"Julian, you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do, Lil. We’ve been looking for them for years, and we finally found them.” His eyes plead with me. “They killed our parents,” he says, softer. “And I can't just sit here and wait for them to kill you too."

"Going after the Order alone… it’s suicide.”

I take his hand in mine, gripping his fingers tightly. As if I could make him stay with force of will alone.

“Stay here,” I beg. “We’ll train some more, go after them together—"

"No.” He pulls his hand from mine abruptly.

It feels like he pulls my heart from my chest.

“I'm going alone. Tonight.” His eyes are cold when they meet mine. “And I don't want you coming after me."

The words sting. More than the cut from his fingernails when he pulled away from me.

Lifting my now-empty hand, I run my thumb across his freckled cheek and look up into golden eyes identical to my own.

"If you go, I will come after you," I say, my voice cracking as the tears start down my own, lightly freckled face. "Because there won’t be anyone left to stop me."

---

I open my eyes to a white ceiling, sleep-crusties pulling the skin at the corners of my eyes.

Through the wall filters the muted noises of a TV and I become vaguely aware of the fact I'm tucked into a bed, the sheet tugging at my fingernails as I knot my fingers in the fabric.

The room is, what I can only think to describe as bland.

Off-white walls. No pictures of any kind. Blackout curtains hang slightly parted over the singular window at the far end of the room. A plain, plywood dresser sits against the wall near the door, its surface bereft of anything except a single stick of deodorant and something that looks to either be aerosol cooking oil or body spray, but it’s impossible to tell which from this distance.

Two nightstands, one lamp—currently off—and the single, queen bed I occupy with thin sheets and a blanket that looks like it was requisitioned from 2009.

I stare blankly down at the faded black-and -white medallion pattern printed across its surface for a solid ten seconds before it occurs to me that I’m breathing.

Because I'm alive.

I’m alive.

But my euphoria is short lived. Because flashes of the night before come rushing back—

Darkness.
Fog.
That horrible laughter.
Those glistening teeth.
The pain. The fire.

Those eyes—

I shoot up from where I lie just as the door to the cramped room opens—startling whoever just entered.

"Agh! You scared me! Geez, I almost spilled the orange juice…"

He balances a tray of what looks to be breakfast in his arms, barely managing to steady it as it tips dangerously.

I barely spare him a glance.

"I'm not dead…" I mutter, still in disbelief that I could have lived through being eaten alive by a revenant.

"No, you're not dead. But you just about scared me to death—" He’s managed to regain his composure, the tray steady in his grasp once more, though the orange juice is still unsettled in its glass as he moves toward me.

I don’t wait for him to finish crossing the room.

Jumping from the sheets, I smack the tray of food from his arms and shove him against the crème-colored wall by his t-shirt collar.

My training may not have been able to save me last night, but I'm by no means weak. I don't know why the Order has taken me, but I can't give up yet.

Not when I'm so close to finding him.

"Where have you taken me, demon!” I bark, my fist twisting the collar of his shirt tighter. “I will not hesitate to end you with this fork if you do not cooperate!"

I shove said fork to my captor's throat with enough pressure to let him know I'm serious.

"Ah, those were the last of the eggs—" He mourns, his gaze dropping to where they’ve smashed across the carpet at our feet.

"Shut it!" I shove him against the wall again and push the fork closer. "My questions, leech!"

"Okay, okay.” He lifts his hands up in surrender. “But would you please move the fork and stop calling me names?"

His eyes are wide with innocence.

Feigned, no doubt.

I look him over, taking a moment to do a quick assessment while I still have him pinned.

At first glance he appears fairly young with his lean build and boyish appearance. On closer inspection, though, it seems more likely he's closer to my own age, twenty-three or twenty-four.

He must be young for a revenant, his skin not yet pallid and waxy as is generally characteristic of the rest of his kin.

That might also be why he seems unaffected by the late afternoon sun filtering in through the bedroom window.

Loose, dark brown curls halo his head and olive-green eyes stare wide back at me. I might've even found him fairly attractive if he weren't the enemy.

Being that he's young, he's relatively harmless.

Still, I'd rather not underestimate another revenant.

Better safe than sorry.

I move the fork back an inch so it's no longer pressing into his throat.

Realizing that's all he's going to get, he rolls his eyes.

"Where am I?" I ask again.

He sighs, "you're at my house."

"Where is your house?"

He lifts a brow. "…Greenfield."

I blink. "Greenfield? You mean we're still in town?"

"Yes?" He looks at me questioningly to which I respond by giving him another hard shove against the wall. "Ow! Would you stop—"

"How many?"

"How many what?"

"How many leeches are there in this place?"

"Leeches? There aren't any—"

"Then what's to stop me from leaving?"

"Nothing, but—ow!"

I shove him into the dresser, dropping the fork and stepping around his writhing body as I make my way through the doorway.

Upon exiting the room I find myself in a short hallway, which opens up into a living area and adjoined kitchen. The TV is paused on what looks to be a video game menu; its melancholy soundtrack the source of the noise I heard earlier, a console controller abandoned on the floor in front of the well-loved couch. The kitchen is slightly cluttered, but not unclean. Directly before me stands the front door.

I make for the handle.

"Wait, wait! Agh…" The boy finds his way out of the room and stumbles down the hall after me, rubbing the side of his head where I'd introduced it to the dresser. "Listen, I don't care if you leave but don't you think you should at least change clothes before you go?"

I pause, one hand on the knob to my freedom. Glancing down, I realize the entire front of my light grey V-neck is now a deep brown, dyed with my dried blood.

Damn, and I liked this shirt too.

Turning, I eye the boy, no, man, I correct myself. The way his curls are popping from his head, it's as if he hadn't bothered to fix them when he crawled out of bed this morning.

Or rather, off the couch since I had woken up in what I assume is his bed.

He looks tired, the dark circles under his eyes glaring purple against his tan skin.

Come to think of it, I'm still rather tired myself, the exhaustion hitting me full force as my adrenaline begins to wear off.

My knees buckle under me and I tighten my grip on the door handle to keep from collapsing, sending a warning glare at the boy—er—man when he tries to step closer.

"You lost a lot of blood last night," he says, eyeing me warily.

Instinctively, I raise my free hand to the throbbing wound on my neck and am surprised when my fingers touch gauze instead of my mangled skin.

"Why don't you sit down." The boy tries inching closer again, hands raised as if I am a frightened animal and might lash out at him. Again. "I'll make you someth—"

"Give me your jacket."

"What?"

"Your jacket. Give it to me."

He glances down at the black hoodie he wears loosely zipped. "You want this?" he asks, lifting the front of the fabric from his chest.

"Yes. Give it here."

He stares at me a moment as if not really believing that, of all things, it's his jacket I want, but when my frown only deepens at his hesitation, he unzips the hoodie and passes it over.

Feeling confident my legs will support me again, I let go of my death grip on the door handle and grab the jacket from his grasp, zipping it over my destroyed tee and effectively covering the blood that stains its front.

"There, better?" I don't wait for a response as I turn the doorknob and walk onto the front porch, groaning as he stumbles after me down the walk.

"If you're so dead set on leaving, can I at least take you somewhere?"

Digging into his pocket he pulls out his keys and holds them up, letting the metal dangle in the air between us, just as I do his question, choosing to glare at him again rather than answer.

I don't know anything about this guy — I'm not about to climb into a car with him. Does he think my mother taught me nothing?

He must guess what I'm thinking, because he rolls his eyes. "What am I going to do, kidnap you again?"

I purse my lips. "…Fine. Where's your car?"

He points off to the right and I follow the line of his index finger till my gaze lands on the mint green bicycle chained to the side of the house.

"I hope you don't mind sitting on the back," he says as he makes his way across the lawn to unchain the bike.

I'm pretty sure my forehead turns red at the force with which it meets my palm.