That night, I replay it all: everything said and done. And it is all still confusing.

Why am I special to Nico and his plans? Why didn't I ask Nico the questions I wanted to ask? It is like when I'm with him, my will is gone.

And when I thought of the hospital attack I witnessed, I almost lost it. Even now I can't think of it without nausea, panic rising up again. Blood. With Nico's touch calling my name, Rain it was gone. Calm control returned.

I know the hospital is an evil place. What they do, stealing minds and memories, is evil. Lorders are evil. They must be stopped.

They will be stopped.

But what have I done before, with Nico? And the Owls. The memory of blood on the floor at the hospital attack last month is stark, clear. The horror that rises from it. Yet of anything before...nothing beyond a glimpse.

Nico's path is the right one. My path. True, he can be cruel. He doesn't value life. Not just Lorders' lives, or innocent bystanders', but even those of his followers. What was it he said earlier? That those who died had a good death.

What about Ben: did he die a good death, trying to break away from a life dictated for him by Lorders? I flinch, part of me still rejecting the possibility, while more is wracked with pain.

On my bedside table stands a rook. The house was still empty when I got home this afternoon. Restless, I'd prowled around downstairs, and found a dusty chess set on a bookshelf. Not as nice as Penny's set; the pieces are plastic, not wood. But I took one of the rooks, and held it in my hand. Somehow, it was soothing. I kept it in my pocket after Mum and Amy got home, during dinner, patting it now and then to make sure it was still there.

Now I take it from the bedside table and grasp it in my hand.

I run. With each step, sand slips away under my feet, but I fly as fast as I can. Terror gives me strength I don't normally have. I run, but there are limits. Strength ends.

'Faster!'

I trip, and go sprawling, gasping for oxygen. Collapsed in a heap.

He tries to drag me to my feet.

I shake my head. 'I can't. Go. Save yourself,' I gasp.

'No. I'll never leave you.' He wraps arms around me. Arms that make me feel warm and safe for the first time in so long. But only for seconds.

Terror approaches.

He is ripped away. Where there was warmth, there is only cold.

I scream.

I open my eyes wide and wider. It is dark, quiet. No sound except the frantic beating of my heart. There are no movements or footsteps that say I screamed out loud in my dream like I sometimes do. No one is coming to comfort me.

There is pain in my left hand. My fingers are clasped tight in a knot and I can't unclench them. As my heart rate slows, I pry my fingers open, one by one.

On my palm is the rook. I'd clenched it so hard the battlement spikes that top the castle have cut my hand. There is a perfect ring of six indentations in the skin, filling with pinpricks of blood.

I've had this nightmare many times before. But this time, it changed.

At the beginning when I run, terrified, the details are always as clear as the sharp edges of crystal: I can feel the sand slipping away under my feet. Each ragged breath I take as I run. The fear that makes me go on, beyond endurance. But after I fall, it changes.

In the past, it has always gone misty, vague. I am still terrified, but the details become remote and unreal. Blurry around the edges. And someone is yelling to never forget and to put up a wall: the wall of bricks. A concrete representation of what hid Rain inside me. Was this when I was taken by Lorders, and Slated? What else could be so frightening?

But tonight, it changed. The clarity stayed through to the end. The man with me was also different. He wasn't yelling, he was holding me and I was clinging to him until he was torn away. My eyes were clenched shut but I could feel the grit of the sand, the cold salty breeze off the sea. Hear the pounding of my heart and the crash of the waves. It felt real.

Who was the man who ran with me, who said he would never leave? Never became seconds; he was torn away almost as he said it. And what happened to him, to me? What came next?

The fear that lingers from the dream turns to frustration, then anger. I slam a fist into the mattress. Why can't I remember what really happened, now that I have these other memories back? Why?

So much is still missing. Inside, I feel empty, hollow. Suddenly limp, I sag back in bed, tears trickling down my face that I don't even bother to wipe away.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Bzzzz!

A muffled vibration at my wrist pulls me out of sleep, confused. My Levo...? But it doesn't work any more. I squint at the numbers in the dark: 5.6. Even if it did work, my levels aren't low enough to make it vibrate.

Bzzzz!

The com underneath: it must be. A call from Nico? My stomach swirls with nervous butterflies.

I fiddle under my Levo to press the hidden button. 'Hello?' I whisper.

'Took you long enough.' Nico's voice radiates tension.

'Sorry. I didn't realise it was you.' And how clever to make calling sound like my Levo vibrating. No one would blink unless they saw the numbers weren't low.

'Can you talk?'

'Yes.' The house is quiet, dark. Everyone asleep but me and Sebastian. He stalks across the bed and stares at my wrist, keeping a safe distance as if some danger lurks there.

'We've got trouble.'

'What is it?'

'Tori is missing.'

'What?'

'I had a meeting. And when I came back just now, she was gone. She seemed pretty settled until you were here yesterday: what did you talk about? Where do you think she has gone?'

Nico is keeping control, now, but there is a definite edge to his voice. Whatever she does is my fault. Whatever she might say if forced or otherwise about where she has been, or who with. My fault she was there at all.

'I don't know. We talked about Ben and his dog. That's about it.'

He curses. 'If you think of anything, call me.' There is an abrupt click, then silence.

I lie back and stare at the ceiling. Where could she be? I review yesterday, the little we said. Tori was held in tight most of the time, contained. The only time cracks really showed was when she spoke about Lorders taking her from home, and her mother.

I sit bolt upright. I told her that Ben had been to see her mother, that her mother said she had been returned. Tori was furious with her. That is it, isn't it?

She's gone to confront her mother. Call Nico!

I should call him. But I'm already up, pulling clothes out of drawers, getting dressed in the dark.

This is my mess to fix, and I'll not do it his way.

Careful and silent, I creep down the stairs, out of the house. No time for anything else, I ease Mum's bicycle out of the shed. The door clunks when I shut it, and my heart jumps in fright; a flutter inside. But no lights go on, no curtains move.

There is no time for discretion. On the bike I head down the road as fast as I can go, hoping no one watches.

Ben had pointed out Tori's street once when we ran: on the other side from here of the hall where we have Group. I don't know which house, but I remember Ben saying it was the big one at the end. Hopefully that will be enough to work it out.

If Nico has her address, it is one of the first places he will go.

And if he doesn't already know it, he will soon. I pedal harder.

The night blurs past. If she is there, I can understand why. She'd hoped her mother was missing her, didn't know what happened to her, and I crushed that hope. Stupid! She'd wanted to know Ben's reaction to her being taken. That was the evidence, but why didn't I just say he went on about her, and not tell her he went to see her mother? He did talk about her often enough. Enough that it made me jealous. Is that why I didn't tell her?

I reach her street and slow down, trying to control my breathing after such a mad dash. It is after midnight, yet the big house at the end is lit up. There are cars parked everywhere, and an unseen piano tinkles in the background. Some guests have spilled out onto the lawn, and there are voices, laughter. I tuck my bicycle in some bushes and slip closer, through the shadows. There are too many eyes about, but at least this should have stopped Tori. She couldn't be crazy enough to go in with all these people. Could she?

After the big house the road ends; there is a footpath sign, woods. That is where she'd hide.

On the opposite side of the street I slip behind front garden hedges, hoping the neighbours sleep despite the party noises, and are not looking out their windows.

Tori is easy to find in the dark trees that overlook her old house, in a pale blue hoodie that almost glows in the dark. I creep up next to her and touch her arm. She jumps, turns and sees it is me. Turns back to watching the house. 'You have to learn to dress for these sorts of things,' I say.

She doesn't answer, eyes fixed. I follow them: there is a group of a half dozen, talking, laughing. One woman, the rest are men in tuxes. She must be freezing in that slinky black dress, arms bare. Laughing at something one of the others said, her head thrown back.

'Is that her?' I whisper.

Tori nods.

She is beautiful, like Tori. Both have long dark hair. Had she asked for a Slated with similar features? I've heard rumours some do that, request a designer son or daughter. Perhaps when Tori got older she took too many eyes away from her mother: a younger, more beautiful version of herself.

'Why are you here, Tori?'

She doesn't answer. I take her hand, ice cold, in mine.

'Come away. Come with me,' I say. 'There is nothing for you here.'

No reaction. Her eyes are fixed and staring, straight ahead. Then a tear glistens and runs down her cheek.

'Tori?'

'I just had to see her. I wanted her to tell me why I was returned, to hear her say the words. See what justification she has.'

'Busy place tonight.'

'Yes. Maybe that would be even better. In front of all her friends. Imagine the embarrassment!'

'The Lorders would take you again.'

She flinches. 'It might be worth it.'

I tug her hand. 'Come on. Before we're spotted.'

She tears her eyes away from the woman who had been her mother.

'What did I do wrong?' she says, and another tear spills out, chases the other down her cheek.

I shake my head. 'Nothing. Nothing at all.'

She lets me lead her away, listens when I tell her to bend down and slip along the hedges, out of sight.

We get to where I stashed the bicycle. 'Come on, I'll double you,' I say, and she gets on the seat behind and I cycle, standing up, down the road. Legs protesting after the dash earlier.

'Where is there to go?' she says in my ear.

'Nico. Where else?'

'He's going to be really pissed.'

'Yes. He is.'

Nico isn't home when we get there. The house is locked, but Tori knows the door combination and soon we are inside.

She is shaking. I find his whisky, pour her a glass. After a moment have a sip of it myself.

Then I call Nico and tell him where we are.

Tori is sound asleep on the sofa.

'What did you give her?'

'Sedative. Knock her out for a day or so while I work out next steps,' he says, his voice cold. 'That was too close to disaster. You should have told me where she was.'