He rubs his lips together, his black eyes burning like charcoal. He kneels to the ground, right in front of me, not speaking, not breathing. I know what he’s going to do even before he does it, and I should stop it. But there’s something hypnotic about the way he looks at me and I don’t budge as he caresses his lips against mine. His lips are warm and sweet, like the cherry drink I was given that was laced with silver. I can see what he feels, know what he thinks. Our bodies and minds connect.

Then giving my lip a quick nip, he moves away. “Nothing but the truth ever leaves my lips.”

My weak heart starts to pound with a feeling I’ve never felt before, but I’m not sure if it’s a good feeling. I rub my lips together. “I want to see him before I do anything else.”

He leans back, looking at me funny. “Who?”

“Aiden.” My heart knocks in my chest.

“Whatever you want.” He tries to sound calm, but his voice comes out a little annoyed. He gets to his feet and walks out the door, leaving it cracked.

I jump to my feet and start searching for an escape, so I’ll be prepared, just in case this isn’t what it seems. But then I slow to a stop, realizing this reaction was probably instilled by Monarch. The perfect soldier. I glance over my hands and arm, the cut on my wrist, the veins, the numbers.

The door creaks open and Aiden and Sylas walk in, side by side. I can see the similarities in their features. Sylas’s hair is a little darker and shorter and Aiden’s taller and more muscular, but their facial features are very close. The biggest difference is their eyes. Honey and black, light and dark.

Aiden immediately embraces me in a hug. “How bad are you hurt?”

“Not too bad.” I glance at Sylas, picking his fingernails with a knife.

“I’m sorry.” He smoothes my hair out of my face. “For not telling you about them. About you. I just didn’t want to lose you to them.”

“How poetic.” Sylas rolls his eyes. “Now that you know he’s okay, let’s get into that head of yours.”

Before he can finish, Aiden whirls around, guiding me behind him. “You can’t do that—not with her. She self-mutilates every time she goes under.”

“Were not using your little medicine stuff,” Sylas says. “We’re using Emmy.”

“You can’t sick Emmy on her,” Aiden snaps hotly. “She could kill her.”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupt, stepping out from behind Aiden. “Emmy?”

“The red-headed girl,” Aiden tells me. “She does this thing where she can make people remember all at once. But it doesn’t mean it’s safe. Or right. None of this is right.”

“Thing?” I question.