Eve’s face grew remarkably still with every word he spoke. Of course, he refrained from the parts about the temple rising, the platform drifting upward, defying gravity, the weakness, and, of course, Severity’s voice.

  The parts he did tell her, though, like the fact that the man had been reading from a grimoire—he remembered the Emerys discussing it openly once or twice—and the threat he’d said to him. Before she could ask any questions of her own, Ava came in through the door, John just behind her.

  Zach almost sighed in relief when Ava suggested they give Eve some time to rest. The intensity he felt when looking at her was quickly coming back; being out of her presence immediately would do him some good.

  “Ava, I’m fine,” Eve said.

  Surprisingly, she did look fine for having just come out of a coma. But something made her look around at the faces in the room, hesitating before her gaze fell back to the covers over her lower half. She frowned slightly, then looked back at John.

  “I have to speak with her,” she said somewhat stiffly.

  They knew immediately who ‘her’ referred to. Zach was surprised to find he knew, too. John glanced at Ava, as if checking if it was okay with her. She gave a reluctant nod, evidently reading the determined look there in her patient’s eyes.

  “I guess I’ll go with her,” Ava sighed. “I need to see the Head myself anyway—Eve will not be back serving for at least another week.”

  “I don’t need a caretaker,” Eve immediately said, but at Ava and John’s look, she added, “but I would like you to come with me, for moral support.”

  “Of course, I will,” Ava said amiably. “We can go in a few hours or so. You need to build up your strength, especially if you’re going to speak with the Head—there’s a reason you haven’t spoken to her in three years.”

  She picked up the Deck from the bed, Zach’s eyes trailing after it with a strange longing he couldn’t explain. Can I actually make sense of anything anymore? That question didn’t really matter. The only thing that did matter was that he needed to get his hands on those cards again.

  “Zachary…” a voice whispered from somewhere.

  The voice made his heart quake, his breath catch. He looked at Eve and found that gray outline again, those swirling eyes boring into him, demanding he remember, demanding he come back, and calling him a coward.

  A coward? In what world? And come back to what?

  He blinked against the questions, against the sensations crowding the space in his mind.

  “Zachary…” the voice came again.

  Without knowing why it bothered him so much, he shouted, “No! Stay back!”

  Every eye in the room turned to stare at him. Ava, Eve, and John, all of them looking at him with concern and shock. The panic that had just filled him dissipated just as quickly as it had appeared. A part of him knew that voice. What’s more, he knew he didn’t want to deal with it. Not now. Even if it might put another crack in that wall, perhaps a significant one, too.

  I have to get out of here!

  The thought skittered off the panic wrapped around his mind. Throwing quick glances at each of them, he left the room without warning, once more stepping out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. This time, though, he leaned against the door, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself.

  Breathing deeply wasn’t enough. He pushed off the door, walked down the long and thankfully empty hallway until he exited through those front doors into the courtyard out front. The small group was still there, all of them quieting at the sight of him.

  That wouldn’t do either.

  He made a run for it.

  He went down an alleyway he knew through Oliver's memories would lead onto Mark's Street, his eyes on the ground. He focused on his breathing. What the hell happened back there? That was a perfect opportunity to pull my own memories, and I chose to run?

  It was only more vexing when he realized that that voice was gone, even the sensations it had brought were just… gone. But he knew all he had to do was see Eve again. The sight of her would spark something.

  So go back. Go back and get your memories.

  His feet slowed, but instead of going back to the medical ward, he turned down a narrow street that would eventually lead to the outer rim of the residential area. He’d chosen it because it was empty. Not a soul stood there to pity him, to call him weak for running away at the mere idea of remembering.

  “What’s wrong with me?” he asked himself, leaning against one of the building walls.

  He stared up at the sky, noticing for the first time how the clouds, now dark with rain, rolled across the faded blue, the sun a muted source of light and heat. Hadn’t it just been sunny? He couldn’t have been in the medical ward that long. Could the weather really have changed that fast?

  A slightly cold wind came blowing across the camp, the feel of it wet against his skin. There was no denying it. Rain was not too far off.

  He continued on his way down the street, Oliver’s familiarity with the camp pulling his feet in this direction. Perhaps it was the strangeness of the weather, the religious designs of the building, but in that moment, he truly felt the reality of his being trapped here.

  No different from the farm animals he could hear even now, bleating and mooing somewhere in the background, he, too, was penned up in these streets. Being a former capital city of Tetrralis, Camp Twelve was by no means small, but he couldn’t help but wonder how they survived it.

  It was almost instinctual that he wanted to run away from all of this. Whatever he’d find by staying with Eve and John and however Noah planned on helping him, those were the only reasons he didn’t try to leave immediately. The only things that kept him going.

  After what felt like ages, he entered a part of the camp where packed dirt made up the whole of the ground, the cracked and old, paved streets long behind him. This section of camp was secluded from the rest of the old city, except for the building standing to his left, well within walking distance.

  It used to be a park, he realized.

  A gigantic stone animal stood on the edge of the area, but where there used to be grass, swings, a slide, and whatever else occupied children at the park, there were now only mounds signifying a burial ground.

  He didn’t wander long before he came to a stop in front of what he knew was Leo’s mound. Like the others, it was marked by an arc of dead flowers, except his was interwoven with blue thread. It felt like he’d last stood here years ago. Back when he’d still been Oliver.

  In reality, Zach could remember Oliver coming here frequently, before he’d been taken to the hold. One of those memories came to him now, a tinkling laughter echoing around him. Emily’s laughter. She’d been trying to cheer him up. She’d failed to cheer him up.

  It felt like his consciousness was bleeding away at the memory of her smile. There was a sudden anger building within to think that she had just left so easily. Supposedly chasing whoever the third party was, but still… How could she just leave him like that?

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  “Emily,” he said softly.

  Zach shook his head, realizing how far he’d immersed himself in Oliver’s memories. At the far end of the graveyard, a small group came walking into the park, stopping at one of the mounds sitting at that end.

  Zach stopped shaking his head, fearing they’d think he might be hearing words whispered from unseen demons. He dropped to his knees, placing his hand atop Leo’s mound. Overhead, thunder rolled across the sky.

  Strange weather indeed.

  “What did you have to do with this?” Zach asked Leo’s grave. “Why are you so blurred in his memory?”

  Just as he finished voicing his thoughts, he noticed the small peak of cord sticking up out of the packed sand. It sat right underneath the arc of flowers; he couldn’t say why it caught his attention, but for a second, he saw his hand—Oliver’s hand—placing it there, burying it with Leo for Leo.

  He looked up at the group. They were still standing by that mound, laughing at some joke or remark one of them uttered. Zach was too engrossed and intrigued by the cord to consider straining his ears to hear their conversation.

  With only the slightest bit of reservation about what he was about to do, Zach pulled the cord free from the sand, making it seem like he was positioning the arc of flowers. The cord was connected to a small metal locket.

  His breath caught. There was something about this necklace. Acting more on feeling than anything else—this necklace was part of those blurry memories—he opened the locket and found a small, sharp, splintered piece of wood.

  Wood?

  As far as he was concerned, it meant nothing. It felt important, but he couldn’t understand why. Frowning, he picked the piece of wood up and felt nothing but anger. Why did there have to be so many mysteries? So many unanswered questions? He felt anger at the blockage of his own memories, as well.

  The anger consumed him, so much so, he didn’t realize the group had made their way over to where he knelt. He looked up, putting the wood back in its locket before he rose to his feet. His fingers were stained black, like he’d touched charcoal or something.

  The group stared at him, all of them with dark looks in their eyes. Drawing from Oliver’s mind, he recognized two of the five. Jackson Eary and Jane Pierson. In their mid-twenties, they were of the sort who refused to grow up and let people be. Clinging onto their roles as tormentors, roles they’d played since their childhoods.

  Zach glanced at all of them, that beast that had been quiet for a while now stirring in his chest. A lion smelling blood, a bull seeing red.

  “Heard Emily left,” Jane Pierson said with a mocking, sad face. “No one around willing to befriend a demon like you, so you’re talking with your brother’s grave?”

  The others didn’t laugh. Whatever had happened in the past, they weren’t doing this because they could, but because they thought they had to. To them, Zach was a demon allowed to roam free. And what did you do with demons?

  “I’ll leave,” he said, clipped, trying to ignore the swirling wave of anger pulsing through him. “I’m not trying to start anything.”

  The words angered him even more. Why should he apologize and retreat? He was simply trying to get home. Something that had nothing to do with them.

  “You started it when the demons started knocking around in your head,” Jackson snarled.

  “You hear them now, don’t you?” one of the others asked, more frightened than anything else, though he tried to cover it in bravado.

  Zach worked his jaw, not trusting that he wouldn’t say something deliberately provocative, not with that anger pulsing through his veins. He took a deep breath and turned around, intending to walk away from them. He could play peacemaker another time, when he didn’t feel moments away from committing murder.

  Murder? he asked himself in shock. How did I get there?

  That didn’t matter. Now that it had entered his mind, he couldn’t stop the images. The big-nosed kid who just stepped in front of him, lying on the ground with his neck broken. Jane, cradling a broken and bleeding nose as she cried for her mother, despite her age. Jackson, limping away, dragging his shattered leg with his foot bent the wrong way, despite his apparent bravado.

  Yes. Those images seemed real. Seemed the only way to get them to leave him alone. If everyone feared him enough, none of them would interrupt him again. He could search for a way home peacefully. Of course, that search would have nothing to do with the memories Eve seemed to trigger; he’d take special care to avoid those.

  Is that how it worked? Could he decide which memories he wanted? If it were possible, was that the right move? It made more sense that he remembered everything—

  His mind was rambling, trying to run away from that rage.

  “He does,” one of them said, also with a hint of fear. “He hears them… he’s not even paying attention to us.”

  “They’re trying to break through,” Jackson said. “They’re right about you. You’re going to kill us. I won’t let you touch my family. My grandfather’s all I’ve got. You hear me?”

  Zach stumbled back a step as Jackson shoved him hard.

  “You hear me? You’re better off dead.”

  Zach clenched his jaw, looking down at the ground and avoiding their eyes. At least, that’s what he thought to do. His body responded differently, though. A mask that perfectly captured the fiery rage within slipped over his face as he glared at Jackson.

  “What? You want to kill me? All of you followed me here to kill me?” His hand tightened on the locket. “I’m not standing on a platform this time. There aren’t chains on me.”

  Those two incidents fanned the flames of rage. He remembered the pain as the bullet tore through his hand.

  He shoved Jackson back with the exact level of strength the other had used on him. “The enforcers aren’t here to do the work for you—for any of you! So what are you going to do? Huh? What?”

  He glared at each of them, shoving another one of them just as hard. After finding nothing but questions and mysteries, it felt good to get something done. Severity echoed within him. Filling his head with nothing but violent thoughts.

  He pushed another, this time sending them falling to the ground. The others watched with shock. Jackson was the first to move. Or rather, was the first to attempt to.

  Zach saw him ball up his fist, but rather than give him an opportunity to strike at him, Zach swung straight for his jaw. Jackson screamed, crumpling to the floor like a torn piece of paper.

  The others backed away at the sight, their wide eyes suggesting they feared demons were tearing their way through him at that very moment.

  “Don’t any of you have respect?” a voice shouted out.

  They all turned and saw a woman walking their way with something like horror on her face. Zach immediately recognized her from earlier. She’d been asking the Expedition Function for keys.

  “We bury our dead here,” she went on, her eyes meeting all of theirs. “Look around you, these are people who have gone back to Creation, who have gone back to Create. And you disturb them with your violence. What is wrong with you?”

  Though Zach felt shame at her words, he turned back to the group, his fists still clenched at his sides. He hadn’t drawn any blood yet. Matter of fact, if the woman wanted to make herself part of it as well, he would do the same to her.

  He’d grab her by those silver locks and drag her until she—

  Stop it!

  “Oliver was paying his brother respect. I saw it all. Stop disturbing him. Pick him up off the ground, lying there like old laundry. Take him to the ward if he needs it, but leave him alone now.”

  They lowered their heads in what Zach thought was actual shame before doing exactly as she’d said. Two of the guys picked up an unconscious Jackson, walking off without a backward glance.

  “Cowards,” Zach spat, the last of that anger leaving him with that word.

  The woman looked at him askance before a roll of thunder called her attention to the sky.

  “I also heard everything that was said. They are cowards. They should’ve never provoked you. But they are right about you. Sorry to say, but you shouldn’t have been released.”

  She shook her head, walking after them now. She got three steps in before she paused and turned back to face him.

  “I do find it interesting, though,” she said. “Creation made it so I would witness what happened here, and I won’t lie. They did provoke you. But I must say, the Oliver that went into the hold, I don’t think I ever heard of him fighting back. It makes someone wonder, what has a hold of you? Not saying people can’t change, but you’re a special case, no?”

  She smiled sadly before she continued after the others.

  Zach watched her go, standing like an empty shell as the last of that rage faded away. In the wake of it, he felt shock at what he’d done, at the thoughts that had coursed through his mind. Had he really contemplated killing the old woman as well?

  Whatever that had been, it was gone now. Well, the feeling was, if not the thoughts. A part of him wanted to go after them all, wanted to make use of the burial grounds they were still on. But the thought felt more like something intrusive. Something he knew shouldn’t be there, but that he struggled to get rid of.

  He remembered the locket in his hands. Not surprisingly, the black stains were gone from his fingertips, probably wiped off on one of their shirts. Though strangely, other than sand, there was nothing on the locket or cord that could’ve caused the smudge.

  Must’ve happened at the ward.

  That didn’t matter. He opened the thing again, staring down at that strange wood. Whether or not it was against their customs, he’d be taking it with him. There was something about this wood.

  Gently, he closed it again just as fat droplets of rain started falling. He hoped he hadn’t caused too much damage. Had he punched Jackson with normal strength, or had he drawn from the First String?

  Oh, please say it was a normal punch.