He always wondered why they chose such horrible places for their meetings. He always hated doing their bidding in the early hours of the morning, driving in an expensive car through a town where it was rare to find a home that wasn't marked with at least one bullet hole.

Now, he wishes for it.

He wishes for the dark and it's eagerness to snatch up secrets. He wished for the chipped houses and eyes that pretended he didn't exist.

Here, every eye was on him. Here, there were too many people, too many familiar faces, to stay under the radar.

You're the one who agreed to come back, he reminds himself as he pulls into the parking lot of Uncle Billy Bob's Breakfast Bar. He'd been regretting that decision the second he stepped foot into Valleyfield.

It didn't take him long to find them. Shoved to the very back corner of the rundown family diner, they sat in waiting. For a minute, they looked like normal friends getting together for a bite to eat: laughing and smiling, talking as though they had no care in the world. He might have believed it if it weren't for the bag sitting on the table. He might have believed it if he couldn't see the silver glint of the steak knives arranged in a line right where he was supposed to sit.

"We thought you'd never show," one of them says the moment he approaches the table. He recognizes him as an agent from another chapter from a city he doesn't quite remember. Williams? Watson? The man extends a diamond-encrusted hand. "Raymond."

"I'm still in school," he reminds him, eyes flickering to the two men sitting across from him. "I can't just get up and leave."

"Do you think I care?" Raymond spits. "Never mind. Do you have it?"

He pulled the little black memory stick from his pocket. That damn thing had given him too much trouble. He was glad he'd finally get rid of it.

"Good," the man nods. One of his friends pulls a slim silver laptop from the bag on the table. "We just need to make sure nothing has been corrupted."

"I don't see why it would be," he responded in a cool voice.

The older man's eyes briefly meet his, but the venom they inject into his veins is enough to quicken his breath. He knew why they didn't trust him. In this world, blind trust in the people who were not signing paychecks meant a signature on one's death certificate. Shifts in power did that.

Soon, he wouldn't have to worry about that. Soon, he'd be unstoppable.

He watches Raymond plug the memory stick into his computer, newfound tension turning his insides into mush. "You never know with people—What the fuck is this?"

His breath stops.

"What?" he whispers.

Raymond's murderous, dark eyes move from the computer screen to him. His body coils. He's ready to make a run for it.

"Do you think this is some kind of joke?" Raymond snarls. His men lean forward. He can see the bloodlust in their eyes as well.

"What?" he demands. "I did what I needed to do."

Raymond's fists slam into the table with enough force to send the steak knives into the air. "No!" he whirls the computer screen toward him. "You didn't!"

He stares at the filtering blue screen in silent shock and every molecule of his being begins to boil in absolute rage. His bloodlust was ready to take over.

There was only one document pulled up on Raymond's computer. A single document that had nothing to do with him or his mission.

This memory stick didn't belong to him.

According to the title of the Word Document, this memory stick belonged to Ember Chance.

* * *

Hayden doesn't seem to notice me following him out of school. Which—with the amount of times I've crashed into a locker or knocked something over—is a total miracle. He's too distracted to notice, looking down at his phone in both irritation and apprehension, grabbing his hair and exhaling through his nose as he tries to keep his emotions in check.

Crouching behind a line of cars, I watch Hayden stride across the parking lot. He holds his phone to his ear and stares at something far past the football field, brows furrowing. I don't hear what he says. A long pause lends me a few extra seconds to scurry closer to Hayden and catch the rest of his words. "I don't know what you're talking about, I wasn't even involved. For the last time—I don't have the memory stick!"

His words send a spear of ice straight through my chest and every horrible feeling from my attack in the parking lot and the party comes rushing back.

I don't realize I've made a sound until Hayden's head snaps in my direction.

Holding my breath, I press myself harder into the cars, praying he doesn't come over to investigate.

Thankfully he doesn't.

Instead, Hayden makes a dash for the woods directly behind the football field.

This is your last chance, a voice in the back of my mind warns when I stand up to follow him. Turn around. Run away. Pretend you don't know anything.

I want to, I really do. But the need to get to the bottom of all of this is greater. I have to trust my instincts on this.

It's going to be your funeral.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

I'll have to put my faith in the not part.

When I enter the forest, I'm surrounded by the scent of rainwater, wet soil, and—faint in the distance—marijuana.

The damp earth softens the harsh thump of my hurried footsteps as I step and stumble through the woods, squinting into the sunlight greenery to keep track of where the hell Hayden Cross is going. It doesn't help that the land is so uneven and my shoes have absolutely no traction. But just as I round a fallen log, the incredibly loud sound of a branch breaking beneath my feet stops me dead in my tracks and I barely control the scream bubbling up my throat.

I'm caught.

I'm dead. I'm so freaking dead.

There is no freaking way Hayden didn't hear that.

Diving behind a tree as fast as I can, I stand still with my back pressed against the cold, rough trunk, gulping in lungs full of air to calm the painful pounding of blood pumping in my ears. Hayden is going to be here any second. There's no telling what he'll do.

Long moments pass. Nothing happens. And when I finally muster up the courage to move from my hiding stop, I see that Hayden is now nothing more than a lanky, red-hooded outline far in the distance.

Move! Before you lose him!

We seem to be walking for what seems like miles. Soon, the large trees clear to a crisscross of small roads that wound their way around the back of Valleyfield High School and into the Aurora Forest. It is one of the largest parks and campgrounds in the county. What in the world would he be doing here?

Nothing good, obviously.

As he makes his way down a beaten path, Hayden glances over his shoulder. He does it again. And then again. And each time, I'm certain he'll see me.

It's the blue hair. I might as well be holding a flashing neon sign. He doesn't see me, however, and I take that as a sign from the gods that what I'm doing is correct.

We run onto another much older dirt path that picks up and drops off every so often. I don't think it's been used for the while. Kneeling within the underbrush, I watch as Hayden approaches a small, rundown cabin that has seen better years. It sits at the crest of a small hill with broken down trees scattered all around it. Somewhere, I hear the rush of water belonging to a stray river.

"Alright, you're here now," I whisper to myself. "What are you going to do?"

I followed Hayden. I got here without getting caught or falling off the edge of a cliff. What's the next part of the plan?

Was there even a plan in the first place?

Um. Maybe.

The low gurgle of an out-of-shape engine echoes across the ticket, and I instantly drop to the ground. I'll have to worry about my plan later. Right now, I need to stay inconspicuous.

The sound gets louder and louder until an old, rusty pickup truck rolls into view, chips of light blue paint falling off of the dented body as the half-broken bumper drags behind the shaky car. I expect it to fall apart any second, but it chugs on, coming to a stop and shutting down with a loud bang and pop.

Three people wearing camouflage jackets and baseball caps hop out of the truck. I can't get a good look at their face—only that they're all super buff and super capable of snapping my neck if they need to.

They stomp up the rickety old porch and soon the cabin is animated with movement. My stomach twists. They don't look like good people. But why would they be? I guess it makes sense. Bad people are friends with bad people.

And I highly doubt Hayden went and decided to join a wilderness club.

Slowly, I get up from beneath my hiding spot and tip toe toward the covered porch, careful I don't come across any more invisible branches. The first step groans beneath my weight and I have to clench my teeth together to stop from shouting in frustration, heart skipping a beat. The sound of the river below must be too loud for them to hear some squeaky steps.

I take it to my advantage and quickly climb the steps, ducking low to the ground and sliding to a spot just beneath the window. Inside, Hayden sits at a large circular table in what looks like the kitchen. His jaw is clenched, fists resting on the table, and the camouflage boys sit around him. To my surprise, they appear to be my age. One of them even looks younger.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

My eyes instantly move to figure standing behind them. He leans against the wall, foot propped up, arms crossed over his chest. He no longer has that unsettling charm about him. His handsome face is twisted in a scowl that perfectly compliments the horrific madness that shone through his eyes. Here he doesn't have to hide it. Here it gives him power.

My stomach sinks. I know him.

Derek.

He was the man I met at Del-Mart .

Hayden's mouth moves, but I can't hear a thing. The others join in one the conversation and then the conversation turns into a screaming contest.

"I don't give two shits about what Travis said!" Hayden insists to Camo Man Number 1. His gray eyes cut to the silent boy against the wall. "I wasn't there! I had nothing to do with it!"

Derek stares back at him, dark eyes clouding with dark amusement, and he smiles. It's a smile that makes a fearful shiver rack across my entire body. A shrill laugh escapes his lips and he kicks off the wall, pulling his leather jacket off in the process. Thick black tattoos wrap around his muscular arms and disappear into his shirt.

"That's funny," he says, coming over to stand in front of Hayden. He swings his fists into the wooden table to make it buckle and groan. I jump, inhaling a sharp breath and ducking down beneath the windowsill. "Because it's a fucking lie!"

This was a mistake. A giant, huge, colossal, horrible mistake.

Inside, something breaks and hits the ground. I close my eyes, hoping it's not the sound of someone's neck breaking, and wait for the sound of wood splintering to stop. The splintered remains of a chair sit in a pile where Derek once stood.

"Payback's a bitch, Cross!" Derek screams. "And I have a really hard time believing a single word you're saying because everyone knows you a liar and a cheat!"

Hayden's lips curl into a snarl and he shoots out of his seat, knocking the thin wooden chair to the ground. "I didn't want any of this, Derek! I'm out! Leave me the fuck alone!"

The boys in the camouflage stand up as well, a deadly warning written across their menacing faces. The tallest one grabs Hayden's shoulder, but Hayden doesn't back down and shrugs out of his grasp. Camo Man Number 2 doesn't bother trying to subdue him. Something tells me this isn't exactly a rare occurrence. The matching glare between Hayden and Derek certainly says so.

Derek says something. Hayden responds with a smirk. And the next thing I know, they lunge at each other.

Oh shit!

With a roar, Hayden swings his fist into Derek's face, but Derek is quick, barely leaning out of reach, and slams his palms into Hayden's ribs. This catches him off guard. He staggers back and without another second of hesitation, Derek's first collides with Hayden's cheek. I grip the windowsill tight. I swear I felt that myself. Hayden quickly recovers and this time, one of his hands slams deep into Derek's chest, while the other grazes his jaw.

Good one!

I bite my lip. I mean, good that he got at least something.

Derek doesn't seem too bothered and instead, he swings his arms over his head and grabs Hayden in a headlock, twisting him around so that Hayden is leaning on the ground, gasping for air. The men in camouflage cheer Derek on, some urging him to keep squeezing Hayden's neck, while the others beg for him to let go. Every bone in my body screams to get in there and do something. Hayden's struggling grows weaker and weaker until his legs give out from under him and he hits the floor with a jarring thud.

Get up, Cross! Get up!

"And stay down!" he snarls. My jaw drops.

Camo Mans Number 1 and 2 reach down to scoop Hayden up like a rag doll and toss him back into his chair. Hayden falls back into his chair and barely stays up straight as he tries to catch his breath, a large red welt forming just below his right eye. Derek stands over Hayden with satisfaction swirling in his black eyes. Hayden's head droops heavily. I can't believe what I'm seeing. Derek turns his attention to one of his buddies and says something that makes the other boy grin. The word is clear on his mouth.

Knife.

It takes everything to stop myself from screaming. My stomach twists into painful little knots. Oh my God.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. My. God.

You have to do something!

I can't. Not out of spite for Hayden Cross, but because fear has me frozen completely in place.

Derek holds the knife up and examines the golden wash the sun brings to the silver blade. His eyes twinkle at the sight of it. I'm going to be sick.

Hayden appears the same way.

"Well, who do we have here?"

Every molecule in my body comes to a halt at the voice that speaks from behind me.

No.

Why didn't I run when I had the chance?

Why didn't I listen and mind my own damn business?

"Turn around or I'll shoot you, little girl."

Luck wasn't on my side this time.

* * *