The Treatment

CHAPTER ONE

I SWAY, COMPLETELY STUNNED AS pinpricks of fear inject me with panic. Having the creator of The Program know your name is a bit like Death calling out to you. But here he is, the man who ruined our lives, standing in front of me. No one is reacting the way they should. I scoff at his outstretched hand and then look accusingly around at the others. Everything about the world is upended from what it should be: James isn’t here, but the creator of The Program is. This can’t really be happening.

Cas calmly goes to sit next to Dallas, but Realm has angled his body so he can step in front of me if he has to. Although I appreciate it, I’d think he’d want to stop the madness happening right now. But he’s just standing here.

“Why are you here?” I demand from the doctor. He looks at his hand and lowers it. My body begins to tremble, and I’m sure he can see it. “What more could you possibly want from us?” I ask.

“First let me assure you that I have no intention of harming any of you. In fact, as Dallas can tell you, I’m here to help. We all want the same thing, Sloane. An end to The Program.”

“You expect me to believe that?” I snap. “You ruined my life. You’re a monster!” I spin, looking around at the others in the room. “What is wrong with all of you?”

“Hear him out,” Cas says. “You don’t know the whole story.” I shake my head in complete and utter disbelief.

“Thank you, Mr. Gutierrez,” the doctor tells him, and turns back to me. “My dear,” he continues, and I cringe under his caring tone, “you are the perfect example of why The Program can never truly work. It’s in your personality to fight for what you believe in, what you love. The Program will fail because, although it can erase memories, the basic personalities remain unchanged. This leads to repeating the same behaviors, and ultimately, the same risks and mistakes.”

What he’s describing sounds like my and James’s relationship. It reminds me that if we fought before and failed, we were stupid enough to try again. “There’s no way I’d ever trust you,” I tell Dr. Pritchard. “I don’t want your help.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have another choice.” He looks at Dallas. “I know you contacted me in hopes of better news, Miss Stone, but your intelligence was correct. The epidemic has spread. There’s a call to action, and The Program is using this to further their agenda.”

It feels like the world has dropped out from under me. Before he killed himself, Liam had told me about his cousin—an adult—who committed suicide. He was raving about the epidemic spreading, but I attributed it to his depression. I thought he’d gone crazy. But Liam was right.

Dr. Pritchard takes a stark white handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the sweat that has begun to gather on his brow. He loosens his tie. He sits on a stool in the front of the room as if he’s a teacher and we’re his class. I’m ready to run, find James, and get out of here.

“There have been several incidents of termination just this morning,” the doctor says. “Young men and women in their early twenties, no known exposure to stimulus. Now The Program is evolving to combat the worsening epidemic. There was a story that ran a few weeks ago, but it was quickly buried.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask. What sort of action is The Program proposing? How much more can they take from us?

“No,” the doctor states. “Not me. I may have created The Program, but I lost control of it months ago. It’s a corporation, bought and paid for by the U.S. government—and they expect results.”

Could The Program be worse than we thought? Is that even possible? Next to me Realm remains quiet, but his turned shoulder looks less like protection now. He doesn’t want Arthur Pritchard to notice his face. Secrets. Realm is full of secrets, and I don’t think I can take any more at this point.

“What are they planning?” I ask the doctor. The fight has gone out of my voice, replaced with fear.

“Mandatory admittance,” Dr. Pritchard responds. “Everyone under the age of eighteen will go through The Program. That means, before graduation, every person will be erased and re-created as a well-balanced, well-behaved individual. Complacency. An entire generation lost—as I’m sure you feel now, Miss Barstow.”

Mandatory admittance for people who aren’t even depressed is like mass brainwashing. Some sick and twisted version of utopia. There’s no way the public would let that happen. Right?

The doctor continues. “The Program is trying to jump-start new polices. They’ve shown they are one hundred percent effective, proven their preventative measures work. And so now everyone under eighteen will be changed—for better or for worse—against their will. Think of what they can do with that much control,” he says. “Think of what they can create from a society without any experience, any learned mistakes. People without connections.”

“Then stop it,” I say forcefully. “If you tell the government what’s really going on with The Program, they’ll put an end to it.”

“And there lies my dilemma,” the doctor says, clasping his hands together under his chin. “Like everyone who works for The Program, I have a gag order—a binding contract that gives them the right to take my memories—to wipe the slate clean if I violate the confidentiality agreement. Only they won’t stop there—not with my security clearance. They’ll lobotomize me,” the doctor says. “The Program considers some returners, and others like me, beyond help. When brought back into The Program, a patient’s evaluated. And if erasure isn’t an option, they’re subject to a lobotomy. It’s the last resort of an otherwise flawless operation. It’s how The Program keeps their success rate at one hundred percent.”

Realm’s hand closes around mine, but I can barely feel him. It’s like the edges of my reality are breaking apart. “Then what?” I ask weakly.

“Their entire personalities are stripped and they’re institutionalized. They’re wiped off the map, my dear. Evaporated into thin air.”

No, it’s too cruel. It’s too cruel to be a real possibility. “How can any rational human being inflict this on another? How can this happen in a civilized world?” I ask.

“Haven’t they done it before?” the doctor asks. “Years ago, when physicians didn’t know how to treat the mentally ill, they began shock therapy, and in extreme cases—lobotomies. They would poke holes in their brains, Miss Barstow. Human beings are cruel creatures. And what we don’t understand, we tamper with until we destroy it. The epidemic is forcing the world to focus on mental disease, but they’ve twisted it into something to be feared, rather than treated. I’m afraid the public support is not behind you on this. We’re in the middle of an epidemic killing our children. You have no idea how far the world will go to stop it.”

He’s right. I know he’s right, but all I want to do is scream that he’s a liar. I want James to burst in and call, “Bullshit!” and punch him in the face. But that doesn’t happen. Instead loneliness and terror bind together to consume me.

“We make no difference compared to the many they can save,” Arthur Pritchard says. “And if I go to the press, give The Program any indication that I’m no longer on their side, they will neutralize me. I need to complete my work before they do.”

I lift my eyes to his, my vision hazy from the gathering tears. “What sort of work is that?”

“A pill,” he says. “One that can counteract the effects of The Program and prevent erasure. It’s called The Treatment.”

My hand slips from Realm’s and I immediately glance at Dallas. She has no noticeable reaction as she twists a dread around her finger. Oh God. Please don’t say anything, Dallas.

“I need to locate The Treatment,” Dr. Pritchard says. “I plan to analyze it so it can be reproduced. If I can prevent The Program from erasing others—then it will be obsolete.”

My mouth has gone dry and I feel as though there’s a spotlight on me. Does he know Realm gave me the pill? Is that why he’s here?

“Say you do bring all the memories back,” Realm says quietly. “Not everyone can handle them—what will you do to stop them from killing themselves?”

The doctor’s eyes narrow slightly as he looks Realm up and down. “People will still die, son. I can’t claim otherwise. But after we restore the original memories, we’ll treat the depression as best we can with traditional therapy. We’ll work through the issues, rather than avoiding them.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s actually making sense, but I’m scared this is all an act. No, I’m sure it’s all an act. But how can he say these things and not see the truth in them? At the same time, how did the doctor know about the pill? Realm said it was the last one and that The Program thought it’d been destroyed. Who’s the bigger liar here—Realm or Arthur Pritchard?

“They tried that,” I say, facing Dr. Pritchard. “In the beginning they tried regular therapy, but it didn’t work. Why should I think yours will be any different?”

“The problem was that they didn’t—I didn’t—give therapy enough time to be effective. We moved forward too quickly. And now it’s time to set things right. I believe The Program itself is adding to the pressure, leading to more suicide attempts. You live in a pressure cooker. It’s not right.”

“It’s not,” Dallas agrees, drawing all our gazes. “But tell me more about this pill you’re looking for, Arthur. Where did it come from? I’ve heard only rumors.”

What the hell is Dallas doing?

The doctor crosses his legs, resting his folded hands on his thighs. “Dr. Evelyn Valentine never believed in The Program,” he starts. “While working there, she created a pill and tested it on several returners. There had been various incarnations, but eventually she found one that worked. It restored all their memories, and with it, their depression. One terminated himself immediately, and before Evelyn could properly treat her patients, she disappeared. Her files were destroyed, and the records of her patients went missing. The Program never found them. That’s why I think there’s still a pill or two out there. I’m looking for it. Evelyn’s cure is gone, but I’d like to create another one in her absence.”

My heart thumps; I expect Dallas to point one of her bony fingers in my direction, telling the doctor that I’m the person who has it. But her face remains neutral, loyal to Realm. Despite what he said earlier, she won’t betray him. I think Dallas loves him.

“I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “Why do you need the actual pill? The formula can’t be that complicated to figure out. Wouldn’t that be easier than hunting down what might not even exist?”

Dr. Pritchard’s eyes lock on mine, and I feel myself wilt under their heavy suspicion. “No one knew the formula other than Evelyn, and she was a better chemist than any of us. Do you think I haven’t exhausted all other options? I’ve spent everything I have trying to buy scientists to help me, but they’re all with The Program—or scared of them. There’s no one left to fight with me. Except those of you here. I don’t think you realize how dire our situation is. I don’t think you realize how truly alone we are.

“If The Program finds the pill before we do,” he continues, “the formula will be lost. They plan to extract the ingredients, patent them, and make their production illegal. At least now we can continue testing. But once they have control of the substances, then no other treatment—nothing The Program doesn’t approve of—will ever be made.”

It’s all around me then, the pressure, suffocating and absolute. When the only person left to trust is the creator of The Program, all is lost. Realm reacts, walking swiftly from the room without a word, the doctor’s eyes following him the entire way. When he’s gone, it’s like I can’t get in a full breath—like a panic attack. Arthur Pritchard continues to talk, but soon I’m heading for the door.

“I need you, Sloane,” he calls to my back. The use of my first name startles me, but I don’t turn. “Together we can change the world.”

He’s offering hope where there is none. But isn’t that a form of brainwashing in itself? Hope in place of change? I shake my head, a small whimper caught in my throat, and leave—desperate to find James.

Outside of the room I’m able to breathe again, even though I’m still trembling. The house is eerily quiet as I pass through the kitchen, not finding James, and I head upstairs toward the bedrooms. Mine is empty, and it’s like I’m engulfed in isolation. James might not sleep here tonight. It’ll be the first time we’ve been apart since leaving Oregon.

I put my palm on my forehead, trying to steady myself. I can’t start thinking of the negative. I can’t afford to lose my sanity right now. I’m a fugitive, and I have to be smarter.

Realm’s room is down the hall, and when I walk in, I find his bed pushed next to the window. He’s sitting there, staring into the dark beyond it. He reminds me of a lost little boy, and for a second I want to hold him and tell him it will all be okay.

“I don’t trust the doctor,” Realm says, startling me. He turns, and his cheeks and neck are a blotchy red. “I think he’s lying.”

I obviously don’t trust the doctor either, but I’m curious as to Realm’s reasoning. I go to sit beside him, gnawing on the inside of my lip as I wait for him to explain. This is the first time I’ve been in his room since leaving The Program. There’s nothing here beyond the scratchy blue blanket and the hard mattress of his crooked bed. There’s nothing that says who Realm is. Even I have a few possessions, and I’ve been on the run since leaving school weeks ago.

Realm exhales, glancing outside once again. “I moved the bed next to the window because otherwise I start to feel claustrophobic, locked up. I check the pane at least three times a day, just to make sure it’s not sealed.” He looks at me. “Just to make sure I’m not locked in.”

“Side effect of The Program?”

“Among other things. And having Arthur Pritchard here doesn’t exactly help to ease my anxiety. I don’t trust him, and I need to get as far away from him as possible.”

Realm is always full of secrets. But this one he’ll have to share. “Why?” I demand.

“Because,” he says with a shrug, “Evelyn was a friend of mine. And I’m one of those patients she cured.”

CHAPTER TWO

REALM’S WORDS SMASH TOGETHER AND fall around me, heavy as stones. His secret is so much bigger than anything I could have imagined. Realm has been cured. When did this happen? What else hasn’t he told me?

Realm searches my expression. “What do you think of that, Sloane? How do you feel about the fact that I have all of my past but never told you?”

“I think you’re a dick.” Only I’m in such shock that I’m not sure how I feel about it. His sister had said he was saving it for after The Program, but he was already cured. He was lying to her, too.

Realm smiles, but there’s no humor in it. “I wish you really did hate me,” he says. “But I know you don’t. Not yet.”

He reaches to touch my hand, a movement too intimate while we’re on his bed, and I pull away. Realm opens his mouth to speak, but then he promptly shuts it as his gaze moves past me to the door. My heart leaps and I expect James, but instead I find Dr. Pritchard standing there.

“May I talk to you, Miss Barstow?” he asks. Terrified, I look at Realm. He rubs his palm over his face, then meets my eyes.

“I’ll be right outside, okay?” he says quietly. “Nothing will happen to you.”

“You’re going to leave me here with him?” I whisper back fiercely. I’m trying to gather my nerve, but it’s not easy when the doctor is standing behind me. Because either he knows I was given the pill, or he knows Realm has taken it before. Which means Realm shouldn’t leave me alone with the Program doctor! I’m not like him or James—I can’t just lie my way out of everything.

“You’ll be fine,” Realm whispers, widening his eyes as if asking me not to reveal what he just told me. Oh, sure. I haven’t even had time to process it, but let’s pretend I don’t know. I’m hiding so many things I’m starting to lose track.

Realm touches my shoulder as he gets up, and once he’s gone, the doctor comes to sit next to me on the bed. I feel him watching me, and slowly I lift my head, petrified of what he’s here to say. Rather than continue pleading for my help, he takes out his wallet to remove a photo. When he hands me the picture, I see tears gathered in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for all that’s happened to you, Sloane.” He pauses. “May I call you Sloane?” I shrug, a noncommittal answer, and then gaze down at the picture. “I think it’s time you hear the reason,” he continues. “The purpose behind it all. I want you to know why I created The Program.”

The words are too big for me to comprehend. It’s as if God has just shown up to tell me the meaning of life—only it’s not God. It’s the disturbed doctor who stole who I was. And now he’s going to tell me why.

Arthur Pritchard taps the corner of the picture I’m holding. “She was seven when this was taken,” he says with a faint smile. “My daughter, Virginia.” For the first time I study the picture in my hand. There’s a little girl wearing a princess crown, a feather boa wrapped around her neck. She’s yelling or laughing, I’m not sure which. But the picture is sweet and sad and oddly lonely. The doctor takes it back from me.

“She had just turned fifteen the day I came home early from the office,” he says. “I found her hanging from a wooden beam in the attic. The rope was poorly tied. I imagine she struggled to breathe for quite a while.”

I blink quickly against the sick image of a girl suffering. I can feel her desperation, her isolation. It strikes me that I was probably suicidal once, suffering and alone. I’m alive now. Had I changed my mind in my last moments? Had my brother? Had Virginia?

“She left a note,” Dr. Pritchard continues. “A page of scribbles and nonsense. Virginia’s mother passed away when she was just a baby, and so it’d just been the two of us for so long. My daughter was among the first of the epidemic.”

I want to tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t. I don’t know how to tell the man who ruined our lives that I’m sorry for his loss, not when I can’t even remember all that I’ve lost.

Dr. Pritchard tucks the picture back into his wallet, running his index finger over the plastic where the photo has started to fade. “I used to work with the pharmaceutical companies,” he says. “I would prescribe medications for depression. But after Virginia’s death, and after the news started to break that antidepressants were a possible cause, I threw myself into finding a cure. I lost six patients in one week. I couldn’t keep them alive.”

“What caused the epidemic?” I ask him. The thought of finally knowing the answer makes my body electric in anticipation.

“It was a combination of factors,” he says simply. “Side effects of medications, news coverage, behavioral contagion. The government is about to pass a law banning stories about suicide from the news networks. They claim it’s contributing to the outbreak—the cases of copycats. We’ll never know exactly where it started, Sloane. We can only guess. But we tried for a cure right away. I got a committee together—ones who were fearful enough to volunteer their own children as test subjects. We experimented with a mix of counseling and medication, intense psychotherapy. We even lobotomized one at his father’s insistence. We tried everything. But then we found that if we take out the behavior, the contagious part of the epidemic, then the patients could retain most of their personalities. It became the trick of how to target them.

“Some of the smartest minds of our time came together to create The Program. I’m the one who created the black pill, the last step in locking away the memories—the final pill you take. It was meant to be a permanent solution. Of course, it was all to be followed with extensive world-building, slow integration into society. But after a few months, we weren’t at one hundred percent and the committee made it clear that perfection was the ultimate goal. They began to turn up the pressure—they brought in handlers, embedded others. They will stop at nothing to get the results they want—and that comes at the expense of your lives. Even if you take The Treatment now, you can’t really go back to who you were, Sloane. Too much has changed now. You see that don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be who I was,” I say, a familiar ache at my words. “I just want The Program to leave me alone.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true. But it’s not that easy. The Program has many flaws, and one they’re starting to discover is with the returners themselves. The brain is smarter than any therapy can be, and trauma and overstimulation are affecting rehabilitation. Mandatory resetting is inevitable for someone like you—a person in a high-stress situation. It’s the only way to keep you sane.”

My stomach takes a sick turn. “Are you saying my memories will come back?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not all of them. Bits and pieces out of place, sometimes skewed. It occurs only under extreme duress: tragedy, grief, joining up with rebels, say. These cause cracks in the otherwise smooth surface The Program created. I can imagine it would be very traumatizing to have these unfamiliar thoughts. People have gone crazy from them.” He pauses to study me. “Have you had this problem, Sloane?”

“No,” I lie. It happened when I remembered Miller. I saw what it did to Lacey. Dr. Pritchard’s telling the truth about this. Could he be telling the truth about everything?

“That’s good,” the doctor says, smiling. “That means it’s not too late. If I had the pill, I could clear the fog and treat the real problem. The Program’s locked away your memories, like those of your brother, to keep you from killing yourself too. What I’m suggesting is that they let patients keep the painful stuff—and no, life won’t be happy and normal. But then again, none of you were really happy, even after your transformation. You wouldn’t have joined the rebels otherwise.”

“You already told us the public won’t be on our side. So why should we risk working with you?” I realize I actually want him to give me a reason.

The doctor folds his hands on his lap. “What’s your alternative?”

It wasn’t the answer I needed to hear. He thinks he knows best, and that makes Arthur Pritchard just like my parents. Just like The Program. “I can still run,” I say.

His jaw hardens and his careful facade begins to fall away. “Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Don’t spend the rest of your life running. You’ll never be safe. You’ll never have a home.”

I had a home with James, even when we were running. I have to find him and apologize, make this right. I’m sick of all the lies and secrets. James and I can leave the rebels for good, and it’ll be just me and him—the way we wanted it. I stand, about to find James so we can plan our escape, when the doctor reaches for my arm.

“Sloane, I need that pill,” he says. I don’t turn back right away, his fingers a vise around my wrist. “We can’t let The Program get their hands on it.” Heat creeps into my cheeks as I falter for an answer.

“I don’t have it,” I say as calmly as possible, glancing over my shoulder. The Program is looking for The Treatment—that’s what this is. He’s still working for them.

“Do you know who does?” he asks.

“No.”

He studies me, trying to detect if I’m lying. “Sloane,” he says. “The pill is—”

“I get it,” I interrupt. “It’s the key to saving the world. But I can’t help you.”

He lets my arm fall, taking a moment to collect himself. “Listen,” he begins again, softer. “I know you’re angry, but we have a common purpose here. The Program is after you. You and your friends are fugitives, and in my book that makes you my ally. I’ve told you my plan, put myself at risk. You should take that same leap with me, Sloane. You have nothing else left.”

“You may be right,” I say with a quick nod, my resolve to find James overwhelming me. “But I’m still alive, Arthur. And as long as I live, I won’t forgive you for what you’ve done to us.” Then, before he can stop me again, I stride toward the door and open it, waving my hand for him to leave.

Realm is standing in the hallway, and he glances between me and the doctor before moving next to me like backup. Arthur Pritchard sighs heavily and gets up. He looks defeated, but I can’t trust him. I can’t trust the man who created The Program.

“It was nice to finally meet you in person, Sloane,” the doctor says. “Please tell James I said hello.”

A shiver runs over me, a cold realization. In James’s file it mentioned that Arthur Pritchard had been called in for a consult. He knows James. He did this to James. I turn abruptly and start down the hall—desperate to find James and warn him about Arthur.

“James!” I yell just as I get to the stairs. Cas is coming up from below, a crease of concern between his eyebrows.

“Sloane,” he starts, sounding pained. I push past him, still calling for James.

Where is he?

“Sloane,” Cas says again, but this time I can hear in his voice that something’s wrong. I stop near the bottom step and turn toward him. He holds up his hands helplessly, and the world around me starts to close in. “Sloane,” Cas says, “James left. When Arthur was talking to us, he grabbed the keys and took the Escalade. He said . . .” He pauses, lifting his eyes to Realm, who nods for him to go on. “He said there’s no one he can trust anymore. Then he left.”

I reach out to catch the wall as I stumble back, my sneaker slipping off the last stair. James left me. Oh my God. James is gone.

CHAPTER THREE

I’M IN A DAZE AS Arthur Pritchard walks past me on the stairs. He doesn’t mention James again, even though he clearly heard Cas’s admission. Maybe he can see the devastation on my face. When I hear the front door close, I slowly make my way back to my room, not crying, too shocked to cry.

On the dresser is James’s file—he left it behind. I wish I could read my file, read about my brother, my friends. I’d know the truth about James. Was he really lying to protect me? Did I love him? I love him now, and yet, I didn’t run after him. I let him leave.

I lie on the bed and fold my hands over my chest as if I’m dead—in a coffin and rotting. I miss my father, memories of him taking me for ice cream still clear in my head. But the time surrounding my brother’s death is gone. How did my father act then? How did he behave when they took me into The Program? I wonder if he even tried to stop them. I wonder if he still loved who I was at that point.

My thoughts are becoming distorted and I curl up on my side, burrowing my cheek into the pillow. I miss James. I miss my home. I miss the memories I no longer have. It’s so empty here. I’m so empty.

Cas appears in the doorway, his face filled with the pity I feel for myself. “Can I get you anything?” he asks. “We’re a little worried about you.”

Realm probably sent him in here to gauge my sanity. Now isn’t a good time for my friend to tell me he loves me, to try to take advantage of the situation. Even he knows that. But I won’t be a creature to be pitied. I’m not helpless. I can still fight.

“I’m fine,” I tell Cas, trying to block it all out. “I just have to stop feeling for a while. Isn’t that what The Program wanted in the first place?”

“Jesus, Sloane,” Cas says, taking a step inside the room. “You’re going a little dark.”

But I’m on my feet and past him before he can worry anymore. For a minute I’m better. My chest feels hollow, but the ache has dulled. The respite slips when I get to the kitchen and find Realm sitting at the dinner table, eating ramen noodles. Dallas is behind him, staring daggers at the back of his head while she twirls noodles around her fork.

“Is there any food left?” I ask, motioning toward their bowls. Dallas hitches up one of her eyebrows in surprise, and Realm looks astonished to see me out of the bedroom so soon. Cas goes to fill a bowl from the counter before setting it in front of an empty seat. He watches me cautiously as I sit down. I take a bite and the food is tasteless, a soggy mass of noodles that I don’t want to consume. But right now survival is key.

I can’t bring myself to look at Realm. He’s the reason James left. He’s been lying to me. He’s had his memories this entire time. It doesn’t make sense, though. How many times has he been through The Program? How can he still remember? My suspicions start to gnaw at me, but when I pick up my head, Dallas has turned her hatred to me.

“So he left you?” she asks.

She might as well have punched me. Water floods my eyes, and I grip my fork so tightly the metal bites into my skin. “Please don’t,” I murmur, setting down the utensil. Realm continues eating.

“Don’t what?” Dallas asks innocently. “I’m just making dinner conversation.”

“He’ll come back,” Cas says, drawing my attention. “Don’t pay attention to Dallas—she’s just being a bitch. We all know James will be back.”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dallas sneers. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, we’re not staying here. Sloane’s got The Treatment. She’s had it this entire time.”

Cas’s eyes go round and his breathing catches like he’s been struck. But I immediately look at Realm as a realization hits me: I don’t have The Treatment. James does. Oh my God, James put it in his pocket. Will he take it now that he’s not with me?

“We can’t leave,” I say to Realm, my pulse racing. “We have to wait until James gets back.”

Realm exhales, pushing his bowl aside. “Your love life is the least of our concerns, Sloane. I’m sorry, but we’re leaving as soon as night falls.”

“I’m not going without James!”

“Well, then I’ll drag you out of here!” Realm says, raising his voice. “Unlike your boyfriend, I’m not scared to do what’s right for you. We’re not risking you or The Treatment because he’s throwing a temper tantrum.”

I slap my hand down the table, making the forks rattle in the bowls. “Stop it,” I hiss. “Stop always trying to break us up. It’s not going to work no matter what excuse you put behind it!”

Realm reacts immediately, jumping up from his chair and knocking it to the floor. His cheeks are glowing pink and he looks completely crazed.

“He left you!” he shouts.

“So did you!” But the damage has been done. Realm’s words cut me, piercing my vulnerability. I grab my bowl and fling it at the wall, sending bits of ceramic and wet noodles everywhere. I’m so sick of this! If Realm wants a fight, he’s got one.

Cas curses under his breath and pushes back from the table. “I’m done,” he says dismissively. “You two can go ahead and kill each other.” He looks over his shoulder at Dallas, and motions for her to follow him.

Dallas smirks, and then she takes one more slurp of cold noodles before tossing her folk on the table with a clank. “Do kiss and make up, kids,” she adds. “It’s going to be a long car ride otherwise.”

When they’re gone, I find Realm watching me. “You’re being horrible,” I tell him. “You know I’m hurt and you’re still being cruel. What’s wrong with you?” I’m angry, feeling a deep resentment toward him I don’t fully comprehend. Or maybe I just don’t remember.

“If you’re waiting for me to tell you how to fix things between you and James,” he says, “that’s never going to happen.”

“I don’t expect you to. I . . . I thought you were my friend, but we keep ending up like this.” I motion to the chaos around us. It’s clear to me that if anyone is toxic, it’s Realm.

“Friend?” Realm laughs, patronizing me. “Sure, sweetness, we’re friends. But if I’m being honest, there’s a bigger part of me that just doesn’t want James to win. You could have come out of The Program and restarted your life. You could have been happy. But instead you went back to him and now look. You have nothing. You have no one.” His eyes weaken a little. “How long before you get sick again? Has it started?”

I feel my expression fall because I know it has. The dark thoughts, the isolation, it’s all there under the surface. Waiting. Realm swallows hard, reading my reaction.

“I won’t lose you, Sloane,” he whispers. “I’ll kill him if I have to.”

“I’d rather die.”

Realm turns away. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He’s quiet for a moment; his posture slumps. With complete exhaustion, I sit down in my chair, too tired to fight with Realm anymore. Too tired to make excuses for our behavior. “What do I do now?”

“We have to leave,” Realm says. “Right now, before the doctor, The Program, whoever comes back. We’ll leave this place behind us.”

I pause, his intentions becoming clear. “Us?”

He looks up. “Just us.”

He isn’t listening, not about James, not about what I really want. “Realm, I don’t have The Treatment anymore,” I say quietly.

His lips part, and he looks absolutely stunned. He runs his hand through his hair. “Well, fuck,” he mutters. “Did you take it?”

“No. James has it. When we were in my room, he put it in his pocket. He still had it when he left. I . . . I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

Realm looks around the room like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. After a quiet moment he nods his head definitively. “James won’t take the pill,” he says. “Of course he won’t take it.”

“I just want him to come back,” I say, holding up my hands helplessly. “I don’t care about The Treatment.”

“You should care about it,” he says, righting his chair and collapsing into it. “The Program does. Arthur Pritchard does. It changed my life.” He glances away, and I can’t tell if he’s feeling nostalgic or tormented. “Sloane,” he says. “When we met, it wasn’t my first time in The Program. Evelyn Valentine had been my doctor, and she chose me to go through the testing—she gave me The Treatment. You see, the depression had started creeping back in, and she’d thought she found the answer. But there is a drawback to the pill. Only the truly strong can survive the crash of memories. Evelyn got me through it with therapy, but she couldn’t save all of us. I don’t think she could handle the loss.

“She disappeared soon after. I showed up at her office and it’d been ransacked. Evelyn was gone—along with her research, our identities. She kept us a secret from The Program, saving me one last time. As a precaution, they put every patient she’d come in contact with back through The Program, but the pill protected my memories, cemented them. There are only four people who know I’ve taken The Treatment—no one else, not even my sister. It nearly drove me insane. I wish I could tell you that getting it all back was worth it, but you have no idea how awful it is to remember, Sloane. You have no idea how cancerous it can be.”

I’ve seen the scar on Realm’s neck from when he’d tried to kill himself. But I never had to picture it before. It always seemed like it happened to someone else. Now I imagine what it must be like to have all of your dark thoughts descend on you at once. Even if Realm thinks I am, I’m not sure I would have been strong enough to handle that.

“How did The Treatment protect your memories?” I ask. Everyone is so bent on getting this pill, and I still don’t even know how it works.

“It made my brain like Teflon,” Realm says with a somber smile. “The dye The Program used couldn’t stick. It just slipped away. None of my memories could be targeted for erasure, but of course, the doctors couldn’t see that. I learned to become a very talented liar. The good news is: I’ll never forget. The bad news is: I can never forget.”

“Protection against The Program,” I say, a small glimpse of hope finally breaking through my otherwise gloomy existence. What would it be like to have that worry gone?

“They could still lobotomize us,” Realm says. “But I can’t imagine they would want to do that. It’d be a PR nightmare for them to send you—a recognizable face—back as anything other than well-behaved and complacent.”

“What about Arthur? Would he really mass produce it?”

Realm shakes his head. “Evelyn was a smart lady. I don’t know what she put in the pills, I really don’t, but I’m not sure it is reproducible. Thing is, she never meant for The Treatment to go public. She wouldn’t want Arthur to get his hands on the pill; be responsible for the mass suicides she’d been trying to prevent. It broke her heart when Peter died.”

The house is eerily quiet around us, and I lean my elbows on the table, glad Realm is finally sharing his secrets with me. “Peter?”

Realm presses his lips into a sad smile. “Peter Alan was my friend, but his memories—he couldn’t survive them. He ingested QuikDeath.” Realm looks down. “Evelyn destroyed the files after that. She said the risks were too great—one in four. She didn’t like those odds.”

A new worry spikes as I consider James’s reaction to The Treatment. If he takes it . . . I swallow hard, unable to finish the thought. I have to find him.

“What about the others?” I ask, hoping for better news. “Who were the others patients?”

Realm bites down on his lip. “Well, you’ve met Kevin.”

“My handler?” Kevin was supposed to be here with us, but he disappeared. Lacey thought The Program got to him, and I know she’s right. But if he took The Treatment, then they can’t erase him. He’ll be okay. Thank God he’ll be okay.

Realm’s brown eyes are so sorry when he mentions the next name. “And Roger.”

All the air seems to whoosh from my lungs, and I slap my hand over my mouth. Realm knew Roger? Roger who bartered for sexual favors in The Program with intimidation and sadistic threats. Roger who ruined Dallas, destroyed her trust in people. Realm knew him and never once mentioned it while we were in The Program together?

“How could you keep that from me?” I demand. Roger is a monster and Realm knew him. All the lies are dragging me down, plunging me into a darkness I can’t swim out of.

“I’m sorry,” Realm says, reaching to take my hand. I don’t pull away because I’m starting to drown. “I’m so sorry, Sloane.” He pauses, looking down at my hand. “I need you to promise me something: When we get The Treatment back from James, you have to take it. You’ll be fine—I swear. But I want you to be protected when The Program finds you.”

“When they find me?” I get up and stumble back from the table. Roger, Kevin, Realm—they all know each other. There’s a hint of something beneath that knowledge, like a memory fighting to surface. Fluid trickles over my lip and I sniffle, wiping my nose. My mouth floods with a metallic taste, and when I glance down at my hand, I see blood.

I hold out my red fingers to Realm, terrified. He quickly comes over and tips my head back, pinching my nose. I’m too shaken to stop him, too shaken to tell him that I want James and not him. Instead I think of how James helped Lacey when this happened to her. And how he told her she would be fine.

Lacey wasn’t fine. And I know I’m not either.

CHAPTER FOUR

I’M SITTING ON THE EDGE of the tub as realm dabs a cold washcloth under my nose. Any anger he had is gone, replaced only with concern. For a moment I see him how he was in The Program: sweet, understanding, devoted to me. I want to believe that’s the real him, but my mind is spinning, leaving me dizzy.

“Am I going to end up like Lacey?” I mumble under the edge of the washcloth.

“No,” he says. “Not unless you have more breaks. It’s stress—not normal everyday stress—but this emotional roller coaster you’ve put yourself on is messing with your head. You’re fracturing your memories, but in a scattered way. It can make you crazy, Sloane. You need to take it easier.”

“I’m a runner,” I say. “It’s not like I can kick back on the couch, eating cookies. Things aren’t going to calm down anytime soon. If anything, they’re just getting more complicated. Why did Dallas have to bring Arthur Pritchard here? Does she buy into his story?”

Realm laughs. “Dallas doesn’t trust anybody. She’s a really good actress when she needs to be. She wanted to find out what Pritchard knew about The Treatment.” He lowers his eyes. “I didn’t tell her I had it.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I say. Dallas pretty much hates us both because of it.

“She hit me with a soda can,” Realm says, as if he’s just remembering. “I mean, I deserved it, but it was a little violent, even for her. And I’m sure she’s not feeling any better about things. Turns out, Arthur Pritchard knew even less about The Treatment than she did.”

I take the pink-stained washcloth from his hand, wiping it under my nose to check if the bleeding has stopped. I’m relieved to see it has. “Well,” I say, “we did learn about The Program’s plan for mandatory admittance.”

“Unless he was just saying that to get his hands on The Treatment.”

Could he really lie about something so horrible? I groan, frustrated that there’s no one to believe. “It’s all of us,” I say. “We’re nothing but a bunch of liars.”

Realm climbs up from his knees. “Everybody lies, Sloane. We just happen to be better than the others. It’s why we’re still alive.”

As odd as the statement is, I think it’s a reflection of our lives. We’re all guilty of hiding things—it’s the nature of the world today. We hide our feelings, we hide our pasts, we hide our true intentions. There’s no way to know what’s real anymore.

Realm reaches to tip my chin up to him, and my breath catches. He looks over my face and then smiles softly. “All cleaned up,” he says. “I have to go talk to Cas about our next move. Sloane . . . you know we can’t stay here.”

“I’m not leaving him.” I’m not going anywhere without James. I can’t abandon him with The Program after us.

I slowly stand, and Realm holds my arm to steady me. I can see how frustrated he is, but after his take-it-easy speech, he can’t exactly express it. I’m not sure if my brains are scrambled eggs already, but I’m going to do my best to not spur on any more memories. I move past Realm, expecting him to call out to me, but he lets me leave.

It’s settled. When James gets back, we’ll go. Not before. I reach my bedroom, but I pause when I step inside. My closet light is still on. I glance around, seeing nothing else out of place, and then cross to turn off the light. I wait a beat, trying to remember if I left it on—but the night has been a jumble of thoughts and I can’t be sure. Either way, it sets me on edge. I climb into bed, wishing James and I had never met up with the rebels, that we’d run off on our own. But I can’t rewrite history. I can live only with what’s left.

I’m half-asleep, lying in bed in the dark, waiting for James. No one has come to speak to me, even though Realm assured me that Dallas was calling all of her contacts searching for him. I remind myself that Dallas can find anyone, especially James. I’ll see him soon. I know I will.

The door hinge creaks and I sit up quickly, my heart leaping into my throat. But it’s not James. Realm stands there, flooded in hallway light, his skin pale against the navy of his light jacket, his dark brown hair. Disappointment rocks me, and I rub my eyes.

“Have you heard anything?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

Realm slips his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. I curse and lie back down, staring at the ceiling. If I could just talk to James—he’d understand there’s nothing between me and Realm.

“Sloane,” Realm says quietly, “I’m sorry. We have to leave. I’m sorry, but we do. The Program is on its way. They picked up Arthur Pritchard about twenty minutes ago. We have to get out of here.”

I take a frightened breath, fear and panic tearing through me. Arthur Pritchard is gone—what if he was telling the truth? What if it’s my fault that he’s been caught?

“Sweetness,” Realm says, striding across the shadowy room to sit next to me. “We can talk about this on the way, but we have to go.”

I know Realm’s right—I really do. “I can’t leave him,” I say. “Please don’t make me leave James behind.” This could end him—literally end James if The Program gets ahold of him. “Please,” I try one last time.

A figure materializes in the doorway and my heart stops. At first I can’t tell if it’s James or a handler. I’m about to scream, but the person turns on the light. My stomach sinks.

“Dallas is waiting in the car,” Cas says impatiently. He’s disheveled, fidgety, and when he glances around the room, I can’t help but think he’s looking for The Treatment. I wonder if he was the one in my room earlier just as he goes to the dresser, grabbing the duffel bag from the top and stuffing my clothes inside.

“Sloane,” Realm says, touching my knee. “We’ll find him—I promise. But right now you have to come with us. If not . . . we’ll make you. I’m doing what has to be done to keep you safe. I hope you believe that.”

There’s a sharp pinch of betrayal, and I push him away, climbing out of the bed. I pull on a sweater and then meet Cas across the room, ripping the bag from his hands. He nods to me, apologetic. Through a teary gaze, I get the rest of James’s and my clothing.

I have no doubt Realm would throw me over his shoulder or drag me out of here kicking and screaming. What’s worse, I know James would never leave me behind like this. He would never do this to me.

My belongings fall to the floor and I squat down, covering my face as I sob into my hands. How can I do this? How can I live with myself if something happens to him?

There’s a second of quiet before Cas bends to pick up my bag. Realm comes to put his arms around me, leaning down and whispering into my hair how sorry he truly is. I continue to cry and let him stand me up, holding on to him so I won’t collapse. We walk from the room, but not before I cast one more look back over the room.

Empty.

We’ve been driving for hours. Stretches of highway blend together, lulling me in and out of sleep. I rest my head against the warm window in the backseat, Realm on the other side of me. There’s been no word on James—good or bad, but every time Dallas takes out her phone, my hopes climb and then crash to the ground. Last time I asked her about James, she assured me that if he’d been caught, she’d know instantly. She thinks he’s hiding or moping, but either way, she’ll find him. I hope she’s right.

Arthur Pritchard had been picked up by a group of handlers about thirty miles from our safe house. They hadn’t been watching us, not that we think, but the doctor’s intentions must have been reported. Someone turned Arthur Pritchard over, and now he belongs to The Program. I just hope he can talk his way out of it. He’s the creator—that has to count for something.

“How much longer?” I ask no one in particular. My mouth is dry, and I’m tired of riding in the van. The other rebels have headed to Denver, although I haven’t seen them since we left the Suicide Club back in Salt Lake. Cas didn’t want them to come with us this time. He said we have to protect The Treatment, which means keeping it a secret for as long as possible. Of course, I’m not currently in possession of the pill, so I guess I’m keeping secrets too.

Dallas tosses an uninterested look in my direction but doesn’t answer. “Cas,” she says, turning to him instead. “Can we stop? My bladder is about to burst.”

“Thanks for the unnecessary explanation,” he replies, smiling from the driver’s seat. He clicks on his blinker for the exit, and I straighten, ready to stretch my legs. Realm murmurs for her to be quick about it, and Dallas sneers, keeping her body turned away from him. This has been the pattern since we left. Whenever Realm asks her a question, Dallas directs Cas to answer him or stays silent, pretending Realm doesn’t exist.

Throughout the drive I’ve turned over Realm’s confessions in my head—every moment in which he lied to me. Realm had been in The Program more than once. He knew Roger. He remembers his life. He’s had an unfair advantage our entire friendship: He can never forget.

The car bumps the curb as we pull into the parking lot of a gas station, drawing me out of my thoughts. I’m quiet as we park, and Dallas and Cas quickly hop out. I’m slow to move, but I go outside without a word to Realm, and head into the small convenience store.

Dallas is already in the restroom, and the clerk eyes me suspiciously as I loiter. I’m worried he’ll recognize me from the news, and I opt to wait outside instead. I tighten my sweater around me and try to look inconspicuous. I reemerge in the parking lot, and a small blue car pulls up to the pump. I have to be more careful about being seen. I walk around the side of the building, keeping my face concealed. I wonder if James knows to stay in the shadows. I wonder if he even knows we’re gone yet.

I rest against the gray siding, waiting for the others. I glance to where the van is parked, but the tinted windows make it difficult to see inside. Which is just as well—I’m sure I’d find Realm guilt-stricken, watching me. I’m not going to make him feel better right now.

“You seem a little lost.”

I jump and see a guy walking over, his hands in the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. I recognize him immediately, even though he doesn’t look the same. I should run, but I’m rooted in place by fear.

“Who are you?” I ask. Clearly “Adam,” who I met at the suicide club, isn’t who he pretended to be that night. His hair is brushed smooth, his eyes blue and clear—not the black orbs his contacts had presented. He’s wearing a light-green hoodie, preppy in an Abercrombie way, not a returner way. He’s also older than I first thought—midtwenties maybe. “Are you a handler?” I demand, afraid someone is about to jump out and grab me.

Adam laughs. “No, Sloane. I’m not a part of  The Program—but I am interested to hear your thoughts on it.” He pulls his hand out of his sweater pocket, and I flinch like he’s going to Taser me. He holds out a business card, but I can only stare at him.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “I promise, I want to help.”

“Well, that’s the second time I’ve heard that in the last twenty-four hours. I didn’t believe him, either.” But Arthur Pritchard could have been telling the truth—after all, The Program took him. Is it possible Adam is telling the truth too?

“Why are you following me?” I ask, darting a look behind him. I expect Realm to show up at any second, but then again, I’m not sure if I want him to. Will it put him danger?

“I don’t mean to scare you,” Adam says. “But, Sloane . . . you have to understand—you’re a big deal in my world.” He offers his card again, and this time I take it. I’m caught off guard by what it says.

“Kellan Thomas,” I read, then look up surprised. “You’re a reporter?”

“For the New York Times,” he responds. “Been following your story since you disappeared last month. You’ve taken me on a hell of a chase.” He smiles. I go to hand him back his card, but he waves it off, telling me to keep it.

“I didn’t tell you right away because I wanted to check your state of mind. In case you’ve forgotten, messing with returners is against the law. I had to make sure you wouldn’t turn me in. But some laws are meant to be broken, especially ones that keep secrets. Will you talk to me, Sloane? Will you tell me your story?”

“Why? What can you do?” I’m beginning to feel anxious; Adam’s—Kellan’s—presence here is proving we’re not that difficult to find. The Program could show up at any second. Arthur had told us the public wasn’t on our side. Can Kellan possibly change that? Will he end up like Arthur if he tries?

“I’ll be honest,” Kellan says. “The paper’s been burying my stories, and I have yet to gain access to any of The Program’s procedures or methods. They operate under cloaked secrecy, and for a public health institution, that seems a bit unethical. But you and James Murphy—you’re a national scandal. There’ve been other returners, but none with the story you have: a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. The world is starting to root for you. I can only imagine what The Program thinks of that. I’d like to find out. Let me tell your side of things, bring some awareness to what’s happening inside the facilities. What did they do to you, Sloane? What happens inside The Program?”

Kellan is watching me, his eyes wide with impatience even though he’s trying to look calm. Arthur Pritchard had mentioned embedded handlers—is Kellan one of them? He could be playing both sides. I open my mouth to tell him it’s too dangerous to talk to him, when I hear my name.

“Sloane?” Realm sounds frantic as he calls me a second time. Kellan closes his eyes, exhaling heavily before looking at me again.

“My number’s on the card,” he says. “Please talk to me. But . . . let’s keep this between us. I don’t want to end up in jail—or worse.”

It occurs to me that I’m the “worse.” I hurry past him, jogging out to the front of the gas station, where I see Realm, his clasped hands on his head as he darts a panicked look in all directions. He curses when he sees me.

“There you are,” he says when I get closer. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.”

Kellan asked me to keep his existence secret, but it seems that being on the run is really about deciding who to trust. I take Realm’s arm and pull him close. “I have to talk to you,” I murmur. He eyes me curiously and then looks around the parking lot, pausing when he sees the empty blue car.

“Not here,” he says, putting his arm over my shoulders and leading us to the van. “Let’s get as far away as we can first.”

Cas and Dallas are already in the front seats, and as we pull away from the gas station, my heart races and I debate telling them about Kellan. But instead I look out the window to the side of the building where the reporter is probably watching us. I touch the corner of his business card in my pocket, wondering if I’ll ever see him again. There’s a small sense of disappointment, because even though I don’t trust him, if Kellan was for real, he might have been able to help me find James.

“Dallas?” I say, earning a quick look from Realm. “Have you heard anything on James?”

She turns, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Nothing yet, Sloane.” She sounds more apologetic than I would have expected. But then I remind myself that Dallas likes James. Maybe his safe return is a priority for both of us.

“Where exactly are we headed now?” Realm asks.

“Away from the city,” Dallas says, speaking to him for the first time. “Middle of nowhere—center of nothing.” She grins at him, her gap-toothed smile disingenuous. “You wanted us to disappear, so we are. Hope she’s worth it.” And then she turns around and puts on the radio, filling the silence.

Cas tells us the drive is too long and we’ll have to stop. It’s dark when we end up at a seedy motel a few turns off the highway. The VACANCY sign is only half lit up, and Realm heads toward the glassed-in booth to book the rooms. Dallas rolls down her window.

“Book a separate room for me and Cas,” she calls coldly. “I’m not sharing a bed with you this time.” Realm stops but doesn’t respond. It isn’t until Dallas’s window is closed that he goes to the booth, talking to the person behind the glass.

“Dial it down,” Cas mutters, tapping his hands impatiently on the steering wheel. “None of us wants to be in the middle of your lovers’ quarrel.”

Dallas turns to him. “You didn’t hear what he said,” she snaps. I feel my gut sink, afraid I’ll be dragged into the conversation. “I fucking matter,” she tells Cas, her cheeks growing pink. “He has no right to tell me I don’t.”

Cas reaches to put his hand on her shoulder, trying to pull Dallas into a hug, but she jerks away. “I’m fine,” she says. “I wish he’d just vanish again.” She glances quickly back at me. “And he can take her with him.”

I want to yell that I don’t love Realm and I never have. I want to remind her that James—my James—is missing, and her little pity party isn’t making any of our lives easier. But it’s dark, and Dallas is tired. And really . . . I don’t blame her for being angry with Realm. He brings out the worst in all of us.

Once Realm raises the keys to show us the rooms are set, we grab our bags and head up to the second floor. The place is pretty dingy, with peeling yellow paint and ugly green doors. I curl my lip and Cas nods his agreement.

“It was a good choice,” Realm says to Cas when he notices our exchange. “They accept cash and don’t require ID.” He stops in front of room 237 and uses the key—like an actual motel key with numbered chain, and opens the door. Immediately the smell of stale smoke hits my nose; the multicolored comforters on the beds are ratty and flat.

“Gross,” Dallas says, looking in.

Realm holds out a key to her. “Dallas, I—”

Dallas takes the key and walks next door. She doesn’t shout at him or repeat the things she said in the car. Cas looks weary as he follows her into their room, and I wait to see if Realm will go after Dallas and talk it out. But he just goes inside the room and disappears behind the bathroom door. Great. I’m starting to wonder if any of us will ever be light again, ever laugh, ever . . . live.

I close the front door and slide the chain over the lock. I’m feel like I’m in an eighties slasher flick, and I click on the lamp next to the bed. My belongings all fit inside the duffel bag, and I open it, peering in at James’s file. I can’t bring myself to read it, not without James.

The door opens and Realm comes out, his expression unreadable as he goes to the opposite bed and lies down. He folds his hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling. I lie on my side, too tired to wash my face or change my clothes.

“So,” Realm says, sounding exhausted. “What happened at the gas station earlier?”

I never told anyone about the first night I met Kellan, how he knew my name. I’m not exactly sure how to frame the story. “Have you ever been approached by a reporter?” I ask.

“No.” Realm scrunches his nose like it’s a bizarre question. “Have you?”

I take Kellan’s business card from my pocket and stretch it over to Realm. His eyes widen, and he grabs it quickly. He looks it over and then swings his legs to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Sloane, how the hell do you know this guy?”

“I met him at the Suicide Club. He looked like everyone else . . . but he knew my name before I told him. At first I thought maybe he was a handler, like the embedded ones Arthur Pritchard told me about. But when we stopped at the gas station on the way here, he showed up. I was terrified. He gave me this card, said he was a reporter for the New York Times following my and James’s story. He wants information on The Program. I think he can see what they’re really doing to us.”

Realm runs his fingers through his hair, leaving it sticking up when he drops his arm. “I don’t like it,” he says. “We shouldn’t talk to anyone outside of the rebels. At least not yet. He could be working for The Program.”

“I guess.” I sit back against the pillows, thinking it over. “But we didn’t believe Arthur, and he was picked up by  The Program.” I turn to Realm. “Do you really think they’ll erase him?”

Realm considers my question for a long moment. “There’s a chance this is just a stunt to draw us out,” he says. “I mean, he’s the creator of  The Program. Could they really do that to him?”

“I hope not,” I murmur. If I could rewind, I’d talk to Arthur longer, find out what else he had to say. If I could rewind time, I’d do so many things differently. My bottom lip quivers and I bite down on it. “Tell me James is okay,” I whisper.

“I can’t. But if  James loves you, he’ll find you.” Realm turns to me. “I found you.”

James does love me, even though Realm always tries to dispute that fact. But it’s now been two days since James left—two days without a word from him. He was so angry the last time I saw him. I hope he knows how sorry I am. At that thought, I reach to click off the light, submerging the room in darkness. I lie back on the bed, curling up in the loneliness.

“Sloane,” Realm says, his voice low. “Remember in The Program, when you would sneak into my room with me?” he asks. “We’d snuggle. Platonically, of course.”

I used to spend time in Realm’s room, talking—although I don’t know exactly what we talked about anymore. I do remember what it felt like to let him stroke my hair, to let him whisper his stories near my ear.

“It was nice,” Realm says. “Holding you.”

I close my eyes, squeezing them tight, as if I can block out how I’ve missed him. Once upon a time Realm was everything to me. It hurts to remember that—because now I’m not sure if that was the real Realm. “It was nice,” I say softly.

“If you . . .” He pauses, and I hear his throat click as he swallows. “If you wanted to sleep here with me, I wouldn’t mind. I won’t try anything either.”

“I can’t,” I say simply. Even if I didn’t know about Realm and The Treatment, I still wouldn’t run to him now. I learned my lesson at his house that stormy night. I love James. It’s not fair to pretend otherwise.

“The offer stands, Sloane,” Realm says. “I’ll always be here for you.”

CHAPTER FIVE

IT’S THE NEXT DAY WHEN we arrive at a small farmhouse outside of Lake Tahoe—and like Dallas said, it’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s also beautiful. Trees encase the entire property, and the small, shabby farmhouse has a charm all its own. From the peeling white siding to the enormous and inviting wraparound porch—it makes me think of a life I would have liked to have with James. Just us in the country, maybe some dogs running around. But I’m here with a group of rebels instead. Things don’t always work out the way we plan.

I don’t have much to carry as I make my way inside. It’s a little dusty, and I cough the minute Cas pushes the door open. But I like it. I like how peaceful it is.

“This belonged to the grandparents of another rebel,” Dallas says, then lowers her eyes. “But she was taken back to The Program a few months ago. Haven’t seen her since. So it’s ours now.” She drops her bag at her feet. “We shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“It’s a nice place,” I say, pausing to look at the framed pictures on the wall. There’s an older couple, very 1970s with paisley and butterfly collars. I touch the image, reminded of my own grandparents, who passed away when I was little. Their picture hung on my wall at home.

My home. I may never see it again. I shake off the impending grief and instead walk around to explore the place, needing the distraction. I find a small room, no bigger than a walk-in closet, with a twin bed and nothing else. I decide that I like it. The window looks out over the expansive yard, a small creek cutting through the grass. I can imagine that in the mornings there might be a deer, or even bunnies, frolicking. I smile to myself and sit on the mattress, bouncing to make the springs creak.

“Hey.” Cas peeks his head in my room. He looks pretty wrecked after driving all this way, and I’m sure I don’t look much better. His longish hair is in tangles, dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t shaved since we left. I wonder how long Cas has been this ragged, threadbare. Maybe I was too busy to notice.

“I called dibs on the shower,” he says, “but if you want it first, I’ll give you this one chivalrous pass.”

I grin. “No, you clearly need it more than I do.” He puts his hand over his heart.

“Ouch. Well, don’t plan on having any hot water.”

“Such a gentleman.” Cas winks, playful and flirtatious in the same way he is with Dallas. And although it should make me feel included, it only makes me feel lonelier.

I get under the covers of the bedsheets in an attempt to sleep off some of the exhaustion, listening as the shower turns on. But the emptiness of my small room becomes too much, and I go downstairs in search of life instead. I find Dallas sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the arm as she scrolls through the screen of her phone. She glances at me.

“Did you need something?” she asks. “You have that needy expression.”

I stand over her for a minute, the never-ending tension between us suffocating me. I could offer a snide comment and walk away like I usually do, but then we’ll never settle this. I roll my eyes and sit cross-legged on the floor next to the couch. This piques her interest, and Dallas slips her phone into her pocket.

“I’m sorry,” I say, staring at the faded rust-colored carpet. “I’m sorry I got between you and Realm—it wasn’t my intention.” I hear Dallas snort behind me.

“Oh, well. Society is built on good intentions, Sloane. And look how far it’s gotten us.” Her tone is almost harsh enough to make me leave, but I hold out. There aren’t many of us left. It could be worth it to try to have a girlfriend—one person I can trust.

“If it’s any consolation,” I say, “I don’t think he meant the hurtful things he said.” I’m not trying to make excuses for him; Realm was a total asshole. But there was something about his posture after, the way he still looks at her now, that makes me think he cares more than he’ll say. I turn to Dallas, see her watching the ceiling with her jaw clenched, her bottom lip jutting out. She flicks her eyes to mine.

“That’s our entire relationship,” she says. “And yeah, I don’t think he means to do it either, but he always does. He always has.” Dallas readjusts her position on the couch, settling back with a far-off expression. “I met Realm after I ran away from home. I was in a bad place, worse than I am now. I’d been through The Program, through Roger, through my father’s abuse. I packed a bag and took off on my own. There wasn’t a national story behind it, not like you and James. I just disappeared, spent my nights in abandoned buildings on my way to Salt Lake. I’d heard stories of a resistance there.

“I was timid then. I’m not sure what my life was like just before I was taken, but in junior high, before the epidemic, I’d been a cheerleader.” She laughs. “Can you imagine?”

I smile. “No.”

She quiets for a moment and wraps her arms around herself. “Then Roger happened,” she says. “When I got home, I couldn’t assimilate, but I learned to fake it to get through therapy. The first chance I got, I took off. I met the rebels and they took me in. One day Michael Realm showed up. The way he acted . . . It felt like he was there for me. The way he spoke, the way he looked at me. I was scared then, but he made it better. For a while.”

Listening to Dallas, I’m reminded that maybe I don’t know Realm at all. This was before I knew him. Was it before he’d been in The Program the first time? Was it before the second time? “What happened after that?” I ask Dallas, leaning my elbow on the couch.

“He left,” she says. “Realm would always leave and never say where he was going. Then he’d show up again and act like nothing happened—we’d get closer, and then he’d push me away. This is the first time he brought another girl home, though. I’m not going to lie, Sloane. It hurts. I thought I’d grown immune to pain, but Realm knows just how to twist the knife to keep me from loving him completely.”

Guilt falls all around me, even though I’m not the one to blame. Still, I can understand why Dallas hates me. I can’t imagine how I’d cope if James fell in love with someone else.

“What about Cas?” I ask. “Have the two of you ever—”

“No,” Dallas says quickly. “We’re not like that. Shit, I’m not even sure what type of girl Cas likes. He’s my best friend—which is how we both want it.”

We sit quietly for a while, and I turn over our conversation, putting it together with what Realm has told me. I don’t feel I have the full story—like there’s a piece missing from their dynamic. “Have you ever talked to Realm about his behavior? Have you told him how you feel?”

Dallas’s expression weakens as she turns toward me. “He said I didn’t matter, Sloane. I don’t think he could have been clearer than that.”

I wince, Realm’s words stinging even me. I don’t understand his motivation. Then again, James was kind of a jerk when I met up with him, too. “James pushed me away,” I confess. “I called him on it, kind of ran off. My friendship with Realm is what made James finally admit his feelings for me. Until a few days ago, I thought we were solid. I thought we were forever.” James is the connection between who I was and who I am now. Without that, I’m lost.

“We’ll find him,” Dallas states. “I have no doubt that James is safe. If anything, he’s probably just pissed. This isn’t because I hate you or anything,” she says with a smile, “but I kind of see his point. You and Realm . . . You act like more than friends. I’d have left you too.”

James wouldn’t be friends with a girl who was in love with him, not if it hurt me. I’m ashamed of my behavior. Ashamed I wasn’t mature enough to have more respect for my boyfriend. I’m embarrassed that even Dallas can see it.

“Can I ask you something?” Dallas starts tentatively. “What are you going to do with The Treatment?”

The question catches me off guard, and it takes me a second too long to answer. “I honestly don’t know,” I say eventually. “It’s a lot of pressure. What . . . What would you do?”

“If it were me, I’d have taken it right away. I wouldn’t care about Pritchard or the others. But if I were you”—she shrugs—“I would have given it to James.” She glances over at me and smiles. “Can I be real for a second? Your boyfriend is superhot. Seriously, James really does it for me. I just thought you should know.”

I laugh, tossing my head back. Above us the pipes rattle and there’s the whine of a turning faucet before the water shuts off. Talking to Dallas has given me some perspective, but more surprisingly, I can see she’s a good person. I haven’t given her nearly enough credit. I climb to my feet, hoping Cas didn’t really use up all the hot water.

“Thanks for the talk.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dallas responds, her tone dismissive, as if she’s not taking away the same bonding experience as I am. “Hey, if you see Cas, let him know I’d like to knife fight later.”

“Uh . . . okay.”

Dallas takes out her phone, and her change in demeanor bothers me slightly, but this could just be what she does to avoid getting hurt. I can’t expect her to trust me, not yet. I start for the stairs but pause to look back at her. Dallas waves her hand in acknowledgment, a smile on her lips, and swipes her thumbs over her keypad, shutting me out.

Cas is in his room by the time I get upstairs, and I walk into the steamy bathroom, running my hand across the fog in the mirror. I study my reflection, noting that the healthy glow I had after leaving The Program is now replaced with dark circles, pale skin. I’ve thinned, and I wonder what my parents would think if they saw me now.

They’d probably think I was sick. They’d probably call The Program to come get me. I wonder for a moment about how it happened, but I quickly block it out. It’s too horrific to imagine. Would I want to feel what it’s like for my own parents to betray me?

I blow out a hard breath, trying to clear my head, and go over to turn on the shower. The bathroom is old, with a black-and-white-tiled floor and a claw-foot tub with standing shower. I don’t have any soap, but I find an unopened bar underneath the sink. The minute I stand beneath the rushing hot water, I’m grateful Cas didn’t use it all. My muscles, stiff from the car ride and lack of good sleep, begin to loosen, my mind slowly unraveling the past few weeks.

I start with Lacey—a place I haven’t let myself go since she left. Dallas said she was back in The Program, and my only way to deal with that was to stop thinking about her. But now I can see her, both before and after her spiral. I see the note: Miller. Can I think of the memory of Miller? Will it spur new memories and drive me crazy? The water is beginning to cool as I close my eyes and pretend James is here with me in the shower. He says he’s sorry for leaving. I say I’m sorry for lying. We’re both so sorry. We’re always sorry.

I work the bar of soap through my wet hair, but suddenly there’s a sharp pain in my temples, a swift blow of memories smashing through the surface.

The tile floor is ice-cold under my bare feet. I fumble with the door handle. Just as I get it open, I see the stark white corridor of The Program. Realm stalks toward the nurses’ station, where Roger is standing, laughing. My wrists are sore from when the handler had me strapped down, but I’m so scared for Realm. I’m so scared of what he’ll do.

Realm’s fist connects with Roger’s face, sending him over the desk and the nurse screams. I try to make my way closer, to tell Realm to stop before they take him away, but I’m so foggy. Roger drugged me.

“Which arm?” Realm snarls.

“Don’t do this, Michael,” Roger says. “You’ll expose us all.”

Realm punches him hard in the face again, breaking his nose, sending blood in a splatter on the white wall. “Which arm did you touch her with?” Realm demands. When Roger doesn’t answer, Realm grabs the handler’s right arm and twists it behind his back until it snaps, sending Roger into a fit of howls. Realm only steps back, enraged, but oddly calm.

Security comes rushing up, but instead of wrestling Realm to the floor, they whisper to him until he agrees, letting them lead him away. But not before he looks back over his shoulder at me, nodding, as if we have an agreement. A secret between us.

I gasp and stumble sideways, catching the wall with my hand before I fall out of the tub. Secrets—how many do Realm and I have together? How many of them have I forgotten?

It’s all too much; everything piled on breaks me, and I start to sob. I lower myself down into the tub, filled with loss and devastation. I cry under the ice-cold water, shivering but unable to get up. I’m not weak, I know I’m not . . . but this is too much. I have to let it go because it’s too damn much.

The curtain slides open, followed by the squeak of the faucet turning off. I’m still crying when the warmth of a towel wraps around my shoulders, and Realm helps me from the tub. My legs are wobbly, but the minute I realize he’s here, that he’s touching me, I push him back.

I hate Realm for lying to me in The Program—acting as if he was just like me when he wasn’t. He had his memories. He knew Roger. But most of all, I hate him for being here when James isn’t.

I wrap the towel tighter around myself and brush the tears off my cheeks, glaring at Realm. His expression falters, concern replaced with defeat, vulnerability. “I don’t want to hear it right now,” I say, sounding like a petulant child. But I won’t let Realm manipulate me. I feel like he already has.

“Do you know how I ended up in The Program in the first place?” he asks, taking a step closer to me.

I sniffle, surprised by the question, but also by his proximity. I move back, bumping against the sink. “You never told me,” I say. “You said you didn’t remember.”

Realm moves, and I flinch as if he’s going to touch me, but he goes to sit on the edge of the tub. “I was sixteen years old,” he says in a quiet voice. “My parents were both dead and my sister was working day and night. I never saw her. I worked on and off, but mostly I smoked and drank—numbing what I could. The despair was so deep and dark that it was eating me from the inside. I started to imagine I was rotting—that if you split my skin I would bleed black cancerous blood.” He met my eyes. “And so one day I decided to find out.”

My breathing quickens and a slow horror starts to work through me. The confession is already too personal, too painful to hear. My eyes begin to well up.

“My sister was at her job, my girlfriend was gone—gone into The Program weeks before. I had nothing. I had no one. But I wasn’t searching for peace, Sloane. I was searching for pain. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to feel every inch of my death and I wanted to suffer. So I grabbed a serrated knife from the wood block on the kitchen counter, and I went into the bathroom and shut the door. I must have stood at the sink for close to an hour, staring at myself. The circles under my eyes, the disgust I felt at my own reflection.

“And then . . . I put the blade to my neck and began to saw. I watched as long as I could, watching the blood pour down over my shirt, the skin split, only to lose my place because of my shaky hand. Then I’d start again.”

I cover my mouth, tears spilling onto my cheeks as the images flash through my head. “Stop,” I say. But Realm looks crazed, lost in his head.

“The last thing I remember,” he says, “was the thought that it wasn’t black blood at all. It was red. Everything was so red. I woke up in The Program. Seventy-three stitches. Reconstructive surgery. Extensive therapy. The doctors told me I was a miracle. Do you agree?” he asks, his brown eyes wild. “Aren’t I just a role model now? A fucking inspiration.”

No one should suffer like that. It’s too terrible to even comprehend. I step forward and hug him, wishing I could take the pain away.

Realm’s arms wrap around my waist as he holds me close, taking jagged breaths before going on. “Sometimes I wish it’d worked. I wanted to die that day, but instead I had doctors picking me apart. But that’s not the worst thing I’ve done, Sloane. I wish it were.”

I pull back and look down into his face. What does that mean? I move out of his arms, tightening my towel once again. I realize suddenly we’re alone, and I’m naked other than this short white cloth wrapped around me. Realm notices my reaction and lowers his eyes.

Although my face feels swollen from crying, I put myself back together. I have to keep going, keep fighting. I may be a runaway, but at least I’m alive. I grip the glass knob of the bathroom door to leave.

“Sloane,” Realm calls in a low voice. I turn to look at him. “If he doesn’t come back, you still have me.”

My eyes weaken. “Realm . . .”

“I love you more than James ever could,” he says so seriously that I know he believes it. I can’t bring myself to hurt him, say the things I should. I can only turn and leave, praying James really will come back. And wondering what it will mean for Realm when he does.

CHAPTER SIX

IT’S LATE. I’M LYING IN bed, close to the window because I understand what Realm meant at the other house—there is a claustrophobic aftereffect of The Program. A light flips on in the backyard, and I immediately sit up, my stomach lurching with fear.

Slowly, I slide the curtain aside and peer out. It takes a second to find them, but then I see Dallas and Cas on the lawn. Dallas is laughing—a genuine emotion of happiness—as Cas has his switchblade, flipping it open and waving it around like he’s from West Side Story. I smile too.

I slip my arms into my sweater and push my feet into my sneakers, and head downstairs. When I push open the back screen door, they both spin to face me—Cas’s knife is gripped in his hand and pointed at me.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says. Dallas rolls her eyes, and I consider going back upstairs, but ultimately I’m too awake to sleep. And I definitely don’t want to lie in bed and think all night.

“Do you mind if I stay out here for a while?” I ask.

“Of course you can,” Cas says quickly. “I’m just showing Dallas how to defend herself. You know”—he glances back at her—“since she’s so delicate and demur.”

“Suck it, Cas,” she says, pulling her dreads up into a high knot. “I guarantee I can put you down in less than five seconds.”

Cas flips his blade closed and pulls off his jacket, tossing it to me. “Ooo . . .” he says. “I like that challenge. Wanna put down money, Sloane?”

I laugh. “I’m definitely taking Dallas on this one.”

“Smart girl,” Dallas says, and starts dancing from foot to foot like she’s a boxer. The night is quiet behind us, the thick trees lining the property, keeping us safe from neighbors. It’s cool but comfortable outside. I see the stump of a tree and go to sit down on it, completely entertained.

“All right, baby,” Cas says, brushing his hair behind his ears. “If I hurt you, you’d better not hold a grudge.”

Dallas nods mockingly. “Sure thing, Casanova. And if your man bits lose their ability to reproduce, I hope there are no hard feelings.”

Cas drops his arms. “Hey! You can’t—”

Dallas springs, sweeping his feet out from under him. At the same time, her hands shoot forward, knocking Cas back. He barely has time to react and ends up flat on the grass, moaning. Dallas drops into a squat next to him.

“Was I too rough?” she says in a baby voice. Cas starts to laugh, shaking his head. Dallas offers her hand and helps him up. Even though she just kicked his ass, Dallas and Cas go at it again and again, nearly every time ending with Dallas triumphant.

“Want to give it a whirl?” Dallas asks me. There’s a smudge of dirt over her brow from when Cas tried to reach her from the ground.

“No, thanks,” I say, holding up my hands. “I think I’d rather fight Cas.”

“Hey!” he calls with a laugh. Cas gets up, swiping at the grass stains on his jeans, which are past the point of return. He comes to sit on the stump next to me, smelling like earth and soap. Dallas walks over, stretching her arms to one side as she works out a kink in her shoulder.

“I meant to tell you,” she says. “I got in touch with an insider. The Program is still looking for James.” At the mention of his name in combination with The Program, my muscles tense. “Relax,” Dallas says, reading my anxiety. “This is good news. It means he got away. James is safe, hiding out somewhere. Now it’s just a matter of us tracking him down.”

“He’s okay?” I ask, too scared to be hopeful.

“It appears so,” Dallas says. “Does that turn your frown upside down?” she teases, trying to get me to smile. My relief is absolute.

“Yes,” I say honestly, blowing out a measured breath. “It certainly does.” I’m weightless. Even though James isn’t here now, Dallas said it was only a matter of time. And I trust her. After all this time, I finally trust her.

“I don’t have The Treatment anymore,” I confess. “James accidently took it. We left the pill behind with him.”

Cas turns suddenly, confusion crossing his features. “Are you serious?” he asks. “You don’t have it here?” He and Dallas exchange a look, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake confiding in them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I say. “I wasn’t sure—”

“Sloane,” Dallas interrupts, “it’s fine. It’s not like we’ve only been tolerating you for The Treatment.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe at first. But now, hell—we’re, like, almost-friends.” She flashes her wide smile, and the tension evaporates. “Besides,” she adds, “James will be back soon anyway with The Treatment. Then we’ll figure out what to do next.” Cas agrees, and I’m so grateful they’re not mad. If anything, it might make them search for James a little harder.

“Oh.” Dallas snaps her fingers and looks at Cas. “We’re low on funds and I need to pay for some information. Got a connection?”

Cas grabs a bottle of water sitting on the grass and takes a sip. It hadn’t occurred to me that we needed money. On the first day, Dallas and Cas collected what Realm’s sister had given us. I never thought to question where else they get money from.

“I’ll get us the cash,” Cas says, sounding exhausted. “I haven’t let you down yet, have I?” Dallas shakes her head.

“Where does the money come from?” I ask. Cas side-eyes me, and takes another drink.

“He never says,” Dallas announces. “I think he’s a thief, but I figure we’re all allowed our secrets. And if my little klepto wants to borrow from the more fortunate, then so be it. It’s keeping us fed.”

“One day we’ll have lobster and steak,” he says, grinning behind the top of his water.

“You cook,” Dallas says.

“Hell yes. I’m not going to let you burn it.”

We’re all smiling, but it has to be at least three in the morning by now. I say my good nights, and Dallas and Cas stay behind. I don’t think they’re going to fight anymore. I don’t think they’re going to hook up, either. It makes me like them both a little more in a weird way. Their friendship is so honest and easy, and once again I see another side of Dallas. Combined with the news that James is currently safe from The Program for now, and I almost hopeful about this whole situation.

The days pass slowly, comfortably. It’s early one morning when I find Realm by the back door, a wide smile plastered across his face. It’s so out of character that I actually look around the kitchen to make sure I’m not missing something. When I see it’s just us, I put my hand on my hip and laugh.

“What?” I ask, returning his smile. Rather than answer, Realm takes the handle of the back door and opens it. I stare out over the yard, my eyes widening as a gentle breeze that smells like grass blows in. There are at least six deer in our backyard; one is a baby. They’re so beautiful. I take a step toward them, and Realm puts his finger to his lips.

“Shh . . .” he says, turning to watch them too. I go to stand next to him, and he puts his arm over my shoulders. “It’s hard to remember the good sometimes,” he whispers.

The deer continue to eat out of the old garden, and the baby is lying in the grass. The property is even prettier in the morning light: green and alive. How can there be a suicide epidemic when nature can be so soft and gentle? How can anything horrible happen in a place like this? I lean my head on Realm’s chest as we watch the deer, lost in a beauty we forgot existed.

“What are you guys doing?” Cas calls from behind us. One of the deer turns its head, its ears twitching. Cas stomps over to where we are, not quiet and not subtle. “Oh shit,” he says, pointing to the yard. Two of the deer immediately scamper off, and the rest freeze, looking in our direction. “Should we kill one and eat it?” Cas asks.

I scoff and turn to stare at him. Realm chuckles, lowering his arm from my shoulders. By the time I look back at the deer, they’re gone. Disappointment weighs me down. I liked the feeling the deer gave me; I liked feeling small next to nature.

Cas sighs and then walks back into the kitchen, reaching into the lower cabinets to pull out a heavy pan. He fills it with water and sets it on the stove, clicking the burner to life. I think the idea of venison stew is still dancing through his head, but really he’s going to cook gross processed food they got from the gas station. Cas still hasn’t found money, but neither Realm nor Dallas is pressing him about it. I can see they’re getting nervous, though.

Realm comes over. “Hey,” he says. “Want to go for a walk? It’s gorgeous outside.”

I look up, feeling calm for the first time in a while. It’s hard to stay angry in a place so beautiful. I agree and tell Cas to save us some food before Realm and I go out back.

The sun is shining, but the breeze is cool, and I wrap my arms around myself as we walk over the expansive lawn toward the creek, toward the woods beyond. On the other side of us is a massive mountain range, enclosing us in the safety of nature. For a minute I’m reminded of when Realm and I were both in The Program. He brought me out to walk in the flower garden with him, and it gave me so much hope. It reminded me that there was a world to go back to.

A small wooden bridge curves over the creek, and we pause in the middle of it and rest our elbows on the railing, gazing at the house and the woods. “What are we going to do with our lives?” I ask quietly. “How long do we live out here?”

“As long as we can.” He lowers his head, and I look sideways at him. “We’ll always have to keep moving,” he says. “As long as The Program is out there, we won’t be safe.”

I know he’s right, but to admit it crushes the contentment of the moment. I exhale, long and heavy, and then stare at the world once again—wishing it could always be like this.

“I want to tell you everything, Sloane,” Realm says quietly. “But I don’t know if I can.”

My eyes are trained on the trees, but my heart begins to race. “Maybe it’s time you try,” I say. I’m not in denial; I’ve always known Realm was hiding something. But now, here, I’m scared of what he has to say.

Realm nods, leaning farther over the railing to study the streaming water below. “It’s about Dallas,” he murmurs. “I knew her before either of us were in The Program.”

I pull my eyebrows together, processing his words. Dallas met him after she got out of  The Program. “What?” I ask, turning to him.

Realm’s expression is filled with pain, regret. “She was my girlfriend before she went into The Program. She just doesn’t remember.”

“Oh my God,” I say, covering my mouth. How could Dallas not know? How could Realm not tell her?

“Sloane,” he says, taking my wrist to pull my hand down. “After I took The Treatment and got my memories back, I sought her out. I’ve been trying to keep her safe.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell her then? Why would you pretend you’d only just met? Were you manipulating her by using things from your past?”

“No,” he says quickly, but then swallows hard, looking down. “A little. I did what I had to do, though. You didn’t know her. She’s not like you, Sloane.”

“What does that mean?” I’m suddenly protective of Dallas, and my anger at Realm is growing exponentially.

“She’s not strong. Sure, she tries to be. She puts on a show.” He shakes his head. “But she’s not. Dallas may think she wants her memories back, but I can tell you right now that she can’t handle them. There was her bastard father, her suicide attempt. And then there was me. I wasn’t exactly the best boyfriend.”

“I think you’re underestimating her.”

“You didn’t see her. I’m the reason Dallas went into The Program. I was suicidal, vicious, angry. I said horrible things. I wanted her sad—I made her sad. And then . . .” He stops, turning to look at the lawn as he puts his palm over his mouth, coughing a cry into it before he can compose himself.

“What did you do?” I whisper.

“I called The Program and told them to take her.”

My eyes widen, and then I’m a flurry of motion, slapping whatever part of him I can hit. “You son of a bitch!” I scream, trying to wound him. He takes it all, but soon my hands begin to hurt and my arms tire. “How could you?” I whimper, heartbroken for a girl who has been through too much. More than anyone ever should. He’s kept all this from her. It makes me wonder exactly what Realm is capable of. I drop down to sit on the bridge, overcome.

Realm looks at me, a small scratch—raised and red—on his cheek. “When I got my memories back,” he says, “finding Dallas was my first priority. And when I saw she was okay, I was so relieved. I’d been worried she didn’t survive. Believe me, I hate myself for what I did. Right away she and I fell back into a relationship of sorts. She’s vulnerable, especially to me.

“And then she told me about Roger, about what he’d done to her. And I had such guilt.” He closes his eyes. “You don’t understand how that kind of guilt can feel. Again I found myself taking it out on her. I can’t not hurt her, Sloane. I want to protect her, but I can’t even protect her from me.”

“Then just leave her alone,” I say. “Isn’t that the best thing you can do for her? She still cares about you, Realm.”

“And I’m in love with you.”

My stomach twists, sickened by the words. I’m not to blame for how he’s mistreated Dallas. “Don’t turn this on me. You should never have told her that, knowing your past together. Knowing how she feels about you. It was cruel.”

He smiles, sad and lonely. “Isn’t that what you do to me when it comes to James?” he asks. “Aren’t we in the same exact position?”

His words shock me, and I jump to my feet. Have I done that? Am I that cruel? I take a step back, and Realm shakes his head and reaches for my arm.

“Sloane, wait,” he says. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I get it—that’s what I’m trying to say here. I understand about you and James—you’ll always choose him. I’m just saying that, on the same token, I’ll always choose you.”

Realm is the one who’s unwell. Has he always been this way, or is he spiraling into a depression? I step backward toward the house, yanking my arm from his. “You’re crazy,” I say. “Stay away from me, Realm. Stay away from Dallas.”

Realm starts to follow me, but something in my expression makes him stop. Instead he leans the side of his body against the railing and watches me leave. I’m suddenly desperate to find James. I can’t tell Dallas about Realm; I’m not sure I can inflict that kind of trauma on her. But I’ll ask for her help in locating James. And then I’ll get us the hell out of here. I start to run toward the house, running away from Realm. Always running back to James.

When I get to the house, it’s quiet. The pan Cas used earlier is soaking in the sink, and there’s a bowl filled with ramen noodles on the table. I can’t eat anyway, not after what I just learned. Dallas isn’t in the living room, but I have to find her. We have to find James and then get out of here. I head upstairs to grab my stuff, guessing that Dallas is still asleep. I climb the creaky stairs, and when I open my bedroom door, my breath catches in my throat.

James is standing at the window, staring out over the yard. I see his shoulders tense when I enter, but he doesn’t turn around right away. He seems different, even though it’s been only a few days. I want to see his face, but at the same time, I’m scared of what his expression will say. Is he still mad about Realm? Does he think I abandoned him?

“I saw you on the bridge just now,” he says quietly. “The land’s beautiful here. A lot like Oregon. A lot like home.”

I’m about to completely break down, but I sniffle hard and pull myself together. “You found us,” I say, thinking back on Realm’s words. He said if James loved me, he’d find me. I’m hoping that’s true.

James turns, his bright-blue eyes arresting as he looks me over. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asks. “You know me too well to think I’d give up on you. I left so I wouldn’t murder your friend, but something came up. I’m just glad Dallas left a breadcrumb trail.”

The moment is heavy, overflowing with emotion. My fingers are shaking so badly that I clasp them in front of me. “I was worried about you,” I say.

James nods and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the Baggie. “I should give this back to you,” he says quietly. “I thought about taking it, but I couldn’t. See, I hesitated.”

“I’m glad,” I say. “I have so much to tell you, and to be honest, I doubt either of us will be taking The Treatment anytime soon.” James casts a confused glance at the pill before sliding it back into his pocket. But rather than asking me, he lowers his eyes, his shoulders slumping. My stomach sinks.

“What’s happened?”

James lifts his gaze. “My dad died.”

I gasp, shocked beyond words. I rush forward, not caring if he wants me to or not, and wrap my arms around him. He’d already lost his mother, and now . . . his father. James is an orphan. He’s truly alone in the world now. His arms are weak as they rest around my waist. I get on my tiptoes, whispering close to his ear.

“I’m so sorry, James.”

James’s grip tightens, and soon he’s holding me, swaying with whatever grief he was holding back. I should have been with him, but instead I let Realm manipulate me. I broke James’s trust. We could have faced everything together, but it’s too late to take it back now.

After a moment James hitches in a few unsteady breaths. He rubs his reddened eyes and then takes in my appearance. “You look too thin,” he says, sounding miserable.

“I’ve been a little stressed.”

He nods like he can understand. Absently, he reaches to take a curly strand of my hair and twist it around his finger. “When I left,” he says quietly, “I planned to cool off for a few hours, come back, and take you away from him. Away from Realm. At one point I looked up and realized I was driving back to Oregon. I just wanted to go home. I wanted our lives back. I stopped at a gas station and asked to use the phone. I called my dad.”

The tears gather in James’s eyes and his grief is contagious. Even though his father blamed me for James running away, he was still James’s father. I murmur again how sorry I am, but James doesn’t seem to hear.

“Dad didn’t answer the phone,” he continues. “And I got a bad feeling. So . . . I called your house.”

“My house?”

James nods, letting my hair slip out of his hand. “I’m not even sure why. I did it without thinking—I just . . . knew the number. I talked to your father.”

“My dad?” I squeak out. I miss my parents. Despite everything, I miss them, and knowing that James lost his dad makes me only more desperate to have mine back.

“He told me my father died last week. There wasn’t a service because there was no family left to bury him. Instead the State took his body. I . . .” James starts to break but fights hard to keep his composure. “I abandoned my dad, Sloane. He died all alone.”

I cover my lips with my fingers, trying not to cry. This is why James seemed different when I walked in. He’s no longer cocky or confident. Over the past few days, he’s lost his old life. He’s had to grow up completely. His life is irrevocably changed.

“Your father asked about you,” James says. “I told him you were okay, that you weren’t sick. And that someday we’d come home again.” I squeeze my eyes shut, tears spilling onto my cheeks. “He said he hoped so,” James continued. “He asked me to take care of you until then.”

I look at James again, my heart aching. “You promised that you would?”

He smiles softly. “Yeah. I told him I’d do anything to keep you safe. And I meant it, Sloane. After I talked with him, I turned the car around because I knew I could never leave you. You’re all the family I have left.”

The words escape me—the perfect phrases that would prove to James how much I love him. We are family. “Do you really think we’ll go home someday?”

“I’m gonna try like hell,” he says, shifting closer to me. He slides his palm over my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw. I ache for him to kiss me, but he’s holding back.

“How did you find us?” I ask. “How did Dallas get to you?”

“I have to say”—he laughs—“she’s pretty damn good. She must have had people out looking for the Escalade. First I got a note leading me to a seedy motel. I was a few days behind you. The proprietor was nice enough to tell me you shared a room with a tall, dark-haired guy with a nasty scar on his neck.” James lowers his arm.

There’s a rush of guilt, but I’m quick to try to explain it away. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought it was,” James says. “You’re tangled up with him. I have to deal with it.” James gets quiet, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants. “At the motel,” James continues, “Dallas left behind a guidebook of Lake Tahoe. From there, it was a matter of tracking the van.

“Cas let me in when I got here—acting pretty fucking surprised to see me, I must say. He showed me to your room, and when I looked out the window, I saw you on the bridge.” James’s eyes weaken with vulnerability. “I told you once that I wasn’t a jealous guy except for when it came to Michael Realm. But that’s my problem to get over, not yours. I choose to trust you.”

Although I’m glad James came to a decision about his feelings, there’s so much he’s missed. “I’ve made it clear to Realm that he and I will never happen,” I tell him. “He’s been keeping secrets from me, terrible lies from all of us. I don’t think he’s well, James. All I want now is for us to run away from here.”

James can’t hide the relief, his mouth twitching with a smile. “We’ll leave in the morning.” He takes the bottom of my shirt to tug me closer. I wrap my arms around his neck, getting on my tiptoes so that our lips touch. “I give up, Sloane,” he whispers against me. “I’m all yours.”

There’s a pain, a beautiful deep pain in my heart, and I lean in to kiss him. His lips are warm and gentle, even as his beard scratches me. His touch isn’t urgent, though I’m sure we’re both burning for each other. His kiss is slow and thorough and claiming. We ease back onto the bed, taking our time—something we’ve never done, not that I can remember. His kisses trail over my body, my heart skips a beat with his every moan. James is back—really back. And together we’re about to start our new life.

By midafternoon James and I are still lying around my room as I fill him in on the events he’s missed. I tell him about Arthur Pritchard, Kellan. We talk about my returning memories and the nosebleed. I even tell him about Dallas and Realm. James listens to all the stories, clearly overwhelmed with information. But he’s handling it better than I thought he would. He really has matured.

“So how do you think Michael Realm is going to feel about our reunion?” he asks, motioning between us.

“I imagine he’ll be heartbroken.” There’s a small twist of regret, but I remind myself how Realm has treated Dallas. Nothing I do to him could ever be that cruel.

“Well, in that case,” James says, smiling to himself, “I can’t wait to see him.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

CAS IS THE ONLY ONE smiling at dinner. Well, besides James, who is chewing on store-bought beef jerky like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. He showered and shaved before coming downstairs, and unlike the last time, James is perfectly content with gloating. I may have misjudged his maturity level.

James keeps his hand on my leg, casually, but still there. We sit close, and every so often he brushes his lips over my ear to whisper how much he missed me. I’d tell him to stop pouring salt in the wound, but I don’t. Because tomorrow we’re running away, just like we should have in the first place. I plan to ask Dallas to come with us, but I doubt she’ll leave Cas. I’m going to give her the option anyway.

“So where’ve you been?” Cas asks, reaching to pull some jerky out of the bag on the table. Night has fallen outside, blacking out the windows and dotting the sky with stars. I plan to sit and stare up at them later, enjoy one last night in Tahoe before we leave for the unknown.

“I tried to head back to Oregon,” James says. “Got spooked when I saw the billboard with my handsome mug on it.” He winks at me to let me know he’s joking.

Dallas chuckles. “That must be distracting for drivers.”

“It was,” James retorts. “Tourists lining the road, taking pictures. Traffic jams. I knew I’d be a target. Ended up camping for a day or two before I found your trail. It was pretty lonely. I found my spirit animal though.” He grins. “It’s a rooster.”

“Shut up.” I laugh, pushing his shoulder. James continues to tell ridiculous stories, leaving out everything relating to his dad. He’s keeping it private, which I respect. Dallas seems brightened by James’s return, and I don’t feel threatened by her attention. Not like before.

Realm broods at the end of the table, and occasionally Dallas looks over at him, although she’s clearly still too pissed to engage him in conversation. I hate knowing about pieces of her life that she doesn’t. Can she feel deep down inside that she used to love Realm? Am I cruel for not telling her now?

As if reading my thoughts, Realm pushes his drink aside and stares at Dallas until she looks at him. “Can I talk to you?” he asks.

She scoffs. “No.” She turns back to James, but Realm is quick to reach out and take her hand, startling her.

“I need to talk to you,” he says again, more aggressively. At the other end of the table, Cas glares at Realm.

“Leave it alone, man,” Cas says seriously. “Leave her alone.” They exchange a look, one heavy in meaning, but Realm doesn’t back down.

“I can’t,” he says, his lips pulled tight into a snarl. “And this isn’t your call, Casanova. Not her, not The Treatment. Do you think I haven’t noticed you searching for the pill?”

Cas stands, knocking a cup off the table and sending it to the floor with a loud clatter. We all jump, surprised to see Cas react so strongly. It’s an Old West showdown, and James sits up straighter like he’s ready to break up a fight.

For her part, Dallas looks utterly confused. Cas’s reaction is over the top, especially since they’re just friends. And I don’t know what any of this has to do with The Treatment.

“Outside,” Cas growls to Realm. At first I think he’s calling for a fight, but Realm nods solemnly. Cas doesn’t say a word to Dallas before walking out, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.

Realm pauses, but Dallas won’t look at him. He rounds the table, touching my shoulder as he passes. James and Dallas don’t notice. I watch Realm leave, wondering what the hell is going on. Does he genuinely want to apologize to Dallas? Is he freaking out because James is back?

Dallas curses and gets up from the table. “He’s such a dick,” she says, rattled. She wouldn’t talk to Realm, but his attention was enough to break her otherwise good mood. Realm called her unstable, but obviously he’s partly to blame for that diagnosis. There’s real damage here that he has no right to tamper with. And to prove it, Dallas tosses her beef jerky on the table and storms upstairs.

James looks over at me, his eyebrows raised. “What was that about?” he asks. “Are Dallas and Cas—”

“They both say no,” I tell him. “Just friends. Either way, I’m ready to get out of here. They want The Treatment, not us.” At the mention, I realize we left the pill in the room. After that little exchange, I’m feeling paranoid. I want to check on it. “Let’s go upstairs,” I say.

James doesn’t make a joke because he can see I’m suspicious. Together we go back to the room and I immediately check the small inside pocket of the duffel bag. The pill is still there, tucked inside the Baggie with Kellan Thomas’s business card so I won’t lose them.

“What’s going on?” James asks, shutting the door before going to sit on the bed. “Have the rebels been trying to get ahold of The Treatment?”

I shake my head, trying to figure out what’s making me so uneasy. “Not really, or at least, not obviously. They want to keep it safe from The Program. I assumed Arthur Pritchard was the threat, but I may have misjudged him. Now it’s up to us.” I think again about the doctor, hoping I’ll be able to reconnect with him eventually. If he understood the risks of The Treatment, maybe he’d have another idea on how to combat The Program. Maybe there can be a happy ending in all this.

“Can I see it for second?” James asks. I lift my gaze to where he sits, and nod. I take the Baggie and crawl onto the bed. James lies next to me, and I hand him the items, resting my cheek on his shoulder. He reads the business card through the plastic and then begins tracing the pill with his thumb.

“A cure dangerous enough to kill us,” he says. “What a cruel twist.”

I close my eyes, thinking back on what Dallas said. She would have made James take The Treatment. Realm would have made me. They both thought it would be worth the risk, and now that James has lost everything . . . I wonder if they’re right.

“I understand if you want to take the pill,” I tell him. “I know you’re strong enough to fight off the depression if you want the memories. Especially now that your dad is gone.”

James turns to press a kiss on my forehead. “I have all I need right here,” he murmurs. “And if there’s a chance a doctor, or anyone, can figure out how to use this pill to save others in the future, we should hold on to it.” He smiles. “How the hell did we become responsible for the fate of the entire world?”

I laugh. “I have no idea.”

James slides the Baggie into the leg pocket of his cargo shorts and then turns to wrap his arms around me. He pets my hair and I reach to stroke my fingers over the scars on his bicep—the names The Program took away.

“We’ll keep the pill safe from The Program,” he whispers. “In the morning we’ll go far away until all this has blown over. We’ll even get a puppy.”

“Two,” I say, although I know we’re just playing house again. I don’t mind. When your entire life has morphed into a low-budget action movie, you fantasize about a boring suburban existence. How easy it would all be.

There’s a sharp pain in my temple, and I wince and touch the spot. I’m reminded of what happened the last time a memory cracked through. But just as quickly as the pain hits, it disappears. So I don’t mention it. I just snuggle next to James and drift off to sleep.

There’s a whisper of wind through the trees, rustling the leaves above us. James stands behind me in the grass, brushing his fingers through my hair as he works out the knots.

“I feel like I’m dating Medusa,” he says. “Do you have snakes hidden in here?” He brushes my hair over my shoulder and the black curls cascade down before he leans to kiss my skin.

“If I did, they’d surely have bitten you by now.”

James bites playfully at my shoulder, and I spin and push him back, laughing. He leans down to pick up a pile of leaves from the ground, eying me in a way that leads me to believe they’re going to end up down my shirt.

“We have to get to class,” I warn, taking a step back from him. “Miller will be lost without us, so no ditching.”

James doesn’t answer, only grins stupidly as he moves closer.

“James,” I warn again, although my voice is twinged with laughter, “I will knee you so hard. Don’t make me do that.”

“You won’t,” he says, taking another step.

And just as I scream and turn to run, I feel him tackle me from behind and I fall onto the grass, leaves crunching underneath me as he proceeds to shove a handful of dirty foliage down my shirt, laughing like a maniac. But true to my word, I bring my knee up. It isn’t until he howls, rolling off of me, that I regret what I’ve done. I curse and immediately move beside him as he cups his package, his teeth barred.

“Goddamn it, Sloane,” he chokes out. “I think you just neutered me.”

“I’m so sorry.” I lean down and put my face near his neck, trying to hug him although he’s still moaning in pain. I feel awful, even if he totally started it.

“You just killed all our future children,” he mumbles, although his hands have gravitated to my arms as he keeps me in an embrace. I breathe against his neck, kissing him there once and whispering another apology.

“I didn’t want kids anyway,” I add. “I wouldn’t want them to grow up in a world like this.”

James is quiet for a moment, and the mood changes. The tragedy of life sinking in. “But what if I want them?”

I sit up and stare down at him. “You’re joking, right?” I ask. When I see in his expression that he’s serious, that he’s completely serious, I can’t talk fast enough. “James,” I say, “having children when they’re growing up to kill themselves is stupid. Really stupid and irresponsible. Second of all—having kids is hard. Like . . . what? I’m so confused right now.”

James shakes his head. “I’m not saying I want to plant my seed tonight or anything—”

“Gross!” I slap his arm and he laughs softly. “Please don’t talk about seeds of anything. I think I’m going to barf.”

“I’m just saying,” James continues, taking my hand to pull me closer. “That a little me would be kind of adorable and you should consider it. Like, fifteen years from now.”

“No.”

“Blond hair, blue eyes, a thirst for trouble. What could go wrong?”

“So many things.” I let James take me in his arms. It’s true that anything half-James would be cute and obnoxious, but that’s not enough. My heart sinks as I consider the future—the amount of people who’ll die. And how I never want to experience the loss my parents have. James must sense the despair settling in, so he hugs me tighter and kisses the top of my head.

“Don’t worry about it now,” he murmurs. “I’ll ask you again in fifteen years.”

I awake with a start, the memory still as clear as if it just happened. There’s no residual pain, and for a second I wonder if it was just a dream. But in my heart I know it really happened, can feel it in my soul. James is next to me in bed and I shake his shoulder.

“Sleeping,” he mumbles, folding the pillow over his head.

“James.” I put my palm on his cheek, and he blinks his eyes open. “I had another memory. We were playing in the grass and you were talking about having children.”

He pauses, then gets up on his elbow. “I’m sorry, what?”

I laugh. “You said you wanted kids and you were so sweet. I had a memory, and right now I’m not even dizzy. I don’t know, yesterday was a pretty stressful day, so it must have spurred something on. But maybe returning memories aren’t always bad. James,” I say, ecstatic and relieved, “we were so in love.”

James smiles then, pulling me closer. I’m about to kiss him, ready to refresh his memory too, when there’s a loud commotion from downstairs. I hear Dallas scream—actually scream, and both James and I bolt upright in bed.

We’re still in our clothes from last night, and James pulls me from the room so quickly, I’m afraid I’m going to trip over my own feet. He staggers to a stop in the hallway when we hear voices downstairs. The true devastation hits me—The Program is here. They’ve found us.

James spins to face me, his eyes wide and terrified. “Back door,” he whispers, and then yanks me toward the small doorway and spiral staircase that leads to the kitchen. We’re halfway down when we hear the footsteps over our heads. James curses, and then we’re moving faster, clumsier. I bang my elbow on the door frame as we bust into the kitchen. Behind us there’s a trample of footsteps on the staircase.

James crashes through the screen door, and the morning light is bright, the air is crisp. I’m gasping in puffs of air as we escape the house, heading for the woods as our cover; it’s our only chance. I’m still barefoot when my toes sink into the dewy grass and soon we reach the bridge—a bridge where I stood just this week, thinking how beautiful the world could still be. I was wrong.

“Stop!”

I glance over my shoulder and see a handler, dressed in the signature white coat, chasing us. “James!” I shout to spur him on, fear cracking my voice. James’s hand is clasped tightly around mine even though he could be long gone by now if I wasn’t holding him back. The second we’re over the bridge, James darts to the left. We disappear into the woods, and he lets my hand go to protect his face from the branches threatening to scratch out our eyes.

We’re hopping over fallen tree limbs. Branches dig into my forearms and one opens a gash on my cheek. We have to keep running.

We have to get away.

The noise behind us quiets, but then up ahead there’s a flash of movement, making James and I stumble to a stop. I turn around, looking in every direction, terrified that we’ve been surrounded. But then I see the blond hair, and I moan my relief.

“It’s Dallas,” I say, and now I’m the one leading. Dallas notices us and waves us forward, but she puts her finger to her lips. The woods are dense, and I have no idea which direction we’re even headed.

When we finally catch up with Dallas, she’s cut up, her shirt ripped and hanging off her shoulder. “Realm?” I ask out of breath. “Cas?”

“Cas ran ahead,” she says, pointing in one direction and then another, as if she’s lost. “I have no idea where Realm is. He disappeared. Damn it,” she says when there are shouts behind us. “This way.” She motions to the right and then we’re running again.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MY LEGS ARE BURNING AND achy, and I know the minute we stop, the soles of my bare feet will be gushing blood. Just when I think we’ll never get out of the woods alive, there’s a small clearing and then pavement. I’ve never been so happy to see civilization before.

Ahead of us is the back side of a gas station, and Dallas shouts with relief after she sees Cas there, bent over and breathing heavily. As we start toward him, a van pulls around the store, and another comes from the other side. The world seems to drop out from under me, and James and I turn back to run into the woods, but it’s too late. Through the leaves we can see the white of the jackets heading in our direction, and I wrap my arms around myself, choking on a cry.

“I’m so sorry, Sloane.” James breathes out. I shut my eyes against the grief, hearing the crunch of brush under heavy boots as the handlers get closer. Hearing Dallas screaming so loudly she begins to lose her voice. I know we have nowhere left to run.

I look up at James and reach to put my palm on his cheek. Our world is falling apart, and all our dreams of normalcy were just that: Dreams. “I love you madly,” I whisper.

His tears run down over my hand, and I rub them away before he grabs me and pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’ll come for you,” he says into my ear. “I won’t let them erase you. Wait for me, Sloane.” His voice is choked off by his cries, and I see the movement behind him. Slowly, hoping this is all a nightmare, I step out of his arms and see Dallas, a handler twisting her own arms around her like a straitjacket. The doors of a van are open, and three other handlers are walking in our direction, two emerging from the woods. They seem to all be converging on us at once, like a nightmare I would have thought too awful to be real.

The passenger door of the van opens, and I’m so overwhelmed by the situation that it takes me a minute to realize who climbs out: Arthur Pritchard, in a sharp navy suit. I have this sudden and crazy hope that this is all a plan to save us. I take a step toward him, ready to beg for our lives, when Roger walks out from the other side of the van. He actually laughs when he sees me, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. When Dallas sees him, she begins screaming—something manic and animalistic—once again.

I can’t believe Roger’s here. I can’t believe this is happening. I back into James, and across the lot the doctor slides his hands into the pockets of his suit.

“I am sorry for this, Sloane,” he says sadly. His shiny shoes make a tapping noise on the pavement as he moves closer, keeping an eye on James.

James puts his arm in front of me, slowly backing us up, and then to the side as the handlers encircle us. We could try to fight our way out, but there are so many of them. How would that end? I look back to the woods, wondering if Realm is out there somewhere, if he can see us. If he’ll save us.

“I never meant to betray you, Sloane,” the doctor says. “But I had warned you about running. Ultimately, you put your trust in the wrong people.”

I’m too devastated to fully comprehend his words, and I hold tightly to James as he tries to keep us shielded. Dallas is struggling to free herself from her handler, yelling for Cas, but our friend is just standing alone, watching her helplessly.

“They’ve come for The Treatment, Sloane,” Arthur says. “I’m so sorry.” Hurt crosses his features, and I can see his intention was never to harm us.

“Then why are you helping them?” I ask.

“I didn’t tell them you had The Treatment,” he says, “even though I knew you did. They’ve been embedded with you this entire time. I told The Program I could help procure your surrender today.” He swallows hard, glancing back at Roger, who is just starting to focus on what the doctor is saying. “But really, I’m here to make sure you do what’s right.”

James stills, and I feel my face go cold. “And what’s that, Arthur?” I ask.

“Don’t let them get their hands on The Treatment.”

Arthur has barely gotten the words out before his entire body convulses, his yelp cut off by the vibration of the Taser wires shooting volts of electricity through his body. He drops to the ground, flopping like a fish, and I scream, horrified.

James grabs my arm and we start to run, but one of the handlers catches me around the waist and tears me away, lifting me off the ground as he backs me toward a van. There is so much screaming in all directions, and Arthur’s body looks lifeless, lying on the concrete in a heap. Cas is still standing there as two handlers wrestle James in the other direction, tearing us apart.

Before the handler holding me can set me down to properly restrain me, I kick him hard, sending myself headlong into the ground. My forehead ricochets off the cement, and for a moment I see stars. A warm rush of liquid travels down over my eye and I blink through it, wiping the blood away with my hand.

The handler is about to converge on me again. “Wait,” Cas calls out, surprising me. I’m half-dazed as I look up, seeing him slowly approach with his hands up in surrender.

“Run, Cas,” I say in a weak voice as my head spins. Now’s his chance to save himself.

Watching his approach, the handler steps back, giving me space. James is across the parking lot with a handler on each side of him, gaping in concern and terror. As Cas gets closer, he presses his lips together, looking absolutely miserable. “I’m so sorry, Sloane,” he says.

I wipe the blood out of my eye again and slowly sit up. I hitch in a breath as it hits me, and fresh tears start to stream down my cheeks. “No,” I say, when the crushing reality settles over me. “No, Cas.”

“Just give them The Treatment,” he begs quietly, as if he’s the one who’s pained. “Give up The Treatment and they’ll let you go.”

“You son of a bitch!” James yells, renewing the guard of his handlers as they wrestle him back a few steps. “I will fucking kill you!”

Cas’s eyes weaken, but he shakes his head, determined to keep his focus on me. “Give them the pill, Sloane, and this will all be over. We’ll be able to go home again.” Tears mix with the blood on my face; I’m too stunned to speak. “We couldn’t keep running,” he adds in my silence. “My intel showed we had only a few days lead. They would have caught us, but I made a deal. The Treatment for our freedom.”

My head is spinning, and it’s not just from where I hit it. Arthur lies unconscious several feet away. Behind him, Roger watches on, a sick smile on his lips. In his expression I can see that he has absolutely no intention of letting us leave here today. I try to get to my feet but stumble to the ground again, skinning my knee and crying out in pain. I hear a scuffle and know James is once again trying to get to me. But they’ll never let him get that close again. I sit back on the pavement and look around once more. When I find Dallas, she looks catatonic.

Her eyes are wide, unfocused; her mouth is hanging open. Her arms are still wrapped around herself as a handler restrains her, but she’s not fighting. She’s just staring at her best friend, absolutely lost in her grief. I cry for her—the only person Dallas had let herself trust again, and this is what he’s done.

Cas reads my expression and slowly, he turns to face Dallas. He tilts his head, covering his own cry at her appearance. “Let her go!” he yells out in a thick voice. “She’s not part of this. You said you only wanted the pill.”

“I’m sorry, Casanova,” Roger says, stepping over Arthur Pritchard’s unconscious body. “I’m afraid our agreement is void.” Cas swings to face him, his posture hardening. “On closer look, your friends have been deemed infected. We’ll be taking them all into custody at this time.”

“You’re not going anywhere near her, you fuck!” Cas shouts. Roger laughs, shaking his head dismissively before another handler puts his hand on Cas’s shoulder, a subtle warning to stay back.

“Oh, come now,” Roger says with a grin. “Dallas and I are old friends, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

Cas and James both start cussing at Roger, and my stomach lurches at the thought that anyone could be as sadistic as he is. I look at Dallas and freeze. She’s lifted her gaze from Cas to Roger, her lips curling, her eyes narrowing. She’s coming back to life, but as what, I’m not sure. I don’t think she’s herself. I don’t even think she’s sane.

Roger isn’t looking at Dallas, though. He glances around at the handlers, growing impatient at the scene. “Confiscate The Treatment and grab the girls. Put him in the other van.” He motions to James. “Casanova,” he adds, turning to him. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

My head and heart are throbbing. We’ve been betrayed. Cas gave us over to The Program. How could he trust them, knowing what they’ve done to us in the past? A handler comes over to help me up, and I look across the parking lot at James, finding him already watching me. His face is wet with tears, his body slumped with failure.

We didn’t make it. Once again The Program has won, and we’re about to lose everything. James glances around the parking lot, maybe checking for one last escape, but when his gaze returns to mine, I see the hopelessness in it. His left eye has started to puff up from where he must have been hit, and I can only imagine how my blood-soaked face looks.

When I’m finally to my feet, I know our time is up. We’re not even close enough to touch, close enough to talk. “Where’s the pill?” the handler asks me, patting down my pockets. I’m alarmed by his touch, and then I remember: James has The Treatment. He seems to realize the same thing at that very moment.

We can’t let The Program get their hands on the pill. They can’t have control over the ingredients. If the pill is gone, there’s still the hope that someday another brilliant scientist like Evelyn Valentine will come along and create a better one. James shrugs helplessly, as if asking if he should do it. I smile sadly, thinking it’s bittersweet. If James survives this—he’ll remember me. All of me.

The handler starts upending my pockets, roughly searching for The Treatment, but I block out his existence. There’s just me and James, our eyes locked on each other. I nod.

As the handlers are focused on me, James slips his hand into his pocket, rifling around until he brings the pill out, a flash of orange between his fingers. He pauses one quick second, before placing it on his tongue and swallowing it dry. Once it’s down, he closes his eyes, and begins to cry.

But I stop. James is safe—he’s the strongest person I know. The Treatment won’t hurt him. And as long as The Program doesn’t kill or lobotomize him, they won’t be able to steal his memories. He can fake erasure. He’s the best liar I know. “I love you,” I say when he looks at me again. He can’t actually hear me, but he reads my lips and says it back.

“She doesn’t have it,” the handler searching me calls out. Roger casts an annoyed glance in my direction before turning on Cas. “Where is it?” But Cas is staring at me, and I think he witnessed the entire exchange. He confirms my suspicions.

“It’s gone,” he says. “Thank God it’s gone.”

Roger’s confused for a moment, looking around at all of us. Ultimately The Treatment isn’t what brought him out here, no matter what deal Cas made. Roger calls for them to get James in the van, and the handlers grab his arms and start dragging his bucking body. I scream for them to stop, but I know it’s useless. My voice gives out and I can only watch as James is sedated, looking at me one last time before his eyes slide shut.

Roger tosses an amused glance at Cas and starts toward Dallas, knowing how much it would piss him off. It reminds me of how Roger was in The Program, and how he would taunt Realm by harassing me. Realm? I look toward the woods again, wondering if he’s there, watching. I won’t believe he abandoned us. He wouldn’t do that to me.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Roger asks Cas as he comes to stop in front of Dallas. She’s helpless, but she looks at him with an eerie sort of calm. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more terrifying sight.

Cas ignores Roger’s question and tries to get Dallas’s attention. “I’m sorry,” he calls to her. “I had to stop running. I was tired, Dallas. I wanted us—you—to finally have a normal life. I’ll talk to them.” He looks around. “I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

Roger sucks on his teeth, looking Dallas up and down and evaluating her. “Oh, don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he says to Cas. “She hates that.” He grins, and I think he’s the biggest monster I’ve ever met. But before I can imagine what horrors he has in store, Dallas reacts.

In a sudden movement she kicks out the knee of the handler behind her, spinning out of his grip and freeing her arms. She’s a whirlwind of motion, and I see the glint of the metal of her knife before I realize she’d even grabbed it from her pocket. She growls like a wild animal and slams into Roger, burying the blade to the hilt in his gut.

“I hate you!” She screams a high-pitched squeal that’s barely human. Roger is too stunned, or too hurt, to do more than double over. Dallas yanks out her knife and plunges it into his chest with both hands, before another handler tackles her to the pavement with a sick thud. Roger is wailing, rolling on his side as blood pools on the gray concrete.

Before they can take her away, Dallas stares down at Roger. His blood is halfway up her arms and splashed across her shirt. And she begins to laugh—not joyous or even maniacal. It’s unhinged. It’s crazy. She starts to pull on her dreads, yelling that she wins, she fucking wins, even as they start to drag her away.

My body shivers, my teeth chattering even though I can’t feel the cold. Arthur Pritchard is slowly waking up, but they pull me past him before he’s fully conscious. A handler snaps restraints on my wrists, claiming they’re for my protection, although really they’re for his.

A van pulls away before the others do, and I realize James was inside it. He’s gone. Dallas is gone. The handler leans me against the door of the van before taking a moment to call in the incident. Although Cas isn’t in custody, he’s led by with a handler. He pauses, glancing over apologetically. But I don’t care to hear his excuses. There’s a giant hole in my chest, leaking out the remainder of my feelings.

“You killed her,” I murmur in his direction, thinking of how broken Dallas is now. “You’ve killed what’s left of her.”

Cas sways with sorrow. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he says, pulling his arm from the handler. “They told me she’d be safe. That we all would.”

“Then you’re stupid for believing The Program. You’re stupid for thinking they’d ever let us walk out of here. And what about Realm? What did you do to him?”

Cas furrows his brows, confused. But then my handler is back, opening the door and pushing me onto the seat. He buckles me in place, leaving me helpless with my hands bound. From outside the van, Cas watches on in horror. “I have no idea where Realm is,” he says before they slam the door shut.

There’s a spike of fear that Realm isn’t waiting in the woods at all. That maybe Roger already found him and did something to him. I’m so overwhelmed. I’m so completely buried in despair, I don’t think I’ll ever find the way out.

Up front two handlers climb onto the seats. The driver reports our location, and over the scanner the operator asks if Roger is dead.

“Not sure,” the handler responds. “Ambulance is in route.”

“If Roger survives,” I call out in a raspy voice, my entire body trembling, “I’ll finish the job. I’ll kill every single one of you.”

The handler turns, his brown eyes wide, as the other guy glances at me in the rearview mirror. They have the balls to actually look concerned. I rest my head against the seat, rocking with the bumps of the road, thinking I’ve come undone. All hope is lost now.

I’m going back to The Program.