memories really be worth the risk of our lives? If only I could talk to Realm, I think I’d understand more. But Realm ran away; he left me.

I close my eyes and compose myself, shaking off the bad vibes. I stride over to the dresser and stuff the pill in the top drawer, tossing in a few pairs of underwear on top of it. Then I grab a knit sweater and leave to wander alone down the hallway.

The place smells like cardboard and packing tape, but it’s better than the medicinal smell of The Program. I pass the kitchen and see Dallas standing at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee. I stop, and then make a point of shuffling my feet so I don’t startle her.

“Hello, Sloane,” she says without looking up. “If you need to take a shower”—her dark eyes drift to mine—“and it looks like you do—there’s a bathroom off the main room.”

I nod a thank-you and take a seat at the table. Dallas sips slowly from her coffee before smiling, the gap between her front teeth charming, her lips a natural bright red. She takes out another cup and fills it, then sets it front of me. I’m surprised, and touched, that she’d make even this small offering. I know I’m not imagining the tension between us. She takes the chair across from me and scrolls through her phone, resting her elbows on the table.

“So how long have you and Prince Charming been together?” she asks without looking up.

“We just—” I pause. “I don’t know, actually. I can’t remember.”

Dallas lifts her head, an apology crossing her lips. “I know how that is. When I first came back, I didn’t feel right. My hair”—she picks up a dread—“was dark and thick—sort of like yours now. My clothes were stiff and scratchy. My mother died right after I was born, I still knew that, but my dad’s an asshole. You’d think The Program would have changed him if they wanted my return to be successful.” She stops to take another drink. “And when he punched me in the face after he came home drunk one night, my tooth wasn’t the only thing to fall out. So did a few memories.”

I nearly drop my cup. “Wait, your dad . . . You have memories?” I’m not sure which question to ask first, but Dallas holds up her hand for me to wait.

“My father went to jail,” she says. “I got extra therapy. I didn’t tell the doctors about the memories because it dawned on me where they were from. How I kept them.” She waits a long moment, reading my expression. “I take it you’ve met Roger too.”

“Roger was the handler who took me,” I say, lowering my voice as shame—shame I know I don’t deserve—sickens me. “And in The Program he was making trades. I gave him a kiss in order to keep a memory, one that led me back to James.”

“A kiss?” Dallas laughs bitterly. “Roger is the epitome of everything evil in this world. Everything I despise. He was in my facility too. But he didn’t ask for just a kiss.” Red blotches dot Dallas’s chest and neck as she starts to wring her hands in front of her. “Bare skin or nothing,” she says, mimicking his voice so perfectly it chills me.

“Oh my God,” I murmur. “Dallas, I’m so sorry—”

“By the time it was over,” she continues, ignoring my condolences, “I had six memories. But that’s not enough. I want more; I want all of them. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m a real person—I don’t like what’s left.” She smiles sadly. “And I’m so damn angry. I want them to pay.”

“I’ll help you take down The Program,” I say seriously. “I won’t go back there, and I’ll destroy them to make sure of it.” Dallas’s story has resonated, awakening the desperation I left Oregon with. We’re fighting for our lives here. The Program will never stop.

Dallas seems surprised by my response. “There just might be more to you than I realized, Sloane,” she says. Weirdly, her approval validates me somehow. Then, after sharing her secrets, Dallas gets up and walks out, leaving her half-drank coffee on the table.

My stomach is still twisted from thoughts of Roger, and I dump Dallas’s coffee down the sink and rinse out the cup before setting it in the strainer. When I was in The Program, Roger propositioned me. He asked me for a kiss in exchange for a pill that would save one memory. His touch, his taste—I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I cried the entire time his hands were on me, his mouth on mine. Just thinking of it now, I feel a shiver of helplessness and I wrap my arms around myself. The things he would have done given the chance. But I had Realm. He kept me safe from Roger, breaking his arm and getting him fired. No one saved Dallas.

The bleakness of our situation—on the run with nowhere else to go—is not lost on me. But at least we’re free. There are no handlers tying us down. There are no doctors interfering with our memories. In a way, we’re lucky. As I look around at the small room, our dire straits, I try to remind myself of that. We’re lucky to be alive.

“Why do I smell soap?” James murmurs from the bed when I enter the room. He turns and looks over at me, blinking heavily with the drowsiness of sleep. “And coffee?” he asks. “Dear God, Sloane. Do you have coffee?”

I grin. “Are you going to be sweet to me?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll kiss you right now if you have coffee. And, baby, if you have a cheeseburger, I’ll get down on one knee.”

I laugh and hold out a cup to him. James climbs out of bed, yawning loudly. He reaches to take a strand of my still-damp hair. “It’s curly,” he says, raveling it around his finger. “And clean. How’d you manage that?”

“I showered,” I say like it’s a huge achievement.

“Fancy.”

“Next time I might try to get my hands on some styling products.” Without a blowdryer and straightener, my hair has been getting curlier by the day. Makes sense considering there are old photos hanging on my parents’ living room wall of me with ringlets.

“Okay, cover girl.” James sips and then makes a face before setting his cup on the dresser. “Horrible coffee.”

“Yeah, and I couldn’t find any creamer.”

James stretches as he takes in the room. “So we’re really here. Find out anything interesting while you were out getting pretty and ruining coffee?”

“I had a long talk with Dallas,” I say, feeling like I’m betraying her for even mentioning it. James crosses the room and starts sorting through the bag of clothes.

“Any hair-pulling?”

“Not yet,” I say. “I think I’m starting to understand her. I also think she may have a tiny crush on you.” James shrugs apologetically, and I go to wrap my arms around him from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder. “No idea what she sees in you,” I whisper.

“Me either.” James spins me, and then I’m pinned against the concrete wall. “I thought you were the only one delusional enough to be with me.”

“Oh, I am,” I say, licking my lips. “So I wouldn’t bother with those other girls. Out of your league.”

“Mm . . . hmm.” James kisses me, and my pulse climbs as his hand glides up my back toward my bra clasp.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and I groan. “Don’t answer it,” James says, kissing my jaw, then over to a spot near my ear. I smile, letting him get in a few more kisses before I finally push him back.

“It’s not like they don’t know we’re in here.”

“We’re busy,” he calls out, and then tries to kiss me again.

“I need to talk to you guys,” Lacey calls from the other side of the door.

James stops, concern crossing his features when he glances at the entrance. Then to cover it, he looks me up and down, false confidence filling in his worry. “We’re not done with this, Barstow,” he says, then heads for the door. I pick up his coffee and take a sip, scrunching my nose at the bitter taste. James lets Lacey in, and the minute I see her, my stomach drops.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. She doesn’t answer right away. She goes to sit on the bed, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Her red hair is slicked back and wet, and as I watch her, I can see from here how she trembles. James must notice too, because he closes the door and then comes to stand next to me, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lacey looks up suddenly. “Something’s wrong with me,” she whispers. “Can you see it?”

Her question catches me off guard, and I immediately try to normalize it. “Is it a migraine?” I ask. “Maybe we can—”

“My mother would get migraines,” she interrupts, her voice taking on a distant quality. “One time—during a really bad episode—she sat me down and told me she was going to ask my dad for a divorce. She cried until she choked on her own tears, and I kept telling her to stop before she made my father mad. Her headaches were always worse when he was angry.”

James shifts, and drops his arms. “That’s horrible. Why didn’t The Program take that memory?”

He’s right. The Program should have erased that tragic thought. Could they make mistakes like that?

Lacey continues like she didn’t hear him. “My dad came home with roses,” she says. “He took one look at my mother’s puffy face, and promptly grabbed her arm and walked out of the room. My mother never mentioned divorce again. She never smiled again either. But she had a migraine almost every day.”

A small trickle of blood begins to leak from Lacey’s nose, trailing red down over her lips before dripping onto her lap. I call her name and she reaches to touch the blood with her fingers. Her eyes begin to stream tears when she sees the crimson streaked across her hand. “Fuck,” she says, blood sputtering from between her lips.

James moves quickly, sitting next to her on the bed. “Here,” he says. “Press here.” He puts his fingers on the bridge of her nose and then guides her shaky hand to the right spot. When she’s pinching, he has her rest back against the headboard. Lacey meets his eyes with a helpless look, but James only smiles at her, smoothing her hair. “It’s just a nosebleed,” he says. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“You’re such a liar,” she whispers.

His expression doesn’t falter, doesn’t even show one crack. “Shut up. You’re fine. Say it.”

“Shut up?”

“You’re fine, Lacey.”

She closes her eyes, resigned to trusting James. “I’m fine,” she repeats.

And when James relaxes next to her, putting his arm over her shoulders so she can rest her head against him, I realize he’s the biggest liar I’ve ever known. But he does it with the best of intentions.

When Lacey’s nosebleed stops, she goes to wash up, not mentioning the memory that surfaced even though it shouldn’t have. She didn’t know Roger. This is an actual memory; it’s recall. In The Program they told us too much stimulus could lead to a brain-function meltdown. Dallas mentioned it as a side effect too. I don’t want to believe anything of the sort, but at the same time, I’m terrified it might be true—our memories might kill us.

“Hey,” Cas says from the doorway, pulling me from my daze. His long hair is tucked behind his ears, and he’s wearing different clothes from earlier. “It’s four. We’re meeting up in the living room. You coming?”

“Oh . . .” I look to where James still sits on the bed, and he gives me a quick nod. “Yeah,” I say. “We’ll be right there.”

Cas glances from James to me, and his sharp jaw hardens. “Something wrong?” he asks. His voice drops a tone, and the hint of seriousness in it sounds more authentic than the let’s-all-be-best-friends guy I met this morning.

“No,” I answer quickly. “Still a little tired, I guess.”

There’s a slight pause as Cas studies our appearances, but then he smiles broadly and I can’t help thinking it’s false. “Well, you’d better hurry,” he says, casting a glance around the room. “One of the guys brought back pizza, and that kind of luxury never lasts around here.”

James crosses his arms over his chest. “Like she said,” he begins, “we’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Cas’s smile fades. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.” He starts for the door, but I see the way he takes in every aspect of our room, every object placement, as if trying to determine what’s off about us. I don’t like how observant he is. I don’t like that he doesn’t trust us, even though we certainly don’t trust him.

What’s changed is Lacey. Something’s wrong with her, but we can’t tell the rebels until we figure out what it is. They might want to kick her out if they think she’s become infected again, or if she’s a liability. We have to protect Lacey, because in this world, you can’t know who to trust. All we have is each other.

When James and I finally get up the nerve, we go to find the others. Everyone is gathered in the main room, even a few I hadn’t seen before. But it’s how they’re dressed that really alarms me. The rebels are no longer in T-shirts or tank tops. They’re wearing black—a color rarely worn in public anymore—and their makeup is dark and dramatic, even the guys. The entire scene is so stereotypically emo that I’m utterly confused.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Dallas smiles broadly from the other end of the table. Her dreads are pulled back behind a black headband, and she’s wearing a leather corset with red ribbons laced through the shoulders. “It’s a special night,” she says, lifting her plastic cup in cheers. “The Suicide Club just reopened.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“THE SUICIDE CLUB?” I ASK, glancing around the room. The others look downright gleeful, smiling and laughing, but I have a horrible feeling I’ve crossed into some hideous version of reality. “I don’t understand.”

Dallas grins, taking a long sip from her cup before answering. “We’re not going to kill ourselves, silly.”

Silly? I wonder what’s in her plastic cup.

“It means we’re going out. You should be happy to leave this dreary place for a while.” She glances to the side. “Are you happy, James?”

There’s a pinch of jealousy. She’s not just asking if he’s happy about going out, she’s asking if he’s happy with me. James looks her over, trying to gauge the situation.

“Yes,” he answers dismissively. “Now, what exactly is the Suicide Club?”

Dallas’s smile falters slightly under the authority in James’s tone. She turns to me instead, her posture taking on an irritated quality as she sets her drink down. “You remember the Wellness Center?” she asks. “This is the opposite. It’s like a place for those of us who don’t want to wear polo shirts and khakis. For those who want to celebrate choice—the choice to kill ourselves if we damn well please.” She shrugs. “We don’t want to die, but it’s fun to explore our dark sides when the rest of the world is intent on burying it.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” James says. “And it sounds dangerous.”

Dallas shakes her head. “Not even. It’s actually the safest you’ll be from The Program’s influence. You can be yourself, James. When’s the last time you were that?”

“Fuck off,” he mutters, examining a hangnail on his thumb. I can see her words hurt him and it infuriates me. James is always himself. He may not remember his life, but he wasn’t changed. He’s still him. That’s what I believe, anyway.

“I think we’ll pass,” I say, reaching to slip my hand in the crook of James’s elbow. “Thanks, though.”

“You’ll go,” Dallas says, then softens her voice. “You should go. It’s a great place to recruit new members. That’s where I met Cas.” She looks over at him. “You were so handsome,” she teases. “Those big brown eyes and long hair, I think I would have brought you home even if you were depressed.”

“Let’s not share all our secrets now . . .,” Cas replies, fighting back an embarrassed smile. I can’t tell if they’ve had a thing or not, and frankly, I don’t care.

“So we’re on the run from The Program, but we’re going to a club?” James asks, pointing out the obvious flaw in this plan. “Why not just call the handlers ourselves and ask them to meet us there?”

“You’re so funny,” Dallas says with a mock laugh. “Sure, the Suicide Club has risks, but the proprietors are careful. It’s never in the same place twice—completely underground. Only those of us in the know hear about it, and even then only the day of. It’s not like they advertise.” Dallas leans her elbows on the table. “Not everyone wants to be well-behaved all the time, so they go to the Suicide Club to let loose for a while. And when it comes to rebels, this is the best place to find them. We get to see what they’re really like. We just have to pick through the really disturbed to find the fighters. Isn’t that how Realm found you, Sloane? Because of your bad attitude?”

At the mention of Realm, both James and I turn to her defensively. I don’t take Dallas’s bait. Whether her words are meant to hurt me or to come between me and James, I won’t give her any more opportunities than she already tries to take. She does hurt me though, and I try to squash the memory of Michael Realm and how desperately I miss him, worry about him. Dallas watches with a sort of satisfaction—the girl who told me her secrets is hidden behind makeup and whatever booze is in her cup. She takes our silence as agreement.

“We leave in an hour,” she says. “I’ll get something appropriate for you to wear and I’ll send it to your room, Sloane. They won’t let us in with you looking so bland. James”—she smiles—“you’re fine the way you are.”

James and I stand there like a couple of idiots, staring at her, and Dallas goes back to laughing and drinking with the other rebels as if we don’t exist at all.

James looks me over skeptically. “I’m supposed to be okay with you going out like this?” he asks, rubbing his chin as he circles me. “I think I can see your womb.”

“You can not.” I laugh and turn to follow his slow assessment.

He looks at me doubtfully. “It’s short.”

“Not that short. The boots are kind of hot, though.” I lift my foot, modeling the spiked black leather boots Dallas sent over. They’re a little big, but I’m hoping that will stop them from hurting me too much.

Neither me nor James had been interested in going out, but now that I’m dressed in this short black skirt, ripped T-shirt, and enough makeup to make me unrecognizable to my family, I feel sort of . . . good. Like I can be someone else for tonight.

“With you dressed like this, I’m probably going to end up in a fight,” he says.

“I know.” I smile. “Dallas and the others are waiting in the main room, so we should probably hurry before she gets even more pissed off.”

“Is that possible?” he asks, walking to the dresser. He pulls a T-shirt from the duffel bag and then turns to me. His cheeks are scruffy from not shaving; light shadows are painted under his eyes. “Sloane,” he asks softly, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

Anxiety knots in my stomach. “I’m pretty sure this is a terrible idea,” I say. “But I don’t know what else to do. We could refuse, or even take off with Lacey—but the truth is we have nowhere to go. We can’t leave without getting some answers or we’ll end up defenseless, getting dragged back into The Program.”

James pauses, absorbing my words, but he must not have a better plan because he just yanks off his shirt before pulling the clean one over his head. I wait at the door, but then I notice I’m still wearing my ring, the plastic ring James gave me at the river. It looks childish next to the very grown-up clothes I’m wearing, so I slip it off and set it on the dresser. James lifts one eyebrow, questioning my motives.

“It’s too sweet,” I say with a smile. James scans my clothes once again, and with a heavy sigh, he agrees. I’m someone else tonight.

In the front room I find everyone gathered, the scene so out of place I’m starting to think it’s just a hallucination. Dallas stands there, a gothic vision in black and red. Cas is next to her, his long hair wild along his face, black liner around his eyes. Everyone looks like they just walked off some trashy version of The Addams Family, and that includes me.

“I’m underdressed,” James says.

“No,” Dallas says with a smile. “You’re perfect. I was hoping you’d drive us tonight. We need someone normal-looking behind the wheel. Not that you could ever be average.”

I roll my eyes and turn away. It seems petty to tell her not to notice my boyfriend, and I’d like to believe I’m above that. But if she does it again, I might just scratch her eyes out.

“Where is this place?” James asks.

“The club’s on Kelsey, about twenty minutes away. I’ll navigate.”

James nods, but then something catches his eye. I follow his gaze to where Lacey is standing in the doorway. She’s not dressed for the Suicide Club. Instead she’s wearing baggy sweats and an oversize sweatshirt that reads OREGON DUCKS.

“I’m not feeling well,” she says, her makeup-free skin startling in a room of painted faces. “I’ll go next time.”

Cas immediately crosses to Lacey and touches her arm. He leans in to whisper in her ear, and after a moment Lacey pulls back to stare at him before she nods slowly. I want to know what Cas said, what he knows about Lacey that I don’t. She’s my friend—he’s just the guy whose nose she broke. Cas puts his arm across her shoulders and begins to lead her out, but I’m quick to jog after them into the hallway.

“Lacey,” I call to her. She glances back at me, her eyes weary.

“Please don’t worry about me, Sloane,” she says. “It’s not good for you or James. I just need a little sleep, that’s all. Go have fun—we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I’m going to stay with her,” Cas says. “I’ve been to the Suicide Club enough times. Dallas can do without me for one night.” He turns to smile gently at Lacey, but she doesn’t return it. Instead her eyes drift toward her room like she wants nothing more than sleep. Solitude.

“I don’t think I should leave you.” I start toward her, but Lacey’s posture straightens with agitation.

“Sloane,” she says, “I love you, but please, it’s nothing personal. I promise. I’m just tired, and I haven’t been alone since leaving Oregon. I want some space.” She turns to Cas, shrugging his arm off her shoulders. “And that includes you, Casanova. I don’t need you hovering over me or trying to get into my pants.”

Cas laughs loudly and then bites back his smile. I’m not sure if he really was going to hit on her or if Lacey just knew how to embarrass him so he’d back off. He holds up his hands in a show of surrender, and Lacey thanks him. She starts toward her room, disappearing around the corner before I hear the click of her door shutting.

I’m still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Other than the nosebleed and wanting to be alone, Lacey doesn’t seem to be falling apart. There are no signs of real depression—dark eyes, spirals, erratic behavior. After all, she’s been cured. She lost Kevin—Kevin—and maybe she needs a little more time to come to terms with that. We all do.

Cas walks back into the main room, and I decide to let Lacey have a night of peace, vowing to harass her tomorrow. She’ll have to talk eventually. We’ll get through this together. I reenter the room and scan the area for James. I find him sitting on the table with Dallas standing close by, talking animatedly. James says something I can’t hear, and she laughs, leaning in to casually touch his knee. The tingling burn of jealousy spreads through my chest.

Dallas glances up, sensing my presence, and then lets her hand fall from James. She faces the room. “Well,” she announces with a loud clap. “Now that we’re all back, it’s time for a little fun.” She motions to the stairwell and quickly, the room starts to empty. James turns and finds me, taking in my outfit like he’s just remembered how scandalously I’m dressed. He bites his lip as he approaches, and my earlier jealousy fades when he takes my hand.

Cas appears next to us and Dallas starts in our direction. “I think I’m going to stay behind,” Cas says, exchanging a look with Dallas. “Keep an eye on things here.”

“If this is about Lacey, I don’t think she wants you to bother her,” I say quickly.

“What’s wrong with Lacey?” James demands.

I shrug. “She wants some space.” James tries to discern any hidden meaning in my words, but there is none. “I think she’s just tired,” I say seriously.

“Is that your diagnosis, doctor?” Dallas asks. I clench my teeth and turn to her. “Even if you’re right,” she adds, “we don’t leave people at our safe houses alone—depressed or not. They can inadvertently set us up, or maybe even on purpose. The suicidal aren’t at all predictable.”

“She’s not suicidal,” I snap.

“Sure,” Dallas says. “Either way, Cas is staying behind. And we have a club to get to, so if you two wouldn’t mind moving your asses . . .”

I look up at James, but he’s lost, turning over the situation in his head, analyzing our options. After a second his light-blue gaze falls on me. “What do you want to do?” he asks.

“I need you, James,” Dallas cuts in, more sober than I had guessed. “Lacey will be here in the morning and the three of you can play psychologist. But right now the rebels need you. We’re not exactly deep in muscle around here.” She glances at Cas. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He buries his hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t seem disappointed to miss out on the Suicide Club. In fact, I think he’s itching to get out of his black clothes and wash off the eyeliner.

Dallas grows impatient with James’s silence, and her hardened layers begin to unravel. “Please come with us tonight,” she says. “I need backup, whether for incoming rebels or handlers. I can’t do this alone. And Cas gets his nose broken too often. There’s something about you, about both of you,” she allows, “that’s inspiring people. We’re dying off here. We need more members and I don’t know when the next Suicide Club will happen.”

Her plea must hit James in the right way because, without consulting me first, he nods. James isn’t a fighter, not really. But he has a good heart, and even pretending to be a dick half the time can’t mask that. I love that about him. And now, with a mix of anxiety and outright fear, I let him pull me away to leave for the Suicide Club.

The building is unmarked. Its gray stone front is menacing with iron bars over the windows, dead bougainvillea crawling up the side. The defaced sign above the door used to belong to a tattoo shop, and a sketchy one at that. Dallas directs James to the back, and we park near the other cars at the entrance. It’s so strange to be out, a group of teenagers without any sort of supervision from a handler. The taste of freedom is overwhelming, like I’m spinning out of control, drunk on life.

There’s a bouncer at the entrance of the Suicide Club, a scary-looking guy with a studded bracelet and an affection for overly tight tank tops. He studies each of us, flashing a penlight in our eyes. They say when the sickness—the depression—takes hold, our eyes actually change. And that if you know what to look for, you can see the deadness there. It’s been only a short time since I met Liam outside of the Wellness Center. He’d gotten sick, spewing horrible words at me. I saw him in the thrall of the epidemic, the way his eyes weren’t quite right.

I guess that’s what the bouncer is checking us for now, making sure we don’t spread our thoughts of suicide to the others. When James is cleared ahead of me, I actually let out a relieved breath. And when I’m in after him, I finally stop shaking.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE INSIDE OF THE SUICIDE club is hazy with cigarette smoke. There are large rooms with stucco walls painted a deep purple, and black lights mingling with the neon, creating a shadowy kind of depth. The people float by, their chatter muted by the music—the beats are transfixing, heavy, and soul-scratching. I’m swayed by it, by something I forgot was there—something dark. A part of me that used to be sad and maybe still is.

James’s hand touches the small of my back as he motions to an empty bartop table. I sit down, and he stands next to me, surveying the room. “This isn’t really my idea of fun,” he says. He doesn’t seem to feel it the way I do—the sadness. He’s not drawn to it, and I think again about our missing past, and what this moment says about it. Maybe James was never sad. Maybe I always was. For a fleeting moment, it’s like I’m slipping away, and I reach for his shirtsleeve to tug him closer, bringing me back to reality.

I must hide my insecurity well, because James kisses the top of my head, brushing his fingers along the black netting on my knee before whispering he’ll be right back. I don’t want him to leave, but I say nothing as he walks away. This place makes me feel vulnerable, exposed. Across from me a couple is in a booth, pressed against each other as they kiss, seemingly oblivious to the people around them. I avert my eyes, but then I notice the lost looks in the crowd. I’ve read The Program pamphlets, the ones my mother used to leave by the phone. The Program says those who are infected exhibit all sorts of uncharacteristic behaviors, including promiscuity, anger, and depression. Maybe it never occurred to the good doctors that sometimes a couple might just be hot for each other or angry or sad. It’s not always sickness.

Just as I think this, I notice a guy leaning against the stucco wall, a ring through his lip and another through his eyebrow. His black hair is half in his eyes as he searches the room. I’m not sure if it’s his posture, or just the setting, but his desperation is palpable.

I’m reminded of where I am, the music suddenly too loud, the air too smoky. I lean my elbows on the table and put my face in my palms. I’m barely able to shake off my newly heightened anxiety before I feel someone next to me.

“You’re kind of a downer, Sloane,” Dallas says. She’s holding a clear plastic cup filled with bright-red liquid. The club probably doesn’t trust its patrons with glass. Dallas takes a slow sip of her drink, running her gaze over me and pausing at the red scar slashed into my wrist. Her pupils are pinholes and I wonder what she’s on—if it’s just alcohol or drugs. “How many times have you tried to kill yourself?” she asks.

A hurt sound escapes my throat as her question brings up pain I can’t associate with any specific memory. But suddenly I hate her. I can see exactly what she’s doing, how she’s trying to provoke me.

“You know damn well I can’t remember,” I tell her. “But I can assure you I’m not going to kill myself now—if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Dallas chuckles, sipping again from her drink. “Why would you think I’d want that?”

I glance over to where James is waiting at the bar, handing cash to the tattooed bartender before swirling the red liquid in one of the cups with a doubtful look. Dallas makes a tsk sound.

“Oh, please, Sloane,” she says, leaning closer to me as we both watch my boyfriend. “If I wanted James—really wanted him—I wouldn’t need you dead to take him.”

I’m about to slap the drink out of her hand and tell her to sober up before I punch her lights out, when James is there, setting a cup in front of me. He doesn’t even acknowledge Dallas.

“No idea what this is,” he says to me. “But it’s the only drink they serve.”

“It’s called Bloodshot,” Dallas says. “It makes you feel things.” She grins when James glances over his shoulder at her, her lips tinged with the red liquid. She reaches to run the backs of her fingers over James’s bicep, and rather than flinch away, he stares at her like she’s lost her mind. “I’ll see you later,” she murmurs intimately to him before strolling away, earning a few eager looks from the other guys in the club—including the pierced one who’s still against the wall. When Dallas is gone, James sits.

“What the hell is wrong with her?” he asks, picking up the cup and smelling it before taking a tentative sip.

“She’s psychotic,” I say, and take a long drink to block out the doubt and worry. The taste is unbearably sweet at first, and I make a face after I swallow it. I don’t believe Dallas. She couldn’t have James—not even if I was dead. James blows out a hard breath, examining the drink.

“This is strong,” he says, pushing it aside.

I nod, taking another sip. Heat crawls down my throat, spreads through my chest—but I like it. I like how quickly it makes my body relax, my thoughts blur. I finish my drink, observing the room until James leans closer to talk next to my ear, his arm casually over my lap.

“I think that dude is on something a little heavier,” he says, motioning to the guy I’d been watching. But I’ve lost interest in the suicidal kid.

My mind swirls with comfort, and as James’s fingers draw patterns into my skin, desire. He’s midsentence when I turn and kiss him, catching him off guard for only a moment before his hand is my hair and his tongue is in my mouth. The world fades away and it’s just us, murmuring I love yous in between kisses. I’m feeling so much and thinking so little. Soon I’m out of my chair and dancing in the middle of the crowd, James pressed against me as the music builds walls around us.

Red drinks. Sad eyes. I kiss James, threading my fingers through his hair, wishing we were anywhere else. And then we are. James is leading me through a dark maze before he backs me up against a cool wall. I’m out of breath as he pulls my thigh up around his hip. He kisses my neck, my collarbone. “James.” I breathe deeply, ready to be lost completely, when a bright light floods my vision.

“Hey!” a deep voice calls. James stays against me but turns toward the light, lifting his hand to block the glare. “You two can’t be in here,” the man says.

It takes too long for my focus to clear, to find we’re in some back room next to crates and boxes. My palm touches the exposed block wall behind me as light from the club filters in the open door. I’m not drunk. This is something different, something better.

“I think they put something in my drink,” I murmur as James steps back. I try to straighten my clothes, but James has to catch me by the arm when I nearly trip on my high-heeled boots. James, still flushed, takes a second to realize what I’ve said.

“You sure?” he asks. Confused, he glances around at where we are, at me, and then curses under his breath. “Yeah, they did,” he agrees. I let him walk me to where the bouncer is holding the door open. When we pass him, he shakes his head, looking more annoyed than angry.

“Keep it in the club or take it home,” the bouncer calls after us. James chuckles and tells him he’ll try his best.

When we escape into the smoky room, James pauses to look around. Low voices and loud beats surround us, and they sway me once again. I’m in a hyper-reality where nothing is wrong, nothing hurts. I like this.

“Do you feel okay?” James asks, his eyebrows pulling together in concern. I want to touch him, and I reach to put my hand on his cheek. I think about how much I love him, and before I can tell him, I get on my tiptoes and kiss him again.

“I want you,” I murmur against his lips. I’m suddenly convinced I need him, need that closeness in a way I never have before. The intensity of our touch, his mouth against mine—

“Sloane,” James says, taking my hands from his body. He leans down so his eyes are level with mine, smiling. “Although I’d like nothing more than to tear off those ridiculous clothes, I’d prefer to do it in private.” He nods his chin to the scene around us, and I’m reminded we’re still in public. I touch my forehead, trying to make sense of my feelings. I blink quickly and look back at James.

“Ecstasy?” I ask.

“I’m guessing. But I’m not sure why they’d put it in the drinks. Either way, we should get out of here. Let’s find Dallas.”

I curl my lip at the mention of her name, but we begin searching the club for her anyway. Faces are a blur, and the harder I try to concentrate on them, the more difficult it becomes. Features upon features, voices all around—inside my head. I’m slowing us down, so James plants me against the wall.

“Wait here,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” I watch him disappear into the crowd, and then I lean the back of my head on the wall and close my eyes. The sweetness of the red drink has faded into a metallic, chemical taste.

“Gross,” I say, wishing for a bottle of water.

“It’s phenylethylamine,” someone next to me says. “Among other things.” I’m not entirely surprised to see the pierced boy from earlier. He turns to face me, and his eyes are even darker up close, but not nearly as dead. It’s like he’s wearing contacts. “The drugs are meant to give euphoria, mask the depression,” he says. “But really they just fuck us up.”

“I’ve noticed,” I say, fascinated by his face. I want to touch one of the rings, but then I clench my hand into a fist to bury the thought. “Is it legal for them to drug us?” I ask him.

“It isn’t legal for us to even be here, so it’s not like we can turn them in.”

“Good point.” Although I know I’m not myself, I still like this feeling—this careless freedom. The sadness I came in with is gone. Now it’s like I’ll never be sad again. I feel invincible. I wonder if it’s done the same thing to this guy. “What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Just call me Adam.”

“You make it sound like that’s not your real name.”

He bites his lip to hide his smile. “It’s not. You know, you’re pretty clever for someone who drank an entire Bloodshot.”

“Or maybe you just hang around a lot of stupid people.”

He laughs, moving closer to me as he does. When he sighs, it occurs to me his lips aren’t red—don’t have that slight red tint Dallas’s (and probably mine) have from the drink. Did he have a Bloodshot?

“We should get out of here,” Adam says, gesturing toward the door. “I have a car, a pretty nice place. Where are you staying?”

He doesn’t say it creepily, even if he is asking me to leave with him. And maybe I would have waved it off, mentioned how James would probably kick his ass, but I’m bothered by the fact he’s not giving me his real name. I am about to ask him when my boyfriend suddenly appears, walking from the crowd with Dallas trailing behind—holding hands with a guy with purple hair and way-too-skinny jeans.

James casts a suspicious glance from me and Adam. “And this conversation’s over,” he mutters, and pulls me away from the wall. I hadn’t noticed how much it was holding me up. “You really shouldn’t talk to strangers,” James adds quietly, shooting another look in Adam’s direction.

Dallas finally catches up and steps in front of us, letting go of her companion. “I’m not leaving yet,” she states. I’m about to protest, but she grins widely and holds up the keys, dangling them from her finger. “But you two go on,” she says, looking positively wasted. “I’ll get another ride back.” She nods to the guy next to her.

That seems completely reckless, but at this point, I’m not going to argue. This place is overwhelming, vexing . . . alluring. James takes the keys from her hand and then starts toward the door. As we leave, I hear Adam’s voice.

“Have a good night, Sloane,” he calls after me. I turn and wave because he wasn’t a total jerk or anything.

“Yeah, you too.”

I follow James out, occasionally taking his arm as we pass through the bottlenecked crowd waiting to get in. It isn’t until we’re in the cool night air that I stop to look back at the building, a chill running over my skin. Because I realize . . . I never told Adam my name.

CHAPTER SIX

THE WAREHOUSE IS QUIET WHEN we enter. Every movement I make sounds too loud—every step. Every breath. Lacey’s door is shut, and the lights buzz as we make our way down the hall. We’re barely inside the bedroom door when James’s hand grazes my hip, moving me aside, but I grab him by the shirt and pull him to me.

As if we’re starving for each other, his mouth is on mine and he backs me against the door, closing it. We’ve slept together only once—that I can remember—and I’m feverish for him now. My hands slip under his shirt before yanking it over his head, and I hear my T-shirt rip more as he pulls away the fabric in his fist. When it doesn’t come off entirely, he growls, and then we’re moving toward the bed. I push him down and then climb on top of him, forgetting everything outside of us. Our layers of clothes begin to evaporate, and his skin is hot against mine. I whisper his name, and then he rolls me over, his weight heavy but perfect. He’s reaching for his pants that lie in a heap next to the bed, when I feel something under my back. I shift, thinking it’s a tag from the sheets, but when I reach to pull it from behind me; I see it’s a folded piece of paper.

James takes a condom from his wallet and then notices I’m holding something. He pauses. “What’s that?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“I don’t know,” I say. Panic begins to bubble up as James moves off me to get a better look at the paper. I start to unfold it, seeing through the sheet that there’s something written in ink—it’s a note. In Lacey’s perfect print, there is a single word that means nothing to me, and yet I hitch in a ragged breath.

Miller

“Sloane?” James’s voice is a million miles away as I drop the paper, my chest heavy with a grief I can’t understand. James grabs the note from my lap and reads it. He tosses it aside before taking my shoulders. “Who’s this from?” he asks.

My panicked eyes find his as I begin to shake all over. “Lacey.” In my head I can think only Miller. My Miller. But I don’t know what it means.

“Goddamn it,” James says, jumping to grab his pants from the floor and pulling them on. He tosses his shirt in my direction and then he’s out the door, running barefoot down the hallway. I slip on his shirt and chase after him.

Why would Lacey write that note? Why would she put it on my bed? Oh, God. I start running faster. Where’s Lacey?

I catch up with James just as he stops in front of Lacey’s door, not knocking before bursting through. The room is dark, and as I look in, he’s in the middle, swiping his hand through the air looking for the chain for the light.

“What’s happening?”

I turn and see Cas stalking toward us, pulling out his switchblade. His face is swollen with sleep, his clothes wrinkled, but he’s as alert as if he’d been waiting for handlers all night. Just then light floods the room, and my heart leaps with hope. The room is stark and the bed is empty. Lacey is gone.

Cas pushes past me into the room, pulling back the covers as if Lacey is somehow hiding. He spins to face James. “Where is she?” he demands accusingly.

James looks devastated, shocked. “I don’t know.”

Cas yanks open the dresser drawers, cursing when he finds them empty. I’m still in the doorway and any trace of the drink at the Suicide Club is gone, replaced instead with disbelief and panic. Cas pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins to pace as he dials. James still stands under the swinging, naked bulb, his head lowered, his chest heaving.

“James?” I say weakly. He looks over, and I’m struck with an image so familiar, I’m not sure how to process it. James’s eyes are red, his skin blotchy, like he’s about to cry. I think Lacey is gone, and then mingling with that is the thought that “Miller” is gone too. James’s expression fits the thought somehow, like he’s replaying a memory from my head.

James coughs out the start of a cry but then crosses the room and gathers me into a hug. His lips press a hard kiss against my forehead, his muscles rigid as I grip his arm.

“Dallas,” Cas says into the phone. “You need to come back.” James and I both look at Cas as he continues to pace. “I don’t give a shit,” he snaps into the receiver. “Lacey’s gone. We’re compromised.” James and I exchange a glance, fear spiking within me. “I’m on my way,” Cas tells Dallas, and then hangs up.

“What’s going on?” James asks.

“Get your things,” Cas says, storming past us. “We’re leaving.” He pauses in the doorway and turns to look back at me. “I’m sorry about your friend,” he says. “I really am. But a returner is always a threat, and Lacey is gone. It’ll be only a matter of time before The Program comes for the rest of us.”

“Do you think they have Lacey?” I ask, frantic.

“Yes,” Cas says in a quiet voice. “I think Lacey is with The Program. Now get your things and meet me at the van.”

Cas leaves, and I turn to James, waiting for him to tell me Cas is wrong. But James just stares after him. “I tried,” he whispers, mostly to himself. Then he lowers his eyes to meet mine. “I tried to help Lacey, but it wasn’t enough.”

“We have to get her back,” I say, nodding to get James to understand. “We have to find her and get her back.”

James can only mumble his agreement, but he’s not here with me. His eyes look unfocused and he starts out of the room. I follow, the floor cold on my feet, while I search my mind for other places Lacey could be. Maybe she decided to go to the Suicide Club after all. Maybe . . . anything. This can’t be the end.

Guilt attacks my conscience when I think about how Lacey acted just before we left for the Suicide Club. I should have done more, but I thought I’d see her tomorrow. I thought there was more time. I was so stupid. She recalled a memory she wasn’t supposed to—and I just left her.

James is already in the room when I walk in, stuffing clothes into the duffel bag. I grab a pair of jeans and pull them on before crossing to the dresser. I take out the pill, and at that moment James looks over. “If we find Lacey,” I say, my body trembling, “we could give her the pill. Maybe it could help. Maybe it could cure her.”

James lowers his eyes. “It was her memories that hurt her, Sloane. I’m not sure giving her more of them is a good idea.”

I look down at the pill, ready to debate the point, but Cas is yelling from the other room for us to hurry. I shove the pill into my pocket and finish packing up our stuff. Before I worry about what to do with the pill, we have to find Lacey.

Once packed, we head toward the door. James staggers to a stop and picks up the note from the floor to examine it one last time. “What does this mean?” he asks. “Who’s Miller?”

“I don’t know,” I say, moving beside him to read the word again. “But it hurts.”

“I know,” James says, crushing the paper in his fist. “It’s like grief, a pain right here”—he taps his heart—“for someone I don’t know.”

But I can tell what he’s thinking—we must have known Miller.

It’s twenty minutes later when James is driving the Escalade we’d left Oregon with, Cas following in the white van. We’re picking up Dallas and the others at the Suicide Club, but as we drive, I watch the streets, hoping to catch sight of Lacey wandering or lost. I don’t want to believe she’s gone.

Lacey—snow-blond hair she dyes red just because. Lacey who ate cupcakes for lunch and questioned everything. I could have done more to help her. I could have stayed behind tonight. But she ran away, took her stuff—where would she go? What did she remember that was so awful? I touch my chest as the hurt starts again, the name Miller haunting my thoughts.

As we pull up to the Suicide Club, the bouncer straightens, looking alarmed. He immediately takes out his phone and presses it to his ear. Cas parks and jogs over to him as James and I wait in the SUV. We’re silent. Anxiety and worry twist in my gut, and I don’t know what to do. I almost want another Bloodshot from the club.

“I’m sick of losing,” James says in a low voice. “And I’m sick of running.” He turns to me, and the fire is back in his eyes, the sadness replaced with anger. “We’re going to take down The Program, Sloane. And we’ll get Lacey back.”

“Promise?” I ask, wanting to believe his words even though I know James doesn’t have the power to make them come true. But I’ll believe them if he tells me. I have no other choice.

“Yeah,” he says, looking past me toward the club. “I promise.”

I blink back the tears that are starting and then follow his gaze to the Suicide Club. Dallas and Cas rush out, with the others, including the guy with the purple hair, close behind them. The bouncer nods as they leave, but I’m surprised to see another person, lingering near the door as he smokes a cigarette. It’s Adam—watching with careful regard. It strikes me then that he’s not like the other people from the club. And as Dallas climbs into the van, telling us to “Go, go!” I watch as Adam turns toward me.

He smiles, and it’s not sinister, it’s not threatening. It’s almost apologetic. He lifts his hand in a wave as James peels out of the parking lot, and I know The Program can’t be far behind.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“HAVE YOU SEEN HER?” DALLAS asks into the phone. Her words are slightly slurred, but she seems otherwise pulled together. In fact, she’s taking charge in a way that makes me trust her. “Is that so?” she asks, hardening her tone. “Where?”

James tightens his grip on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. The minute we’d pulled away from the Suicide Club, Dallas had started making calls, while Cas took the others in the van. Dallas said she had contacts within The Program and that they could tell us if Lacey had been picked up. I turn to look back just as Dallas lowers the phone. When her eyes meet mine, they’re stunned.

“She’s gone,” Dallas says.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice cracking over the words.

“She’s alive,” Dallas says, as if that’s the bad news. “But she’s back in The Program. They’re saying she had a brain-function meltdown, and she’s hospitalized within their facility. They found her at a bus station, set to head back to Oregon.” She shakes her head, absorbing her words. “She must have cracked. It happens sometimes. I’m sorry, Sloane. But . . . she’s never going to be the same. Even if they can put her pieces together again, The Program isn’t going to just let her walk out of there. They’re going to take whatever’s left of her. They probably already have our location and are raiding the warehouse now.” Dallas reaches to rub her eyes with the heels of her hands, smudging her makeup.

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“I’m saying Lacey no longer exists. And there’s no way to bring her back.”

There’s a flurry of motion next to me and the SUV swerves. James pounds his fist against the steering wheel. Then again. Again.

“James, stop,” I say, reaching over to grab his arm, but he yanks it away and squeals the tires as he slams on the brakes. We all pitch forward, and behind us we hear the van skid to a stop.

James opens the driver’s door and jumps out to begin walking. I scramble behind him, confused by his behavior and horrified by the news we’ve just received. “Wait!” I yell, chasing after James. Before I reach him, he spins and startles me. He pulls at his blond hair, knotting his fingers as his face contorts with anger and misery.

“We can’t trust them,” he says, motioning toward the cars. “We can’t trust one fucking person, Sloane. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Contacts in The Program,” he says, as if the idea is ridiculous. “Are you kidding?” He reaches to take my upper arms and pull me closer. “Listen to me,” he says. “We trust only each other from here on out. I don’t give a shit what they tell us; it’s me and you. No one else. For all we know, they could have sent Lacey to The Program.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to me, and I instinctively turn to look back at the Escalade. The doors are wide open, flooding the dark street with light. Dallas is leaning between the front seats, waving for us to get back inside the SUV. James puts his hand on my cheek and turns me toward him; his touch is gentle, so serious. When I meet his eyes, my body relaxes slightly. James draws me into a hug, resting his chin on the top of my head, his arms tight around me.

“It’s just us,” I whisper into the fabric of his shirt. “Forever, just us.”

“That’s the idea,” he responds. The horn beeps, making us jump. James looks me over one more time before smoothing the curls of my hair away from my face. In this moment of calm, the disappearance of Lacey is crushing. But it’s no longer panic, it’s loss. Heavy, terrible loss covers me in a shadow. Rather than cry, I take James’s hand and go back to the waiting car. There’s no time to mourn. There’s only time to run.

I’ve never been to Colorado before, and when we cross the state line, the sun is shining. It does nothing to comfort me though, and I lean my head on James’s shoulder in the backseat as Dallas drives. I’ve been checking the CNN feed on Dallas’s phone—hoping for word on Lacey, but at the same time, terrified of what an article would say about her. But there are no updates, save for an older one about James and I running away.

James asks me to check the New York Times, and when I do, my stomach drops. “Oh my God,” I murmur, scrolling through an interview. This can’t be real.

“What is it?” James asks. From the front, Dallas flicks her gaze to the rearview mirror. The date on the interview is from a few days ago, and when I meet Dallas’s eyes, I see she already knows.

“What’s going on?” James demands. I hold the phone out to him and watch as his expression falters. It’s an in-depth interview about us. And James’s dad is doing the talking.

“He’s claiming it’s your fault,” Dallas says quietly, looking at me in the mirror, “like you’re some sort of vixen. You’d think he’d be more concerned about getting his only son home.”

James is still reading, and every second that ticks by makes his posture tighter, his hands curl into fists. I’d only skimmed the interview, but James’s dad claimed I was the mastermind behind our disappearance. There’s even a picture of him posing with a framed photo of James from middle school. It’s absolutely absurd.

“Propaganda,” Dallas calls back, even though James and I have fallen silent. “They baited him into that interview to gain public support. I wouldn’t let it bother you too much.”

I scoff. “Right, Dallas. I’ll just put it out of my mind.” I look at James, trying to gauge his reaction. Eventually he turns the phone screen off and hands the cell forward to Dallas. I start to chew on my nail, waiting. But James just crosses his arms over his chest like he might never talk again.

“James?” I ask when his nonresponse nearly sends me over the edge.

“My dad’s an asshole,” he says quietly. “Let’s just leave it at that for now.”

But I can’t drop it. I don’t know how James’s father feels about me—or at least I can’t remember. He could have a reason to hate me, or like James said, he could just be an asshole. Either way, the fact that this is news shows the reach of The Program. Using his father is another layer of betrayal. They knew it would hurt James. They wanted it to. It’s proof they won’t stop. They won’t let us go. “What are we going to do?” I whisper.

James turns toward me. “We hold on,” he replies. It’s not the give-them-hell response I need to hear, but James is only human. We’re all vulnerable. Like Lacey.

The reality of our situation is crushing, and we ride in silence—James lost somewhere next to me. I watch out the window as we pass a park. There are children playing in bright-colored shirts, running around while their doting mothers look on. For an instant, I miss my parents in a desperate way I haven’t felt in a long while. For an instant I wish I could go home.

But then I think of James’s dad sitting down for that interview and know it just as easily could have been my parents. I close my eyes until I’m back to now, on the run with James and Dallas.

“I think you’re going to love Denver,” Dallas calls from the front, startling me from my thoughts. “There won’t be any Suicide Clubs for a while, though. The last one got raided after we left. In a way, Lacey saved my ass by taking off.”

“How did they find out about the club?” I ask.

Dallas begins twisting her blond dreads absently. “A handler probably,” she says, watching the road outside the windshield. “Those bastards are embedded everywhere.”

Embedded handlers—the thought hadn’t occurred to me. My memories from last night at the Suicide Club are hazy, but I remember Adam. Was he a handler putting on an act, pretending to be depressed? That’s so wrong, so unethical. If he was a handler, then . . .

Fear crawls up my back and arms, a devastating reality I can’t even tell James. Not yet, not when he’s still feeling guilty about Lacey. But Adam knew my name—he knew who I was. If he was a handler, why didn’t he take me right then? What if I was the reason the Suicide Club was raided?

“Hold up,” Dallas tells us when her phone vibrates. James’s eyes narrow as he watches in the rearview mirror as she answers it. “Seriously?” Dallas says into the phone. “Goddamn it, Cas. Fine,” she growls, and hangs up, dropping her phone into the cup holder. The Escalade zooms past us, but we turn right.

“Cas says we need to split up,” Dallas tells us. “The place in Denver won’t work for you, and it’s too risky to continue driving right now. Apparently they’re doing a Dateline special about the two of you. The media has totally latched on to your runaway-lovers story—and the scanner is going crazy with possible sightings. This is a total clusterfuck.”

“So where are we going, then?” James asks, his mood still dark from reading about his father. “Don’t you have any friends here?”

The dig makes Dallas flinch, but she smiles, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, I have friends, James. But they won’t exactly welcome me in with the rebel poster children in tow. Too bad your handsome face couldn’t be a little less memorable.” She says it like she hates him for it.

“Yes, too bad,” I respond sarcastically. James chuckles, side-eyeing me. His angry expression softens, and then he shoves my shoulder playfully.

“Hey!” I push him back, to which he retaliates until I’m finally smiling. I love how we can do that—break through the misery to always find each other.

Dallas interrupts. “We’re heading to Colorado Springs. There’s a small house where Cas used to crash. He told us to head over while he drops off the others. He’s going to stay with us, though. The four of us,” she mumbles. “Won’t that be cozy?”

“Lovely,” I respond. Because spending more time with Dallas is what I need. I rest against James; he braids strands of my hair between his fingers as I watch the passing street out the window. The blue sky and the white-capped mountains.

And when the moment of normalcy fades, I’m haunted once again by thoughts of Lacey—and how I could have saved her. I go to twist the ring on my finger and become alarmed when there’s only naked flesh. I hold up my hand and hitch in a breath. I spin to James, tears ready to spill over.

“I left it behind,” I say. At first his expression is a mixture of concern and confusion, but then he looks at my hand and realizes I’m talking about the ring. His shoulders slump, hurt crossing his features.

A few weeks ago I’d found a ring hidden in my bedroom. I’d placed it there for when I got out of The Program, and it eventually helped lead me back to James. Just last week he’d gotten me a second ring—a new promise. But I was careless enough to lose it. It’s starting to feel like a pattern: losing things I care about. People I care about. I curl against James, my face buried in his shirt while he murmurs he’ll get me another. It was just an object; it’s replaceable. But as he talks, I rub absently at the empty space on my ring finger, thinking about replacements. And wondering if I’m just a replacement of the girl I used to be.

The house is a skinny two-story with peeling yellow paint and a broken wooden fence. I take a quick peek around as we pull into the garage behind the house. Dallas leads us toward a sagging back porch and picks up a key from underneath a coffee can filled with old cigarette butts that’s just outside the door. James and I survey the yard, and he points to a dilapidated doghouse in the corner.

“Can we get a puppy?” he asks, grinning at me. I want to say yes and then really get a dog. We’ll give it a stupid name and take it everywhere with us. But our situation isn’t permanent. We may never find permanence again. We may never find Lacey again. When I don’t respond, James’s smile fades and he puts his arm around me as we wait for Dallas to get the door open.

I was in the school cafeteria the first time I met Lacey. She was wearing the same sort of clothes as the other returners, but on her they didn’t seem so bland. She told me not to eat the food because they put sedatives in it. She told me this even though it could have gotten her in trouble. She sat with me—a hollowed-out, confused girl—until I started to feel less lost. She made me laugh. She tried to protect me from The Program. But I let her down. I should have taken the nosebleed more seriously. I’m not sure what I could have done for her, but I should have figured something out. If Realm had been here, he would have known what to do.

“Sloane?” James asks, startling me from my thoughts. The door is open and Dallas is gone, but I’m still on the back porch while James looks at me from inside. “You coming?” he asks.

I think about the doghouse again, a symbol of the normal life we’ll never have, and then follow James into the house before bolting the door behind us. The entryway leads into the kitchen, which although old-fashioned, seems to be perfectly intact. There are appliances, and dishes in the open cupboards. It’s like a real home, but that doesn’t offer me much comfort. Instead I’m reminded of my home back in Oregon, of my parents who I haven’t spoken to since the day I left. Are they sick with worry? Are they okay?

“I think I want to lie down,” I say to James, my chest constricting when I think of my father waiting for me to come home. My mother looking out the front window, wondering if I’m alive. James asks Dallas where the bedrooms are and she motions toward the stairs. I don’t wait for James and start up them, noticing small nails punched into the walls without pictures hanging from them.

There are three rooms, and James lets me decide which one I want. I pick the one with the biggest bed, and James drops our bag onto the dresser. The room has a dormer with a chair set in the space, along with a little table. The walls are a grayish-white and the furniture is old but still useable. The blankets look decent and I lie on top of a faded green comforter. When I curl up in the fetal position, James comes to lie next to me, rubbing his hand over my back.

“We’ll get through this,” he says. “You’re stronger than anyone I know, Sloane. We’ll keep each other safe.”

The words ring hollow, words I’m sure I’ve heard before. If I dwell on the negative thoughts any longer, I’m afraid I’ll get sick. It’s like the depression is always there, threatening to pull me under. I turn and wrap my arm around James, my cheek on his shoulder. He strokes my hair, comfortable and innocent, but it’s not enough for me. I get up on my elbow and look down at his handsome face, his trusting eyes.

I kiss him. “Make me forget,” I murmur between his lips, sliding my hand under his shirt. James is quick to respond, moving me on top of him, and the negative thoughts are leaving. The faces—real or imagined—are fading away.

I try to strip away his clothes, but my hands are too shaky and tears sting my eyes. It’s all so overwhelming and I’m not sure I can bear even one more loss. I just want all my feelings to go away. Why can’t they just go away?

James grabs my wrists and stops me, pulling me against him for an embrace.

“Make it go away,” I whimper. James swallows hard, his grip on me loosening. My hands once again search his body, but the passion is gone. When I finally meet his eyes, they pin me in place.

“I don’t want you like this,” he says. “I don’t want us like this.”

Emptiness tears through me, curling around my toes. I am a black hole of doubt and misery. I glide my fingers over James’s jaw, his full lips. He gently takes my hand and kisses it.

“We’ll get through this,” he says, a cry threatening to break the sternness of his statement. He waits until I agree, and when he pulls me closer, I just lie against him—and let the darkness swallow me up.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WE’RE LIVING OFF GAS STATION cuisine until Cas shows up a few days later with a bag of nonperishable goods he snagged from the food bank. Dallas eyes him but doesn’t ask where he’s been. But soon after he returns, they’re leaving for long stretches—hours at a time—with no explanation of where they’re going. Because of my and James’s high-profile statuses, we’re left behind to wonder about them.

The days begin to blur together, and cut off from the outside world, James and I are falling into a routine. I start to think that maybe we could actually get a dog—but then my rational side reminds me that this is all pretend. At least for now.

“You should wear an apron,” James calls out playfully from the kitchen table as I wash the last of our dishes. I’ve never thought of myself as very domestic, and if my cooking proves anything, I’m not. So James cooks, and I clean, and Dallas and Cas wander about like rebel leaders and make jokes about how James and I are playing house.

I shut off the water and then, instead of drying my hands on the dishtowel, I walk over and wipe them on James’s face as he tries to fight me off. We’re both laughing, wrestling in a way that will surely end in kissing, when Dallas walks in, taking in the scene.

“Cute,” she says, as if she doesn’t find it even the least bit endearing. “Did you get the hot water heater working?” she asks James. He bends his head back to look at her as I sit on his lap.

“Not yet. I’m not very handy.” He smiles. “My talents lie elsewhere.” I swat his chest and he laughs, turning back to Dallas. “The Internet on your phone is spotty here, so I can’t download a how-to video or anything. Is Cas good at fixing stuff ?”

“No,” she says immediately. “Cas is good at gathering information, not evaluating it.”

James straightens and helps me off of him as he stands. “What sort of information? What exactly are you and Cas doing all day, and why won’t you tell us?”

“We’re collecting intel, monitoring the safe houses, looking for new recruits. And we don’t tell you because we don’t trust you. While you and Sloane are living in some delusion, there are people killing themselves. It’s an epidemic out there, James, and The Program is using that to further their agenda. First step is getting rid of all of us.”

“And how do I know you’re not the one leading them here?” James asks, calling her on the suspicions that have been festering.

Dallas’s normally pretty face hardens, her jaw tightens. “You want to know why I don’t work for The Program?” she asks him. She pushes up her sleeves and holds out her arms, a wide scar, light pink and healed, wraps around her wrists. “This is from the restraints,” she says. “I kept pulling out my hair, so they tied me down. But that made fighting off the handler pretty difficult.”

“Fuck,” James murmurs as he looks over her scars. A shudder races through me, knowing the story, and hating Roger even more for it.

“ ‘The first one’s free,’ he told me,” Dallas says, her eyes dark and cold. “He stuffed a pill inside my mouth and said to focus on a memory. I focused on my mother. I nearly choked to death on my own vomit, but he wouldn’t take off the restraints. Said I was a danger to myself.”

James reaches for the chair to steady himself, but I’m watching Dallas with both sympathy and understanding. She can’t be part of The Program—after what Roger did to her, she could never work for them.

“They kept me sedated for close to three weeks,” Dallas continues. “And for those three weeks all I remember is his hands on me. His body on mine. He said he only liked the willing, but when the choice is him or eradication, I’m not sure there is much willingness in that. I gave in to him. I had no choice. But he stopped giving me the pills, said I couldn’t remember too much or The Program would realize what he was doing. He lied to me. He took everything from me.

“The minute they removed my restraints, I grabbed a Taser and nearly killed him. I wanted to.” Her hard expression cracks long enough for a few tears to streak from her heavily lined eyes. “I’m going to kill them all,” she says quietly. “I’m going to burn that place to the ground.”

“I didn’t know,” James says to her. “I’m sorry.” Then to my surprise, he reaches for Dallas and draws her into a hug, brushing his hand over her arm in a moment so tender, I can’t help but feel jealous. “We’ll find him,” James whispers. “And we’ll kill him.”

Dallas doesn’t look at me. Instead she closes her eyes, squeezing them tight as her arms come around James, turning her face to rest on his shoulder. She’s completely stripped down and broken, and James is the only thing holding her up as she starts to cry.

“Shh . . .” He strokes her blond dreads. After a few minutes I leave to go back to our room, giving them some privacy. Because even though I don’t trust Dallas, I trust James completely.

In my bedroom I go to the closet, where I set the pill on the top shelf behind an old book of children’s Bible stories. I pull the string connected to the light and then sit on the floor of the closet, examining the pill through the Baggie. How hard both Dallas and I must have fought to keep our memories. Roger preyed on us. And now here I am with a key I would have given anything for.

Now I can take it. But it’s been only a few days since I felt the darkness, and only seven weeks since I left The Program. Am I truly cured? Wasn’t Lacey?

Lacey.

I close my eyes, crumpling the Baggie in my fist. Lacey’s memories drove her crazy; I can’t risk that. I can’t get sick again; I can’t let James get sick again. The girl I used to be is dead—The Program killed her. And for better or worse, I’m what’s left. I’ll never take the pill. I never want to know. Resigned to this, I stand and put the pill back in its place. Then I turn off the light and close the door behind me.

James and I are in the backyard, lying shoulder to shoulder in the dying grass, tanning our skin. We’ve been inside so much, we’re starting to look like vampires. We never did see the Dateline special, but it seems that since then we’ve been replaced with more tragic stories about the spreading epidemic. We’re trying to make the best of our situation here, but staying in the house is making us stir-crazy. So we came to lie in the backyard, pretending we’re on the grass beach in Oregon again.

The Escalade turns into the driveway, and I shade the sunlight with my palm, watching the car pull into the garage. I’m annoyed Dallas and Cas are back—annoyed this isn’t just all ours. I wonder what James and I would do if they never came back at all. Would we stay here?

“I hope they brought food,” James says from next to me, his eyes still closed. “If not, we’re stealing the car and making a McDonald’s run.”

“Deal.” I turn over, curling against James as the heat of the sun beats down on my cheek and arm. If I could, I’d live this moment forever. Birds chirping, sun shining. James opens one eye to look over at me, and I smile broadly.

“Adorable,” he says, and gives me a quick kiss. When the garage door closes, James groans and sits up. “Dallas,” he calls. “What’s for dinner?”

Dallas walks from the garage with a brown fast-food bag in one hand, and a canvas satchel in the other. She looks us over, her face more serious than I’d expect on a beautiful summer day. “I have something for you,” she says to James. Cas comes from the garage, his face downturned, and immediately James is on his feet.

“What’s happening?” he asks, meeting them at the back door. “What’s wrong?”

Dallas leans against the railing, the wood creaking like it might break. Cas tosses a weary glance in my direction. I climb up, suddenly out of breath. Are the handlers on their way? Did they hear something about Lacey?

Out of the satchel Dallas pulls a black accordion file, stuffed with papers, their edges fraying. My gut sinks, and I walk over to put my foot up on the stair, waiting to hear what they’ve found.

“It’s your file, James,” Dallas says. “From your time in The Program. I got access to it from a source—she stole the whole damn thing. It’s”—she looks at me—“an interesting read.”

“You read my file?” James asks, but his voice is choked as he stares at the papers. Dallas is about to give him what I wouldn’t . . . his past. My body begins to tremble.

Dallas shrugs. “I didn’t read the entire thing,” she offers. “Just the good parts.” She flashes her gap-toothed smile. “And sorry, Sloane. I couldn’t get my hands on yours. They’re keeping that one on lock.”

James stands frozen, as if he can’t believe this is really happening. When he takes the file from Dallas, he turns to me, wide-eyed. “Let’s check it out.”

“James”—Dallas holds up her finger—“maybe you should read it alone first.” Her gaze flicks to me for a second, and from behind me I hear Cas shift. I swallow hard.

“Thanks for the advice,” James says, then points to the fast-food bag Dallas is holding. “That for us?” Dallas nods, and James plucks the bag from her hands and disappears inside, calling my name from the kitchen.

I climb the rest of the stairs, dread seeping from my pores. I pause in front of Dallas when I get to the top. “What’s in his file?” I whisper. Her expression is both fascinated and smug.

“Guess you’ll see,” she says. She holds the door open for me, and I narrow my eyes at her before walking in.

“Tattoos,” James says the minute I’m through the kitchen door. He’s got a cheeseburger to his lips, the open file spread out on the table. “These scars were tattoos. Can you believe it?” He slaps the page down and pulls up his shirtsleeve to show the white lines. On the table is a photograph, and I take in a sharp gasp when I see the first name.

“Brady,” I say. Surprised, James looks down and sets the cheeseburger aside.

“I tattooed your brother’s name on my arm,” he says quietly, and looks up. “I must have cared a lot about him.” The thought brings me comfort, knowing Brady wasn’t alone even though Realm had told us as much. But I’m glad they were friends. It tells me a lot about the kind of person James must have been, and it reassures me. Maybe I never needed to be afraid of our past together.

James leans forward suddenly and pokes at the picture. “Holy shit. Look.”

I sit next to him, and when I see it, I turn to him. “Miller.” The name Miller is the last on James’s list, but it’s not tattooed like the other names. It’s a cut, jagged and scabbed over like he . . . carved it into his arm. I grab his bicep, inspecting the space, trailing my thumb along the scars.

Miller. Miller. My eyes flutter closed, something itching behind my skull, a thought cracking through the smooth surface of my memories until it shatters open.

“Would you mind moving over?” a guy says, coming to stand next to me at the lab table. “I’m kind of an expert at this.” I glance up and back away from the Bunsen burner, which I couldn’t manage to turn on.

“Golly gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically. “I didn’t know they were sending in the professionals.”

The guy’s mouth twitches with a smile as he reaches to turn the gas all the way up, the hissing barely audible over the sound of the other students’ conversations in the chemistry room. “Name’s Miller, by the way,” he says. “In case you want to write a thank-you letter.”

“I’m drafting it in my mind as we speak. Um . . . are you sure the gas should be turned up that high?” I look around the room, but my teacher seems preoccupied with his computer screen. “Miller,” I say, feeling funny using his name when we’ve only just met. “Please don’t burn up my homework.”

He turns to me, the igniter dangling from his fingers. “Are you kidding?” he asks. “I could do this with one hand tied—”

He clicks the igniter and the minute there’s a spark, all I hear is a giant whoosh before a bright-blue flame explodes over the Bunsen burner. I yelp and Miller drops the igniter, sending more sparks over the lab table, igniting the homework I’d just specifically told him not to burn up!

The girl at the lab table in front of us looks back and then points a panicked finger at our now-flaming table. Miller reaches quickly to turn down the Bunsen burner, and then, with complete calm, he picks up my half-empty can of Diet Pepsi and douses the fire, putting it out with an unceremonious sizzle.

“Well, shit,” he says, staring down at the soggy, smoking, withered paper. “That didn’t go the way I planned it in my head.”

I put my hand on my hip and turn to glare at him. But the minute his dark brown gaze meets mine, we both start laughing.

Miller. I open my eyes, feeling the tears rush over my cheeks. What happened to Miller?

“I remember him,” I whisper. “I have a memory of him.” James grips my forearm, squeezing tight, even though I’m sure he doesn’t know he’s doing it. I shouldn’t have this memory. Is this recall? Will I end up like Lacey, broken and crashing? My heart is pounding so fast, I’m afraid it might just quit. “I think Miller was my friend, and I remember him.”

James gathers me into a hug. “What have they done to us?” he whispers, mostly to himself. I replay the memory over and over like a sad song on repeat, familiar and comforting even though it’s scratchy and painful. “Look at me,” James says, pulling back to examine my face. “Headache?”

I shake my head, and he takes another second to make sure I don’t spontaneously combust. He waits while I tell him the memory, smiling likes it’s a good story and not some forgotten piece of my past. When I’m done talking, I’m calmer.

“Better?” James asks softly.

“Yeah. There’s nothing else trying to break through. It was just a blip—a spike and then back to flatlining. This isn’t like Lacey,” I say. Even though James didn’t bring up the connection, I know it must have crossed his mind.

“Of course it’s not,” he says dismissively, his jaw tight. “But that memory—we’re not going to tell anyone about it. Maybe you’ll have others, maybe you won’t, but this is our secret.” He looks at me. “Right?”

“I’m fine,” I assure him. I quickly assess myself and realize I’m telling the truth. I do feel fine. A little stressed, but I don’t feel like I’m about to fall apart or anything. This isn’t at all like Lacey.

After a moment James picks up the photo of his tattoos again, checking it against the scars on his arm. “What happened to all these people?” he asks.

“They died.” I think about Brady. My brother’s final days were erased from my memory, and this could be our only chance to find out what really happened to him. “James,” I say, reaching past him to spread out the files, looking for my brother’s name. “See if there’s any mention of Brady.”

He helps me sort through the file, picking out papers that he thinks look promising. “How about this one?” he asks, sliding out a page. “It’s minutes from my sessions with Dr. Tabor.” I look sideways at James, surprised he remembers his doctor’s name. I remember Dr. Warren, but James has never mentioned anything about his time in The Program, nothing beyond that it’s all a blur.

“It’s the only one,” he says, examining the print on a few other papers before he gives up the search. He settles back in the chair with a quick look at me to make sure I’m listening, and then he starts to read from the page. “Session one,” he starts. “Patient 486: James Murphy. Doctor: Eli Tabor. The patient refused medication for targeted recall and was therefore injected.” James tenses at the line, and I lean down to read over his shoulder.

Dr. Tabor: Why are you here, James?

Patient 486: What? They didn’t tell you? What sort of a seedy operation is this?

Dr. Tabor: Are you depressed?

Patient 486: Not that depressed. Maybe I’m just tired.

Dr. Tabor: Tell me about Brady Barstow.

Patient 486: Fuck you.

(Patient becomes uneasy and another injection is given.)

Dr. Tabor: Better?

Patient 486: No.

Dr. Tabor: I see. James, teens in your position are always combative; this isn’t a new feeling. But you need to understand that we’re here to help you. To cure you. Do you want to live?

Patient 486: Not after you’re done, I won’t.

(Note that patient’s speech is slurred.)

Dr. Tabor: Is it because of your girlfriend?

Patient 486: Don’t have one.

I pause at the line and look at James. The minute he reads it, his breathing changes, but he doesn’t turn to me. A new sort of worry begins, and I read on, hoping it’s just a lie.

Dr. Tabor: You’re not dating Sloane Barstow, Brady’s sister?

Patient 486: I wouldn’t call it dating.

Dr. Tabor: What would you call it then?

Patient 486: Pity.

My stomach drops at the word pity. I don’t believe it, but inside, a seed of doubt has been planted.

Dr. Tabor: We have extensive research on you and Miss Barstow. We know you’ve been in a relationship for years now.

Patient 486: Her brother asked me to take care of her. I have been. But the minute she’s eighteen, I’m done. I’ll be done with Sloane and you won’t have to worry about her ever again.

Dr. Tabor: But we are worried. She may not be carving names into her arm, but she’s high-risk, James. We want to bring her in.

Patient 486: You’re wasting your time. She doesn’t love me. I don’t love her. Sure, we sleep together sometimes, but that should be expected. I’m a pretty good catch.

Dr. Tabor: James—

Patient 486: Are we done here? Because I’m done talking.

Dr. Tabor: No. I want to—

(Note that Patient 486 charged the desk and grabbed my coat to attack me. Handlers were brought in to sedate him. He will sit in isolation for three days before his next session.)

Additional notes: Patient 486 attempted to terminate his life following his session. After waking from his sedation, he used his sheets to try to hang himself in his room. Dr. Arthur Pritchard has been called in for a consult.

I stand up from the kitchen chair, bumping it back against the wall. James is motionless, still staring down at the papers. He tried to kill himself. He said he never loved me. I can remember Miller.

Suddenly my head is pounding, my heart racing. I touch my temples just as a wave of dizziness hits—I shouldn’t mess with my memories, but I can’t stop myself. I’m trying to piece together what I know for certain.

When I first returned from The Program, I met James outside of the Wellness Center. A guy named Liam had called me a freak, and although we didn’t know each other, James stood up for me. As we got closer, James always held back. Is this why? Would he have really left me when I turned eighteen?

Tears start to sting my eyes, and I rub them roughly as I back away from the table. I need a minute to figure out what’s happening. I leave the kitchen, heading for our room . . . and James doesn’t stop me.

CHAPTER NINE

I WALK INTO THE BEDROOM and begin pacing. My mind is in overdrive, imagining the worst—making up elaborate scenarios where James was my unrequited love. Is this what Realm said I wouldn’t want to find? He’d told me I loved James madly, but he didn’t say James loved me back. Could that be why I got sick?

I cover my face, begging myself to stop, stop the negative thoughts that are feeding on me. But I can’t. Something I’d accepted as fact, this love story between James and me, might not be true. When I think about it, there were plenty of signs. That day he came to my house to talk about Brady—he walked out on me when I hugged him. And later he even told me I was imagining our relationship in my head.

“Sloane.” James’s voice startles me, but I don’t respond. James pulls my hands from my face, and I start to sob. It’s not just because of James’s file. I’ve lost Lacey. I’ve lost Miller. I’m completely falling apart and I’m scared. I’m so scared!

“You’re spinning out, Sloane,” James says, his voice hurried. “I need you to pull it together right now. Right fucking now.” I start to shake my head, but James takes my wrist to pull me up, hugging me tightly against his chest. “Stay with me,” he murmurs next to my ear. “Stop thinking and stay with me. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is just fine,” he soothes in his liar’s voice.

It comforts me though. Those words ease down my skin as James strokes my hair, telling me we’ll be all right. I measure my breathing until it settles into a normal pattern, the tears dry on my cheeks. James is right: I’m spiraling, and I need to pull myself out.

“Do you think you were lying to the doctor?” I ask, my voice thick from tears.

James holds me away from him so I can see his face. “Yes, Sloane. Obviously, I wasn’t telling him the truth. Do you think I’d really tell The Program about us? There’s no way.”

“But how do we know?” I ask, hitching in a breath. “How do we know what’s real anymore?”

James puts his hand over his heart, anguish on his face that nearly kills me. “Because I can feel it here, and I could read it in my words. I was protecting you. I would have died to protect you had they not stopped me. We’re fucking mental for each other—but maybe that’s how we survive from here. We just have to be crazier than The Program.”

I choke out a small laugh, and James hugs me once again. “I’m tired of running,” I whisper.

“Me too,” he says. “But this is when we have to fight the hardest. This is all that’s left of us—this right now. We have to make it count.” James brushes my hair behind my ear. No matter what the file says, lies or not, who we are now matters.

“I still love you madly,” I whisper.

“I love you too.” He says it so honestly that I can’t believe there’s any other way for him to feel. My doubt begins to fade, and James buries his face in my hair. Gliding my hand up his arm, I stop over his scars—his tattoos—tracing patterns until I feel him kiss softly at my neck.

A soft sound escapes my throat, and I turn my face to kiss him. He professes his love again, his hands gripping my hips. I back us toward the bed, kissing, whispering. I’m quickly losing layers of clothing, but James is still dressed as we lie on the bed. When I try to undo his belt, he stops me.

“Don’t,” he says. He looks down at me and laughs. “I can’t handle the temptation.”

“Then stop resisting.” I lift my head to kiss him again. He returns the kiss, but then quickly flops over onto his back.

“I can’t, Sloane,” he says. “I forgot the condoms back in Phoenix.”

I freeze for a moment, and he turns to me, smiling sheepishly. “Are you kidding?” I ask.

“No. But believe me—I’m pretty pissed about it.”

I groan, but then I realize I’m better. The distraction worked, and my head doesn’t hurt as much—although there’s still a tiny ache behind my eyes. But James made me forget the pain. I throw my leg over his, and put my head on his chest. “At least we’re building some anticipation,” I say with a smile, content to feel well again.

“At the very least,” he mutters.

I slide my hand under James’s shirt to rest it over his heart, feeling its rapid beats. They say stress brings on the meltdowns, so I block out the thoughts of Brady, Miller, and Lacey. If there’s one thing The Program made us experts at, it’s repression.

“I mean it, you know,” James says quietly. “I love you like crazy, and I don’t give a goddamn about anything else.”

We’re quiet for a long while until James has to sit up because his arm fell asleep. “Should we check out the rest of that file?” he asks tentatively. “You’ll have to take it easy, but this could be our only chance to find out what happened. Pretty sure The Program isn’t handing them out like greeting cards.”

I’m worried, but I agree, letting him take the investigative lead. This was a fluke—I’m not breaking down. There’s nothing wrong with a few memories, so long as I don’t let them control me. I can handle this. I’m strong enough.

Dallas is in the kitchen, pouring water into the back of the coffeemaker while Cas sits at the table, looking exhausted. When we come down, he presses his lips into a smile, seeming relieved that we’re joining them. Dallas tosses a curious glance over her shoulder but doesn’t say anything as James and I each take a seat.

“So what happened to my file?” I ask as the coffee begins to percolate.

Cas shrugs, answering only after Dallas stays silent. “I’ve called every contact I have,” he says, “but your file is gone, or at least, not accessible. They tried to pull James’s, too—probably after you ran—but I got to it in time. I think they’re trying to cover their asses in case you turn up dead or on an Oprah special.”

“That’s the next stop on our publicity tour,” James says with a grin. Dallas turns, flashing him a smile before grabbing two coffee mugs and setting one in front of James. He thanks her, then starts going through his file again. I can’t look at Dallas. She read the notes from James’s session, and whatever doubts I had are probably magnified by a thousand in her mind. Luckily, I don’t have to dwell on her possible thoughts before James holds up another paper.

“Look at this,” he announces. “Says here I assaulted a handler.” The paper is an incident report and apparently, after his blackout session, James attacked a handler in the hallway. It reminds me of when Realm took down Roger, and I turn to James, thinking for the first time that he and Realm have a lot in common—more than just me.

Dallas tops off James’s coffee, her hand shaking. She asks Cas if he wants a cup, but he passes. She never offers one to me. She clinks the pot back in place just as James calls my name.

“Here it is,” he says. He looks to me immediately and then points to a page clipped to the file. It’s an entrance form, and in the bottom box is a handwritten note in blue ink. The first word I recognize is my brother’s name, and I prepare myself for what comes next.

Patient 486 was first infected after the self-termination of Brady Barstow (drowning), and was later triggered by the self-termination of Miller Andrews (QuikDeath). Under the influence of his medication, Patient 486 admitted to witnessing Brady Barstow’s death at the river, where his attempts to rescue him failed. He has since been struggling with depression, kept hidden with the help of Sloane Barstow, the deceased’s sister.

“You tried to save him,” I whisper. Then, before James can reply, I lean over and kiss him, my hands on his cheeks. My brother wasn’t alone when he died, that I knew, but the idea of James trying to save him fills me with a comfort I can’t explain.

I pull back, smiling at how brave James must have been. Across the room, I notice a figure standing in the doorway. His shoulders are slumped, his head downcast. I hitch in a breath when he lifts his dark eyes to mine. It can’t be. . . .

“Realm?” My voice cracks and I scramble to my feet. Realm is thinner, his clothes hang on his tall frame. His dark hair is now a brassy shade of orange, as if he’d dyed it blond not too long ago. The shadows under his eyes are deep and dark, and I think he’s been through something. I step toward him. “You’re back?”

A small smile pulls at Realm’s lips, and I’m absolutely overcome with relief. Dallas chuckles, standing at the sink, but nothing else matters as I rush over to Realm and throw myself against him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He’s alive. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper into his shirt.

“Ah, Michael Realm,” James calls out, still sitting at the kitchen table. “What a surprise. I’d give you a hug too, but I think I’d rather punch you in the face.”

I don’t bother reacting; I just hold on to Realm. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. He touches gingerly at my shoulders and then glances past me to James. “You’re not really my type, James,” he says. “So I think I’d prefer the punch anyway.”

“Good to know.” James darts a look between me and Realm, smiling but obviously tense by our proximity. It wasn’t that long ago that he saw me kiss Realm, back before we got together. And he knows about the time I went to Realm’s house in the middle of the night. He knows we’ve been more than friends.

I feel a touch on my cheek and turn to Realm as he glides his finger over my skin. “You look good,” he says softly. “I was worried.”

“You were worried? I haven’t heard from you. I thought you were . . .” I stop, not wanting to finish the thought.

“Dead,” James finishes for me.

Realm ignores him, still looking at me with a sort of reverence. “So you’re happy to see me?” he asks, as if he’s scared of the answer.

“Yes. What kind of question is that?”

He smiles, dropping his hand. “Of course. You didn’t take it.”

My expression falters when he mentions the pill. Realm doesn’t know I told James about it. He doesn’t know we’ve kept it secret from the others. Dallas slams the cabinet door under the sink, and my heart jumps. When I look up, she’s walking over with a small box in her hand, focused on Realm, and I relax.

“Hey, blondie,” she says with a big grin. “Was wondering when you’d get here. I picked this up for you earlier.” She slaps a box of hair dye against his chest. “I’ve always liked you better as a brunette anyway.”

Realms smiles at her, something affectionate and familiar. “Thank you, Dal.”

She shrugs as if it was nothing, grabs a kitchen chair, and spins around to sit on it backward. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on us,” she says teasingly to Realm. “Have you gotten my messages?”

“I apologize,” he tells her. “But yes, I got them. That’s how I found you, actually. We shouldn’t stay here. We’ll need another safe house.”

“Working on it,” Cas says, getting up to grab a backpack from the closet. “Didn’t expect you for another week at least.” They exchange a look before Cas tosses the pack in Realm’s direction. Realm immediately opens it, sorting through its contents. “We’ve found a basement apartment,” Cas continues, “but I don’t think it’s a good choice. Not enough exits.”

“Keep looking,” Realm says, taking out a cell phone. “This clean?” he asks.

“Just got it today. Why?” Cas smiles. “You want to order a pizza?”

“I need to call Anna and thank her. Let her know I’m okay.”

Anna, Realm’s sister, is the one who told us to run, gave us a car and some money. She helped us get away before The Program could catch us. And she did it all just because her brother asked her to.

“Tell her thanks from me, too,” I say, reaching to touch Realm’s arm. He flinches but then looks down at where my hand is on him. He seems a little lost, and I want to ask him where he’s been all these weeks, but I don’t. Not yet.

“I’ll tell her,” he replies.

“Hey, Realm,” Cas says. “I’ll drop your stuff in my room. I think I’d rather sleep on the couch anyway. Place is getting a bit claustrophobic.” He gives Realm a fist bump before leaving.

Michael Realm smiles at me, somewhat sheepishly, and then he dials a number on the phone and walks into the living room. I stand, looking after him, and when I hear him choke out a cry, promising he’s okay, there’s a familiar warmth for him. I like how he cares about his sister. He reminds me of Brady.

“I’ll be upstairs,” James mumbles, and leaves. His file is still spread open on the table, but I know he’s distraught. Realm is his insecurity, and I was jerk for not being more sensitive to it. I glance at Dallas, who is leaning her elbows on the back of her chair, looking self-righteous.

“A boyfriend and a lover?” she asks. “Would have never thought you the type.”

“Shut up,” I reply, although I feel my cheeks redden. Then, with my pulse still racing from Realm’s return, I hurry up the stairs toward James.

CHAPTER TEN

THE SILENCE IS DEAFENING ON the landing leading to the bedrooms. I expect James to be jealous, angry—instead I find him in the chair at the window, staring out at the street. Looking so lonely.

I’m such an idiot. “James . . .”

“He’s your friend,” he says, keeping his eyes trained outside. “I get it. I’m even glad he’s not dead.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Which part?” He turns then, the dim light making his normally crystal-blue eyes darker. I cross the room and sit on the bed, pulling my legs under me as I watch him. James isn’t pouting, exactly. He just seems hurt, and maybe a little confused. “What can I do?” I ask.

It’s quiet at first, and then James lowers his head. “What does he want?” he asks. He looks up and his face is absolutely miserable. “Why is he helping you like this?”

“Realm?”

“Yeah. Why does he keep risking his life for you?”

I shrug, but I know the answer. Realm is in love with me, even if I don’t feel the same way about him. But my nonresponse does little to console James.

“There’s something I need to know,” he says, “although I might not like the answer.”

“Oh God. What?”

“That night . . . the night we argued and you went to Realm’s house? What happened between you two exactly?”

“Does it matter now?”

James exhales, leaning back in the chair like he’s exhausted. “A little.”

“We didn’t sleep together.”

He closes his eyes. “The fact that you jumped immediately to that as your defense isn’t comforting.”

“I was upset.”

“You kissed him.”

I nod, feeling ashamed. James and I weren’t even a couple, but I knew how I felt about him. My hookup with Realm was completely reactionary.

“And more?” James asks.

I nod again, and I look out the window at the tree branches as they sway in the wind. I think I can actually hear the sound of James’s heart breaking.

“Did you touch it?”

“Touch what?”

“It.”

I laugh and shake my head. “No. No, I did not.”

“Did he touch yours?”

“James!”

“Did he? I’m trying to get a handle on what ‘and more’ means.”

“No.” I stand up and walk to his chair. “James, no. He didn’t . . . do that.”

“How about those?” He points to my chest. He must see my expression change because he nods. “So he got to second base.”

“Really, James? Second base?”

He turns away from me. “I don’t blame him,” he murmurs. “They’re nice.”

“Thanks.”

“Besides, it was my fault anyway. I was an asshole. I practically gave you to him.” And although he’s trying to sound like he’s being reasonable, a tear spills over onto his cheek and he wipes it quickly so he thinks I won’t notice.

I drape my arms over his shoulders, and he turns his cheek against my shirt, his hands on my hips. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing I could take away the betrayal he must feel. “Realm knew I wasn’t into it. He knew I was nuts for you.”

James sniffles and pulls back enough to look up at me with a small smile. “You didn’t like it?” he asks.

“No.”

“Because you love me?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t kiss him again?”

I smile. “Never.”

He licks his lips. “But you’ll kiss me now?”

I answer by bringing my mouth to his, kissing him softly. He’s slow to respond, his body tense. I can feel his arms shaking as he wraps them around me. He’s all raw nerve endings, and then James, my James, practically collapses and cries into my hair, saying how sorry he is for almost losing me.

I go downstairs for dinner as James runs to the store for supplies with Cas, opting to skip the meal. Really I think he’s avoiding Realm, but at the moment—considering what we’d talked about earlier—that’s probably a good idea.

I make it into the kitchen and Dallas is the only one there, frying up something that smells like charcoal in a pan. When she notices me, she shrugs. “I burn everything.” She lifts the pan. “Chicken?”

“Uh . . .” I peek into the skillet and shake my head. “No, thanks. Do we have any mac ’n’ cheese left? James isn’t cooking for us tonight.”

Dallas sets the burned food aside. “I figured.” She reaches into a cabinet to pull down a box of macaroni and cheese and then grabs a pot and fills it with water. Once it’s going, she turns to me. “Is he okay?” She sounds truly concerned.

“He’s not a huge fan of my and Realm’s friendship.”

“I suppose not. And I’m guessing from the reaction to the file, your past wasn’t exactly what you thought it was.”

“James was trying to protect me,” I say defensively. “And if you’re going to gloat—”

“Gloat? Sloane, I don’t want you to be miserable. And I definitely don’t want James unhappy. Do I personally think the two of you together is a bad idea? Yes. I think you love each other to a fault, but in a world like this, being one half of Romeo and Juliet is stupid. I’ll take my chances staying single.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. I take a seat at the table, and Dallas grabs a couple of sodas from the fridge and gives me one. Sometimes I don’t totally hate her.

“Realm’s the one who told me James and I were together before,” I start. “I mean, I had guessed it because I found a picture of James with my brother, but I didn’t know for sure. It was tortuous, because James would switch between hot and cold, flirting and ignoring me on a daily basis. We worked it out, though,” I say. “So I call bullshit on that file.”

“Huh,” Dallas says, sipping from her drink. “Sounds like it. James would lie to protect you. Which leads me to my next question.” She twists the tab on her soda can until it pops off. “How do you know Realm?”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “We met in The Program.”

She laughs. “Well, obviously. But are you friends?” She pauses. “The kind with benefits?”

I pick up my drink, trying to look casual. “We’re just friends.” But even I detect the tightness in my voice, the obvious pitch of lying. She chuckles, and I look up to see her smile.

“Yeah,” she says sarcastically. “Me too.” Right then the niceties slip away, both from my face and her posture. “But my friendship comes with benefits,” she adds, grabbing her soda as she walks back over to the stove where the water has begun to boil.

She leaves me sitting here with a mix of jealousy and embarrassment. It had never really occurred to me that Realm was with anyone else, that he had a life outside of The Program. But he did. He does.

And Dallas made it clear it doesn’t really include me anymore.

I sit on the unmade bed of my empty room, the window cracked open to let in a breeze. James is showering in the bathroom down the hall, the steam slipping out from under the door. I’m still on edge from my talk with Dallas, my brain and my heart at odds about what I should be feeling. Realm didn’t come to dinner, it was just me and Dallas—eating in silence except for when she asked me to pass the hot sauce.

I just don’t understand why Realm never told me about her. All that time in The Program, all the nights playing cards. He never mentioned her name. Why? And what does it mean now? Is she his girlfriend? Is Dallas his James?

“You’re not falling asleep already, are you?”

Startled, I glance up and see James standing in the doorway, a towel tied around his waist, his blond hair wet and brushed back. He’s smiling wryly, a sort of infectious smile that seems to burn through me. “So guess what I got earlier,” he says.

I’m overwhelmed with the sight of him, the way his eyes hold me in their gaze—wicked and loving at the same time. I watch as he comes toward the bed, leaning in slowly but confidently. He’s no longer cautious of me; he’s given himself up to me completely. And so I kiss him hard, digging my nails into his skin as I pull him down onto the bed. We’re addicted to each other—no matter what the consequences.

“I think I need another shower,” James says from next to me. I laugh, rolling over to rest my face on his shoulder.

“Shh . . .” I say, putting my finger over his lips. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m the one who’s ruined.”

“Shut up, James.”

“I’m like . . . corrupted.”

“You are not.”

“I think you have to marry me now.”

I laugh, but when he doesn’t keep going, I look over at his face. A grin pulls at his lips, but his expression is far more serious than I expected. There’s a cool draft from the window where it’s barely nudged open, but neither of us are in a hurry to get up.

“You might as well marry me now,” he says. “You know you will, anyway.”

Tingles spread over my skin. “Will I?” I ask.

He nods. “On the beach. After you learn how to swim.”

I wince. “You had me until you said ‘swim.’ ”

“Aw, come on,” James says. “You can’t be scared of water for the rest of your life.” When tell him that I sure can, James puts his hand behind my neck, pulling me into a soft kiss. “Say yes to me,” he murmurs. “Say yes now so I’ll never have to ask again.”

His mouth, his taste—it’s all so familiar and exciting. It’s heavy and suffocating, it’s then and now. “Yes,” I whisper finally, closing my eyes as I snuggle against him. “I’ll marry you someday, James. I’d do anything for you.”

I can feel his jaw shift as he smiles, taking my hand to squeeze his fingers between mine before kissing my ring finger.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BREAKFAST IS ALL SORTS OF awkward as I sit across from Realm, James next to me with his body turned slightly away. I would have figured James to be more of the possessive type, somehow claiming me in front of Realm while crunching on his Frosted Flakes. But instead he has only a small smirk that I notice between spoonfuls.

“You’re happy today,” Realm says, eyeing him as he drinks black coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Dallas glances over from where she sits on the counter, studying James’s expression until she understands, and then turns away.

“I am so very happy,” James replies to Realm, not looking up.

“It won’t last,” Realm snaps. “You know that.”

James smiles broadly, finally meeting Realm’s suspicious gaze. “You have no idea how long I can last,” James says with a little laugh. He pushes back from the table, grabbing his bowl. He kisses the top of my head before walking to the sink, pats Dallas’s leg, and then leaves the room—smiling the entire time.

Realm’s dark stare flicks to me; the quiet guy who showed up yesterday is gone. “See the two of you made up,” he says.

I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. The first time I introduced Realm to James, they nearly killed each other, because Realm was being a dick to me. Right now this is feeling pretty familiar. “When were James and I fighting?”

“Before you left Oregon. When you came to my house and kissed me. Unless you forgot about that.”

There’s the clink of a bowl before Dallas hops down from the counter. “That would be my cue to exit,” she says. “Realm, I’ll catch up with you at the site later.”

Realm reaches for her as she starts past him, touching her hand. There’s a slight twinge in my stomach. “Just give me a few minutes, Dal,” he says kindly. She considers, but then after an annoyed look in my direction, she nods and walks out.

The weight of an impending argument floods the room—even though I’m not entirely sure what Realm and I have to fight about. Yes, I kissed him, but that was because of The Program. They tried to erase James, but I still loved him. Even Realm saw that.

“If you’re going to be a jerk,” I start. “Then—”

“What did you expect, Sloane?” Realm puts his elbows on the table, leaning forward like he’s ready to pounce. “I told you to stay away from James—that he’d make you sick again. And yet here you are on the run because of him, because you were being reckless and The Program was called. Do you think I should applaud that? What the hell do you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “For you to go back to the way you were in The Program.”

“You mean the way you want me to be.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It doesn’t work like that. You don’t get to dictate how I act, how I feel.”

“I’m not trying—”

“You’re not?” he shouts, and I straighten up, alarmed by his harsh tone. “Why didn’t you take the pill, Sloane? Why can’t you remember?” I immediately look toward the door, afraid someone might have overheard. Realm’s mouth opens, a knowing expression on his face. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?” he demands. “You didn’t take it because of James.”

“It was an impossible choice! There was only one pill—how could I choose?”

“Easy. I gave it to you.”

I shake my head. “And what about the danger? How was I supposed to take that leap of faith while people are going crazy from their memories? That’s what happened to Lacey!”

“The pill isn’t like recall. It’s not a stress fracture. It brings back what The Program locked away, and sure, it hurts, but it wouldn’t have killed you.”

I lean toward him, trying to keep my voice hushed, but I’m failing. “Oh, that’s very comforting. But this wasn’t just about James. Your sister told me I might not like what I found in my past. I don’t know who I was, Realm. But I know who I am now. What’s wrong with wanting to live in the now?”

Realm’s expression softens, and he stretches his hand in my direction, just short of touching mine. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” he says. “Was that all Anna told you?”

“She said I might not forgive you. Why? What have you kept from me?” I don’t remember much of my time in The Program. There are fragments, bits where I was playing cards or laughing with Realm. But my past is gone, as are the pasts of others. Somehow Realm held on to my history. He didn’t tell me right away, not until I demanded it. I can feel he has more secrets; his sister all but confirmed that he does. Yet . . . I still trust him. I trust him even though I know he’s lying to me.

“Anna never wanted me to remember. She said the past would be too painful. And to be honest, I can understand where she’s coming from. But I’ve told you everything I can, Sloane,” Realm says, clearly frustrated. “That has to be enough. If you take the pill, you’ll know the truth.”

“And if I don’t take it? If I give it to James, what will he remember?”

Realm’s eyes narrow at the thought of me giving his gift to James instead. “Maybe he’ll realize you don’t belong together.”

I try to retract my hand, but Realm grabs it. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry, sweetness. Don’t leave.”

“Like you left me?” The words hit me, and the grief and worry I felt about Realm’s sudden disappearance crashes down. “You gave me a stupid pill and then you left me,” I whisper.

Realm winces and brings my hand to his lips. “I know,” he murmurs into my skin. “But I love you so much.” He kisses my knuckles. “I wanted you to have a chance to remember.” My wrist. His touch radiates over my skin, twisting me up, confusing me. “Tell me that you missed me too.”

My breathing deepens as Realm kisses my inner forearm. He’s inside my head—I know it. But I can’t deny that I missed him. I did. I really, really did.

“I missed you,” I whisper as his hand slides up my arm, cupping my shoulder to pull me close enough to kiss. In front of me, Realm’s deep brown eyes are earnest but dark. Dark and tortured. It brings me back to my senses, and Realm must read it in my expression because his jaw hardens.

“James doesn’t love you,” he says slowly, his breath warm across my lips. “If he did, he would have made you take that pill.”

There’s a sound, and both Realm and I turn to see James standing in the doorway. He’s still, his expression unreadable. I push Realm’s hand away and jump back from the table, but I know it’s too late. James saw—heard—all of that. He doesn’t look at me again, only continues to stare at where I was sitting. And then, without a word, James turns and leaves.

The walk to the bedroom seems endless. My heart thuds, my mouth is dry. James heard my and Realm’s conversation, saw Realm close enough to kiss me. How could I have let that happen?

“James?” I call softly as I push open the door to our room. The closet door is ajar, the chain for the light still swaying.

“Do you think he’s right?”

I spin and find James in the far corner of the room. He doesn’t sneer, or do anything even remotely hateful. He just looks heartbroken, unable to meet my eyes. In his fist he clutches the plastic Baggie.

“About the pill?” I ask, wanting nothing more than to fix the damage I’ve inflicted. James would never have let another girl get that close to him, and Dallas sure tried.

James looks up, his blue eyes rimmed in red. “About me,” he says. “Do you think I should have made you take the pill?”

I start to say no, but James has already made up his mind. Realm’s words have shaken him, made him doubt everything. It’s as if Realm knows exactly how to hurt us.

James holds out the wrapped pill, but I can’t even look at it, so he shoves it into his back pocket. “James—” I start.

“No more lies,” he interrupts. “Right now, with Realm, what was that? Christ, Sloane. Did you sleep with him?”

“Of course not!”

“I heard you. You missed him.” His lips pull apart in anguish, his eyes weaken. “You nearly kissed him. I . . . I saw all of it, and not once”—he jabs his finger in my direction—“did you tell him to stop.”

Tears drip onto my cheeks, but there’s nothing I can say. I have no excuse. I did miss Realm; I didn’t lie about that. There’s an unspoken bond between us that doesn’t seem connected to any specific memory. I trust Realm with my life. And sometimes he uses that against me.

“I don’t know you right now,” James says. “Because to me”—he motions toward the hall—“it looks like he’s your boyfriend. And I’m jealous! God, I’m a fucking jealous asshole and I hate it!” He groans, tugging roughly at his hair. “I thought it was me and you, Sloane. It was me and you forever or not at all.”

“I want forever too.”

“He gave you a pill,” James says. “He gave you a way to bring back all your memories. I don’t have that power, and who the hell knows how I would react if I did. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should have made you take it.”

There’s a sound, and James and I both look over to see Dallas standing in the doorway, holding a can of Coke. “What pill?” she asks, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t listening to our conversation. Her dark eyes flick to James, but he only seems annoyed at her interruption. When I don’t respond, Dallas steps into the room. The click of her boots is loud in the small space as she sets her soda on the dresser. “What pill?”

“Ease off,” Realm says. My gut sinks when Realm walks in behind her, shooting a cautious glance at James before addressing Dallas. “I gave it to her.”

Dallas spins on him, but before she can react, James is moving. He crashes into Realm and the two slam into the bare white wall. Realm gets in the first punch, his closed fist connecting high on James’s cheek with a loud thwack. I scream, rushing forward, but then they’re on the ground, a flurry of movement I can’t untangle.

“Stop!” I scream, reaching to grab James’s arm as he pulls back to punch Realm, but he only shakes me off before getting hit again and knocked sideways. Realm scrambles on top of him, but James blasts him in the face, blood spurting instantly from Realm’s nose. Dallas exhales, finally coming over to help. I’m yelling for both guys to stop, but they seem bent on killing each other. Blood is pouring over Realm’s lips as he sputters out random bits of rage; James is swinging at whatever he can hit.

Realm falls to the side and James gets to his knees, fist raised to smash down on Realm’s face, until Dallas pulls something out of her pocket. The switchblade flashes, and then she’s got the knife to James’s throat, stopping him cold. My eyes are wide as Dallas has her arm twisted around James’s neck, the blade biting into his skin. He lifts his eyes to where she is, his chest heaving and a trickle of blood coming from the cut on his cheekbone.

“I can’t let you kill him,” she says. “Sorry, James.”

For a moment we’re all quiet, and then Dallas lowers her knife, and James—watching her the entire time—climbs to his feet. He glances in my direction before walking out. I want to check that he’s okay, but I decide to give him some time to cool off.

Realm sits up, resting his elbows on his bent knees as he lets the blood continue to run down his face. Drops tap on the wood floor. Dallas looks between us, her expression darkening before she goes over to grab her drink, taking a long swig.

I’m in shock, unable to utter a word, until Dallas throws her half-filled soda at Realm, hitting him in the shoulder before the can falls to the ground, sending out a sticky spray of Coke. I yelp and step back, staring at her as soda foams from the mouth of the can.

“So you got ahold of The Treatment,” she snarls at Realm, “and you gave it to her ?” Dallas glares in my direction and I shrink away with immediate guilt.

“Not the time, Dallas,” Realm says. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Don’t dismiss me. I swear to God, I’ll—”

Realm jumps to his feet, the bottom half of his face still awash with blood. He looks insane, and for the first time I can remember, I’m scared of him. Realm balls his hands into fists, but Dallas doesn’t back away.

“Get out,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Not until you tell me how you got it. Not until you tell me why her!” Dallas is coming undone, her lips quivering like she might cry. I expect Realm to reach for her, call her “sweetness,” and soothe away her anger. But he doesn’t.

“You don’t matter, Dallas,” he says seriously. “You don’t matter the way she does and you know it. I love her. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

A terrible silence falls over the room, and Dallas lowers her eyes, injured by Realm’s words. In them I feel betrayal, and the emotion strikes me as familiar—even though I can’t place where it’s from.

“I hate both of you,” Dallas murmurs, not lifting her head as she leaves.

I don’t care if Dallas hates me—the feeling is mutual. But when Realm’s posture sags, I know there’s more to their relationship than friends with benefits. And yet he was so quick to send her away, crush her. Is that how he cares? When I no longer matter, will he dismiss me, too?

Neither Realm nor I make a move to clean the mess of soda Dallas left behind. My body is still shaking with adrenalin, but underneath I’m drowning in the deep darkness, aching everywhere.

“What’s going on, Realm?” I ask. “What is The Treatment?”

He drags his forearm over his chin to clean off some of the blood. “That little orange pill you’ve been hiding,” he says, “is the cure for The Program—they call it The Treatment. There were only a few prototypes, but after The Program found out about them, they destroyed the laboratory. They destroyed the scientist who made them too. But there was one pill left.”

I don’t deserve this, not when Dallas or James or probably a hundred others would give anything to take it. “Why did you give it to me?”

“Because you needed it,” he says simply. “You went off the grid, broke their rules. The Program wants you back, Sloane. And this was the only way I could protect what’s left of you.”

“But how—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Cas stands in the doorway, his hair pulled into a ponytail and his chin unshaven. He darts an uneasy look around the trashed bedroom. “We have a visitor,” he adds.

Realm’s hand immediately grips my elbow, pulling me to stand behind him. “Who is it?” he asks quickly. “And how did they find us?”

“Looks like Dallas got ahold of the doctor after all.”

Realm curses under his breath, but I’m freaking out, terrified of the word doctor.

“Has he said anything?” Realm asks, wiping his bloody hands on the bottom of his T-shirt as if it’ll be enough to make him presentable.

“Just that he’s here to talk. He asked for them,” Cas says, motioning to me.

I take in a sharp breath. “No,” I say. “Realm, are they going to take me?”

“No, sweetness,” he says. “Dallas has been searching for this man for a while—against my objections.” He shakes his head, a mix of annoyance and anger. “I don’t think he’s a threat. He’s not with The Program.” Realm and Cas exchange a look before Realm starts for the door, muttering under his breath: “At least not anymore.”

I’m a total mess as I walk downstairs, fearful of the doctor, guilty for what I’ve put James through, ashamed I’ve taken Realm’s gift for granted—Dallas’s reaction proves it. I walk into the living room and Dallas’s scowl from the couch radiates white-hot hatred. I move to the other side of the room. Realm stops to wash his face, and then he meets me in the room. Cas walks past us toward the kitchen, where I assume the doctor is waiting.

I expect James to come in, but the minutes tick by without him. I shoot a few cautious looks in Dallas’s direction, but she seems unconcerned with his absence. I, however, am beginning to freak out.

“Where’s James?” I murmur to Realm. He shrugs, annoyed I’d even pose the question to him. I’m about to call to Dallas, when there’s movement from the hallway and I startle as a man strides into the room, not waiting for Cas to introduce him.

The man is tall and thin underneath his charcoal suit. He has a gray beard and mustache. He looks like someone’s rich old grandpa, but when he speaks, his voice is crisp as it cuts through the quiet room.

“You’re completely vulnerable here,” he says. He searches until he finds Dallas. “What if I was a handler?”

“Then you’d be wearing white.”

He doesn’t crack a smile. “You know that’s not what I mean, Miss Stone. All of you,” he motions around the room, “are accessories. One slipup will land you in jail, or worse, in The Program. I suggest you keep your guard up. I won’t be able to save you if you’re caught.”

Dallas’s hard exterior wanes and she begins to chew on her thumbnail, averting his eyes. Everyone else is calm as this man stands in front of us like he’s in charge. James is missing and I’m suddenly alone.

“Who are you?” I ask the man finally.

The doctor slides his hands into the pockets of his suit and presses his lips together in apology. “I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to be introduced,” he says somberly. “I’ve been following your case for some time, Miss Barstow.” He takes a step toward me and extends his palm. “I’m Dr. Arthur Pritchard, and I’m the creator of The Program.”