Following Margaret's suggestion, the cops park at the gas station and approach the diner from the back. It's only been five minutes, but it felt longer for me. Aiden must have realized by now that something is wrong. He must have gone to the restroom and found out that I'm not there. He's probably gone, too. I hope he is. Every second of not knowing what he's up to makes me even more anxious. When a discreet knock comes on the back door, I jump to my feet, overturning the empty box I've been sitting on.

"Hush, hush," says Margaret, putting her hand on my shoulder and nodding at Harold who is already approaching the door.

"Who is it?" he says gruffly, and listens. I don't hear the reply, but he does, because he nods and unlocks the door. I'm half-expecting to see Aiden, but two police officers walk in, a dark tall man and a chubby blonde woman. They step inside and stop, briefly looking around before focusing on me.

"Good evening, sir," the man says. He looks at Margaret. "Did you place the call?"

"I did, sure." She nods. "This boy here, he says he's been kidnapped."

"I see." The man turns back to me. "Can I see your ID?"

"I've got nothing on me," I say. "They've kept me somewhere for five years. I don't know where."

"Five years?" His eyebrows go up. "And who're 'they'?"

I open my mouth, but I'm still unsure what to say about this, even though I've been pondering it non-stop while awaiting their arrival. It's clear that I can't talk about shifters, because they'll just think me crazy, or high on something. Also, shifters will find out that I mentioned them—and if I don't, they might realize that I don't intend to cause them any trouble. Then, maybe, they'll decide to just leave me alone. I also don't want to give them my real name, not after what Aiden told me about the possible consequences of contacting my family. I don't want to put anyone else at risk. I just want out. So maybe I'm better off just pretending to be traumatized and confused, knowing nothing about my kidnappers.

"I don't know who they are," I say.

He frowns. "Can you give any names?"

"Not real ones, no."

"And you have no idea where they kept you?"

"No. I'm guessing somewhere underground."

"For five years?"

"Yes."

"Did they... hurt you?"

"Uhm... no," I say. "Not physically, anyway."

"Then what the hell did they want with you?"

I swallow. I can't mention the classes I've been teaching without explaining about shifters, and without that, there's nothing I can say.

"What did they need you for?" repeats the cop, clearly unconvinced. "Five years, you say—why would anyone keep a prisoner for so long, feeding them, keeping them alive? No physical abuse doesn't sound like trafficking or organ harvesting to me. What, then?"

Thankfully, his partner steps in.

"Give him a break," she says. "We'll figure it out." She turns to Margaret. "Did you say on the phone the kidnapper is still here?"

"He was," says Margaret. "Sitting by table seven. Do you want me to check if he's still there?"

"Is he armed?" the cop asks me, and I shake my head.

"No. But I don't know... not sure what he's capable of."

"Nothing we can't handle, let me assure you. That way?"

Margaret leads them to the other door, the one that opens into the diner, and unlocks it. She opens it a notch and peeks outside, then turns to the cops and nods energetically, her eyes wide. Even without any words, I know what that means. Aidan is still in the diner.

The tall cop glances outside, then back at me, as if contemplating something. Then, he gestures my way. "Come here. We'll talk to him in your presence."

"What? No!" I actually forget to speak quietly at that. "No way! I can't meet him!"

"Don't worry, we'll be with you," says the other cop. "We won't let him do anything."

"But why do you need me there?"

"Because your story is a bit out there, if you don't mind me saying. So, I'd like to see the two of you interact before I make any decisions."

I blink in disbelief, then look at his partner for support, but she just shrugs.

"It's safe," she says. "We'll look after you."

Behind me, Harold nudges me in the back.

"Come on, do what the officers say. Let's be done with this."

The diner looks even brighter than before, probably because the sun has already set outside. Apart from the illuminated parking lot and the adjacent gas station, I can't see anything beyond the window, not even the distant city's skyline. Two new cars are parked by the diner, and a bunch of teenagers are standing next to them, talking and laughing so loudly that I can hear them even with the door closed. Inside, a woman and her daughter are examining the stand with the donuts next to the cash register. They seem taken aback by two police officers emerging from the back room, but then the mother sees Margaret, and waves at her.

"Can we get a few of those?"

"Sure," replies Margaret, throwing another glance at us before turning and heading for the register.

I'm somewhat relieved by more people being present, but, at the same time, my previous fear raises its head. What if I've set them all up for some kind of disaster? What if Aiden is willing—and able—to get rid of all these witnesses, just to preserve their centuries-long conspiracy?

Aiden is sitting on the couch where I left him, looking out of the window at the teens trading jokes, probably hearing parts of what they're saying. His plate is empty, and so is his glass, and his coffee cup, while my food is still untouched. He turns his head and looks at us as we approach, and my spirits sink at the total lack of surprise in his expression. He knew this was coming. Whatever he intends to do, he's clearly prepared for this more than I am.

The tall cop steps forward, then moves a bit so that Aiden can see me. Aiden looks me over, then shifts his gaze to the cop and shrugs. The cop spreads his hands, palms out, as if requesting an explanation, but Aiden just shrugs again. Unsure where their silent conversation is heading, I'm waiting for the cop to start asking questions, but when he does speak, his words surprise me.

"This is not okay," the cop says. "You know it's not okay."

"Sorry about that," says Aiden. "I was convinced he wouldn't do it."

"Sorry is not enough. Anyway..." The cop turns to me, puts his arm on my shoulder and nudges me toward the table. "There he goes. Make sure it doesn't happen again."

I stare at them in complete confusion. What the hell is going on? I turn around to look at Harold and Margaret, who are now watching me from behind the counter. The door-chime rings as the mother and the daughter with their bag of doughnuts step outside. It feels like a bell chimes in my head, too, making me finally understand.

"No," I say. "No, not you! Not all of you!"

I back away from them, toward the exit. Aiden keeps looking at me calmly, and none of the others try to do anything to stop me. They watch me with no curiosity, just taking me in, no judgement. People always pass judgement on what they see, without even saying anything—but not these people. Probably because they aren't people. They just stare, with the complete lack of expressions of those who have no emotions, and are done pretending otherwise.

I dart to the glass door and push it open, bursting out into the parking lot. The cool air hits me in the face, and I stop almost immediately, and so does everybody else. The woman and her daughter stop and turn to me, the teens by their cars straighten up and go quiet, even a couple of people farther away at the gas station—they all stop and look my way. The silence is almost absolute, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic. The teens are no longer smiling. I recognize one of them. It's Marlen from Aiden's class.

I just stand there, contemplating a hopeless attempt at running, when, suddenly, they all move. There's no aggression, but the way they all shift at the same time, making one step in my direction, is possibly the creepiest thing I've ever seen. I stumble back, my hand searching for the door handle, not finding if for one horrible moment—but then, it's in my grip. I push the door open and run back into the diner.

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