"So," says Aiden as I pick up the fork and stick it into the scrambled eggs on my plate. "Do you come here often?"

I look at him in disbelief.

"It's a pick-up line, Aiden. You're not picking me up. We're already on a date."

He rolls his eyes. "Stop being a teacher. I'm just trying to be funny."

"I see. Well, I don't come anywhere often, as you well know."

"I do." He reaches out across the table and puts his hand on mine, making me put down the fork. I do it readily. I'm so stressed out that I don't think I can swallow a single bite of food.

"Why're you on edge? I thought you'd enjoy this. You wanted to go out."

"I did," I say. "Of course I did. It's just... I live in a prison, you know? And now you take me out of it for a couple of hours, and then I'll have to go back, right? It's like showing a hungry person food and then taking it away after a single bite. You understand?"

He nods thoughtfully, and a part of me hopes that a miracle might happen, and he'll say something along the lines of 'You don't need to go back. You're free to go wherever you want.' Yet miracles aren't on the menu today, because he only nods at my plate and says,

"Well, go ahead and have as many bites as you want."

"You're trying to be funny again. You know what I meant."

"I do." He sighs and leans back in his seat. "Look, I like you. And I can see you're not happy, so I'm trying to make things better for you. It wasn't easy, making this trip happen. It's not normally done, but I've managed to get permission. Maybe we could come here again, maybe visit other places, so that you don't feel so imprisoned. But it's not up to me to just let you go. I can't decide on that."

"Who can, then?" Without any planning or tiptoeing around it, one of my biggest questions just bursts out. "Will they ever let me go?" I shouldn't even say 'they'. He's very much a part of it. "Will you and the others ever let me go?"

He looks at me, drumming his fingers on the table. I hold my breath, because it seems like, for a change, I might get a real answer. I keep waiting, but the longer it takes, the less hopeful I feel. After a long silence, he sighs.

"No," he says. "I'm afraid that's not really an option."

"Why not? Even if I promise to never tell anyone about you guys?"

He tilts his head and gives me a look like I'm being unreasonable.

"Can't you erase my memory or something?" I've never quite figured out the full extent of their abilities, so this feels like not too far-fetched. "Heck, you don't even need to do that! Even if I told anyone, who would believe me? Being kidnapped and imprisoned by shapeshifters? They would just consider me crazy."

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but there's no way you can return to your old life."

"But why not? Because you've planted someone in my place? Is someone living my life now, instead of me?"

"No." He frowns. "No offence, but you weren't important enough for that. Only important people get replaced. They found your clothes on the riverbank, and a suicide note in your handwriting. The body was never recovered. You've been considered dead for five years."

"Oh," I say, leaning back slowly. So that's what happened. Poor Mom! A part of me kind of hoped they planted someone in my place, maybe someone who treated her better than I did. So, all this time, she thought me dead? It must have been so hard on her. Thinking that I must have been going through things she didn't know about, that if she just talked to me more on that day, if she just didn't let me out, then maybe things would have turned out differently. Probably thinking that she did something wrong—but she was a good mother! Dad was fine, too. It makes me so angry, just imagining what they had to go through.

"Can I call my mother?" I say through the lump in my throat. "Can I just tell her that I'm fine, and that she shouldn't look for me, but that I'm fine, and I love her? And Dad?"

"You know it's impossible," Aiden says, softly. "And you shouldn't wish for it, because if you manage to contact them, they will need to be fetched, too."

"Fetched?" I say. "Is that what you call it, when you kidnap people? Fetching?"

"As good a word as any." He sighs. "I must say, I never expected the conversation to go this way. I hoped we would just talk and get to know each other better."

"I am getting to know you better," I say through gritted teeth. "A whole lot better."

He shrugs. "I didn't invent any of this. I am what I am, and you are what you are. I hate it that you got trapped in a situation that makes you unhappy, but I wasn't the one to make it happen, and I'm not the one to get you out of it. I'm just trying to make your experience better."

"Why?"

"Because I like you. I told you."

"Hey," says the waitress, materializing next to our table. Her smile dies down as she looks at our barely touched plates. "Oh, babies! You don't like the food?"

"We love it." Aiden looks up at her with a smile. "It's delicious."

"But it's all cold now." She frowns. "Should I get you something else?"

"No, that's fine. Maybe a coffee for me. Espresso. Would you like anything?" He raises his eyebrows at me. I shake my head. The waitress gives me a long look, making me wonder how much of the turmoil that I'm feeling is showing on my face. Probably quite a lot, because she looks back at me on her way to the counter, and once there, she says something to that bald guy I saw earlier, and then they both look my way.

Maybe they'll guess that I'm in trouble. Maybe they'll call the police. A long shot, but not impossible.

Aiden is drinking his orange juice now. I watch his Adam's apple bob up and down, his eyes close briefly with pleasure. He looks like a normal guy, not some kind of monster. I suddenly feel that maybe I'm just crazy. Maybe my life among the shifters was just one feverish dream, an acid trip, something impossible. Sitting in front of me is just a nice guy with good skin and thick hair and a face full of...

Freckles?

He had very prominent freckles just last night, but he has none now. I tilt my head, examining his face. Could this be a trick of the light? No way. It's not make-up or anything like that, either. They're just... gone.

He's a shifter. They exist. I have no idea how they do it, how exactly they manage their appearance. Did he just wake up this morning and carefully choose every aspect of his appearance, only forgetting about the freckles?

It doesn't matter. It only serves to remind me that sitting in front of me is an enemy. It doesn't matter that he claims that he's trying to help, to make me feel better, that he likes me and all that crap. I don't need to be liked. I just want out. I want my real life back, and I'll do anything to make it happen. If he gets in trouble because of that... that's not something I should concern myself with. I won't get caught up in this Stockholm syndrome. He's an enemy, and I need to get away from him.

"I need to pee," I say, nodding at the restroom door. "Can I go alone, or do you have to follow me?"

He gives a one-shoulder shrug. "You can go alone. After all, you promised to behave, and I trust you."

I nod and get up, pushing down the guilty feeling rising in my chest.