“So, what’d she do, exactly? How did she come between them?”

“In case you haven’t figured it out for yourself, Willow’s toxic. She’s dangerous and she’s toxic. If it hadn’t been for your Willow, things might never have changed. We had a good thing going before she came along. I can’t believe Simon thought he could bring her back here after all these years.”

I frowned. “It’s not like we had a lot of options. We needed your help. Besides, I think you have the wrong idea about Willow.”

Griffin’s jaw tightened and her fists clenched. “And you have a lot to learn about who you can and can’t trust,” she stated, leaving little room for argument.

“Where is she?” I asked, thinking of the way Willow had been separated from us from the start. “Where’s Willow now?”

Griffin got up, her brown eyes sending a shiver of warning up my spine. “She’s fine. For now.” Her boots echoed off the tiles as she strode toward the door. “I could be your ally, Kyra—you should remember that.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Day Thirty

Blackwater Ranch

NOT BEING A PRISONER WAS AN AWFUL LOT LIKE being a prisoner, despite what Griffin said.

The only positive side of my captivity was that I hadn’t been forced into solitary confinement since Natty and I had been assigned to be not-cellmates. While that part was awesome, we hadn’t had word from Simon, Thom, Willow, or Jett in two whole days, which felt like an eternity when you hardly slept and were basically under house arrest.

Two new sunrises to endure, both of which felt like they were getting worse. More painful. And two days of letting our imaginations wander. It was a dangerous pastime, especially when the person detaining you was a gun-toting whack job holding a grudge.

Natty and I had been moved, and our new accommodations were less jail-like and more bunk-like, and now I understood what all the tents here were used for: barracks. Our tent was not what I’d call luxurious, but it was the smell that bothered me most, a combination of dank mold and mildew, which seemed odd considering we were surrounded by nothing but sand.

We were pretty easy to guard, though, since there was only a single tent flap leading inside, with no windows or vents to circulate the stale air.

But at least in the two days we’d been here, I’d had a few opportunities to practice my ability.

“You stand guard,” I whisper-told Natty, in case Buzz Cut, who refused to tell me her real name, was lingering somewhere on the other side of our tent.

Natty hopped off her bunk and positioned herself in front of the inside of our tent flap. “Maybe this time it’ll work,” she said, her eyes gleaming expectantly, and I wondered if this was how she’d looked back when she’d waited for Little House on the Prairie to come on.

Half grinning, I turned to the pile of discarded clothes I’d left in a heap on the floor. I tried to tap into that frenzied state of frustration Simon had convinced me was responsible for sparking my newfound skill. But it wasn’t always easy to summon.

The “getting pissed” approach was tough, mostly because it was hard to find someone to get mad at. I’d already tried Austin, Tyler’s brother and my ex-boyfriend. Austin and I had spent our whole lives falling in love, and when I’d been returned, I’d still loved him. Only that hadn’t been enough for Austin. He’d already moved on. With my best friend.

For me, I’d only been gone one night, so it didn’t feel like he’d waited long enough. But in reality, five years was a crazy long time.

Besides, every time I forced myself to think of him and Cat together, some other random memory would bubble to the surface and ruin all hopes of staying angry. Like the one time when Austin’s mom decided he and I should dress like Batman and Catwoman for Halloween, which would’ve been adorable in the fourth grade, except that I’d decided it would be even better if we switched costumes instead. Austin hadn’t even complained, because, back then, he’d done almost everything I asked. And the moment I pictured nine-year-old Austin stuffed into my shiny, skintight black suit with those precious cat ears perched lopsidedly on his head, all of my focus vanished and suddenly I was homesick all over again.

I tried being mad at my mom’s new husband, Grant, too. But even that failed, because as much as I wanted to blame him for ruining my family, deep down I knew that was all my fault too. If I hadn’t gotten out of the car that night on Chuckanut Drive, I never would’ve vanished and my parents might still be together.

Agent Truman didn’t work either.

Three days had passed since our run-in at the Tacoma facility, which meant the poor schmuck was probably dead by now. And no matter how I tried to look at it, no matter how blameworthy he was for luring us there and trapping Willow, I couldn’t choke down my own guilt for what I’d done to free her—that whole Code Red thing.

I bent down and plucked the paperback I’d stolen from the library back in Columbia Valley from the back pocket of my discarded jeans, my mind drifting to Tyler instead. He would never have chosen Cat over me. He would never have given up on me the way Austin had.

Wasn’t that what he’d written in chalk on the street in front of my house, what he’d promised?

I’ll remember you always . . .

And to repay him, I’d gone and let Simon kiss me back.

It turned out Simon had been right: getting pissed was the key to my telekinesis. Only I didn’t have to be mad at someone else. Apparently self-loathing was enough.