I can't tell whether he's being truthful or not.

I crane my neck to look over his shoulder. A few tents are lit up, and I can hear the faint sound of gunfire overlapping the desperate cries from the people in the grates.

"Blaise." I grasp his arms as I'm jarred around. "We need to free the people in the grates."

"We don't have time." He charges toward the fence.

"Just go back and unlock the grates," I plead. "Give them a chance. It won't take very long. I can still hear gunfire, so everyone's probably still distracted."

Blaise shakes his head. "I can't do that. It's too risky. We need to get you out of here."

"Please," I beg. "There's been too much death already ... I need to help them."

He glances down at me, torn. "If I can get you somewhere safe, I'll try to come back and unlock all the grates. But only when you're safe."

The last thing I want is for him to wander off by himself. I want to beg him to turn around now so we can free the prisoners together, but he unexpectedly slams on the brakes.

"How the h.e.l.l did you get out here?" Blaise growls, his arm muscles tautening.

"I took a shortcut," Calla answers. "When I saw you run, I figured you'd end up here."

I turn my head to look at her. She's leaning against the fence with a bag slung over her shoulder and blocking our escape route.

"Get out of my way," Blaise warns in a low tone. "Or I'll make you move."

"While I'd love to see you try," she sneers, straightening her stance, "I didn't come here to fight. I came here to help."

Blaise trades an unsure glance with me, and I shrug. I have no idea why she'd want to help us since the last time I saw her she stabbed me in the chest.

Blaise warily eyes Calla over. "How do we know we can trust you?"

"It doesn't really matter if you do or not." She slips the bag off her back and tosses it at Blaise's feet. "There's some food, water, and medical supplies in there. The guards abandoned their posts to join the fight, so you should be able to make a run for it without too many problems." She walks by us, heading back across the desert land toward the tents. "If I were you, I wouldn't come back for the prisoners, but it's your call."

Blaise turns, shouting after her, "Why are you doing this? It makes no sense."

She stops, half-turning. Her gaze flicks from me to Blaise. "She saved me, so call us even. I hate being in debt to people." With that, she hikes off, vanishing in the dusk.

Blaise hesitates, looking back and forth between the camp and the fence. "Why do I have the feeling there's more to it than what she said?"

"I don't know," I say. "But she might really just want to help."

"You give her too much credit." Blaise eyeb.a.l.l.s the bag Calla left. "I have a feeling this is going to come back and bite me in the a.s.s."

Still, he sets me down on the soft dirt so he can slip the bag onto his back. Then he bends the wire fencing, creating a wide gap, before scooping me into his arms and slipping out into the night.

"How are you feeling?" he asks as he tears up the b.u.mpy path toward the cliffs.

"Okay." I touch my hand to my chest. "A little tired, but I-"

A sharp, cold object slashes into my ankle.

"f.u.c.k." Blaise skids to a stop then spins around. "What was that?"

"A ... dart..." Numbness swims through my body, dreamland poisoning my veins.

"I'm not letting you get away!" Wrath yells. "She's going nowhere. She's way too valuable."

"Why won't he just f.u.c.king die?" Blaise mutters. He dithers, moving forward then backward as if deciding whether to run or stay and fight.

I don't get to find out what his decision is as the dreamland pulls me under.

Chapter Seventeen.

Guilt "You want to see what I can do?" the visitor whispers in my ear. "Close your eyes, and I'll show you."

I shake my head, skittering back until my back b.u.mps into the moonstone wall of my cell.

The visitor trains his silver eyes on me as he stalks forward. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm hungry and want to play."

I shake my head, flattening my back to the wall.

If only I could run ... if only I could get past the iron circle ...

"You're scared." He crouches down in front of me and clasps my arms. "You probably should be." He leans forward until his lips hover over mine. "I have a feeling you're going to taste amazing. At least, that's what I was told."

"Why are you doing this?" I whisper, trembling. "I didn't do anything."

His brows rise to his hairline. "You speak?"

I swallow hard, forcing down my nerves. Maybe, if I talk to him, I can convince him not to hurt me?

"I do, yes."

"I've never met a Nameless who could talk before." He deliberates something, seeming torn.

A spark of hope surfaces inside me.

Maybe he won't hurt me.

But then his eyes narrow, and his fingernails cut into my wrists. "You're not supposed to talk," he growls, his eyes flashing silver. Then he smashes his lips against mine.

I jerk back, my head slamming against the moonstone. No. No. No. I don't want to do this.

But he climbs over me and forces me to lie down. I try to scream, but his lips come down on my mouth again, smothering the noise.

I don't want to be here.

His hand slides up my leg.

"Allura, wake up."

Tears fall from my eyes as he slams his palm against my chest.

I don't want to be here.

But I deserve to be here.

I am a monster.

He wraps a hand around my throat, strangling me as he steals the life from my veins.

"You taste better than any of them. But is it you or the moonstone in your walls?" he whispers against my lips. "I've never seen moonstone walls in any other cell. What's so special about you?"

I'm not special. I'm a monster.

"Allura, wake up! Please!"

A sob wrenches from my chest, and he laughs, drinking more of my life.

I want to die.

I want this to end.

"Allura! Dammit! Just open your eyes."

My eyelids drift shut ...

When my eyelids snap open again, my eyes are swollen from crying. I'm no longer stuck in the memory of being in my cell with the visitor. I'm lying in the gra.s.s, bits of cotton float from a tree and whirl around me, and my hair whips in the gentle breeze.

Sitting up, I rearrange my dress and soak up the sunlight gleaming from the crystal blue sky. As I stretch out my legs, my toes dip into the pond, and the warm water soothes the fear the memory instilled in me.

I hate remembering what the visitors did to me, but those images are branded into my mind like my number. They were always forcing me to do stuff, and so many always commented about the moonstone walls in my cell. I never thought too much about it before, but what if there was a reason?

Another memory pokes at the back of my thoughts of me lying down in Zinnia's tent with my face pressed to the ground. But the images cut off after that, like a broken clip in a movie.

Sighing, I rest back on my elbows and let the calmness of this place settle over me. My chest has completely healed, and my red dress is no longer soaked with blood.

What happened, exactly? How did I get here?

The last thing I can remember is Wrath shooting me with a dreamland dart ...

Oh. I'm in dreamland. But then, why is this place so serene? Has Blaise entered my mind?

I look around, wondering if he's out there somewhere, but all I can see are high-peaked hills.

I face the pond again, combing my fingers through the gra.s.s as the water ripples and the lily pads float toward the muddy sh.o.r.e.

"I think I like this place even better than the tree one." Blaise appears in front of me with his arms folded.

I scoot back, startled. "You scared me."

"Sorry." He uncrosses his arms and lowers his hands to his side, glancing around at the land.

He looks different from the last time I saw him. His black leather jacket, grey shirt, and cargo jeans are no longer filthy and stained with blood, and the cuts and bruises on his face have healed.

"You're not hurt anymore," I say, tucking my legs to the side.

His gaze falls on me. "I heal quickly."

I rest my hand on my chest. "Like me?"

"Not quite." He hikes up the shallow hill and plops down on the gra.s.s beside me. "I'm glad you do. I don't think I could handle it if you ..."

If I what? I'm dying to know, but another thought occurs to me.

"Did Ryder and Reece make it out okay? Are we okay? Did Wrath capture us? Did you free the prisoners?"

He blinks at me. "Which question do you want me to answer first?"

I pluck at the gra.s.s. "Sorry. I didn't mean to ask so many."

"It's okay." He stares at the water. "Ryder and Reece are okay. Ryder wasn't hurt as badly as we originally thought, and we were able to st.i.tch him up. I had those antibiotics Mable gave me, too, so he shouldn't get an infection." He pauses to take a breath. "Wrath is dead. I managed to make it back to the camp and unlatch all the grates, but I didn't have enough time to make sure they all got out." He grows silent for a moment. "And we did escape, but I really need you to wake up, because I'm pretty sure the Forsaken are going to try to come after us, and we need to get to the station as quickly as possible."

Guilt clenches at my chest. "They're chasing us because of me, because of what they think I am." Even though I don't want to say what I'm about to say, I think I have to. "Maybe you should just leave me-"

"Don't say it." Blaise's rough voice sends me cowering back. He snags ahold of my arm and pulls me toward him. "We're not leaving you behind."

"But the Deorum said I'm different. What if I'm dangerous-"

"I don't care what the Deorum said. We don't even know what they are. For all we know, they could've been lying."

I wet my dry lips with my tongue. "But they could've been telling the truth. Some of the stuff I see and do ... I'm not normal, Blaise."

"Neither am I." The raw emotion in his voice catches me off guard. He quickly clears his throat, collecting himself. "When we get to the station, Reece is going to hook you up to Oblivion, and then we'll figure all this out. But until then, I need you to wake up so we can get to the station."

I nod, but inside, I'm frightened, not just of the world, but of myself. Something isn't right about me. I long to sip life from humans' veins and bask in the taste of quercu. I can heal quickly. I remember strange things that don't seem to belong in this world. And everyone who crosses my path declares that I'm different. One day, I know it's going to catch up with me, and when that happens, I have a feeling the people around me might suffer.

"I'm kind of afraid to wake up," I admit.

He catches a piece of cotton in his hand and inspects it. "Why?"