My eyes fly open, and I scan the cave. It's dark in here, but it's also small enough that it doesn't take long to confirm that Dieter is not with us. Piper lets loose a stream of colorful swear words, including a handful I've never heard before. I can only agree with him. I catch Maverick's gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he chews on his bottom lip. I know that look. His guilt look. He turns away and stares out at the wailing storm. Probably thinking of ways he could go out on his own to find Dieter. He can't, end of. He can't see through the rain or command the wind to stop any more than a regular human could.

I would leave Dieter. It's not worth risking more people to look for him. Besides, I'm not all that fond of the guy, I don't think anyone in this cave is. I grimace as it dawns on me that that statement could be just as easily said about me. In the end, Dieter and I are both outsiders to the group, and the only reason either of us are here is because of Maverick. All of these people—including me, trust Mav, and with good reason too. Because Maverick is far nicer than me. He's too altruistic to leave someone out in the storm of the century.

When he looks back to me, I already know what his decision is, and I know that I'm involved in whatever plan he's cooked up.

"You would do it for Elle," he says.

"That's different."

"How?" a woman's voice interrupts. We both glance over at Delilah. "How is it different?" Her accent is wan, but I can picture how at one time maybe the only language she spoke was Russian. A vision of Chastin falling, red flowers blooming from his wounded chest, enters my mind. If anyone has the right to be royally ticked off at me, it's Delilah. I don't know what Chastin was to her, but he was clearly important to her and he's dead because of me.

"It's..." Elle is small, and fragile, and helpless, and I can't lose her. Dieter is none of those things. One glance at Delilah's narrowed eyes, and I bite my tongue. "Not. It's not different. Never mind."

Dieter is a person, albeit an obnoxious one, but still a person. Who am I to decide who to help and who to ignore? Besides, there are far too few Experiments in the world for us to leave each other's backs wide open.

"I hate to bear bad news, but may I remind you all that the bloke is out there." Sky jabs a finger at the monstrous storm outside. Thunder rumbles as if to accentuate his point, deafening us all momentarily. "And none of us can bloody stand straight in that mess."

Maverick grunts in the back of his throat, acknowledging Sky's point.

"Most of us," he corrects, turning to face Delilah, "I know you're tired, we all are, but I need your help finding Dieter."

Delilah waves off whatever Maverick is about to say next, already rising to her feet.

"Don't you think it would be hypocritical of me to refuse after badgering Trick about the same thing?"

"Thank you."

He claps his hands, as if we weren't all paying attention to begin with. "Alright, Trick, you're with me and Delilah. King, you're in charge while we're gone. This should be a quick recon, he can't have gone far." Maverick backs towards the cave mouth as he speaks. Delilah and I flank him. Lightning sparks and thunder quakes a half-second after. I'm not liking our odds against that rager. Delilah had better be damned amazing with her kinesis, otherwise we are as screwed as Dieter.

"In the unlikely event that we don't make it back before morning, you are to continue the original mission," he instructs, then makes a point of turning and fixing Sky with a firm look. "You will not come looking for us," he orders.

"Your wish is the very air I breathe." Sky mock bows.

"See you soon." Maverick bids them goodbye, then it's out into the storm for us. I brace for the buffeting wind and piercing rain. None of those things strike us.

A glance forward shows Delilah wearing a mask of concentration so intense that I'm half-afraid she might pass out. Her arms are stiff at her side, her palms facing out and her fingers so flexed they're hyperextending. A dome of wind whips about us counterclockwise, forcing the storm away. In places, the dome bulges inward, only to snap into place like a reluctant rubber band.

We inch forwards. The area outside of Delilah's protective bubble is painted pitch black by the unforgiving rain, meaning we can't scope for Dieter. In fact, unless Maverick snags a drift of Dieter's thoughts to follow, we won't see Dieter until we're right on top of him. At this rate, it could take the rest of the day and night to find him. I glance at Delilah. Despite the icy temperatures a sheen of sweat wets her forehead. Veins pop out on her forearms and neck. She can't keep giving this much energy for very much longer.

"Up ahead," Maverick shouts. "I'm picking something up."

"Is it Dieter?" I shout back. Delilah's wind dome is only partially successful in blocking out the racket of the storm.

"Can't tell for sure." He shakes his head. "Their thoughts are too frantic. I can't decipher it."

It's a bare straw, but it's the only lead we have and it's better than nothing. We alter our course according to some rough guesswork on Maverick's part and trudge on. The wind dome weakens, ripping like tissues paper every few minutes to let gusts maul us until Delilah patches the tear. We're playing a dangerous game against mother nature.

At the trunk of a massive fallen tree, Maverick halts. His eyes sweep down the trunk and off into the pitch. He traces a squiggly line over the rain-slick surface with his fingertips, then stops and drums the trunk lightly.

"I've found him," he says, but his expression wavers. His lips tug down at the corners as if he's not entirely sure. Delilah and I share a glance, then turn to face the fallen tree. It is a monstrosity, huge compared to the saplings and skinny poplars that dominate the area. After a brief pause I voice the concern on both of our minds.

"Under the tree?"

"You bet."

"So, he's dead. Crushed."

Maverick scrunches his face. "Dead people can't think." He taps his right temple.

Oh, that's comforting. Dieter's not dead, he's only mostly dead, pinned under this giant of a tree, skewered by a branch or two and panicking so hard that Maverick can't even make sense of his thoughts. By the time we get to him, he's either going to be the rest of the way dead, or there's not going to be anything we can do except make his death more comfortable. There isn't a version of this where Dieter survives.

"This is where you come in." He taps the tree, being careful not to jostle it in any way. "But first we gotta find where Dieter has got himself pinned." He swings his arm around and points with two fingers down the trunk.

"That way first."

Once again, we set off following Maverick. I fall back to the very edge of Delilah's protective bubble. The wind nips at my heels like a bratty puppy. My eyes are glued to the side of the trunk closest to the ground. Upon closer inspection, I can make out an eensy weensy space between the heavy tree and the unforgiving ground. The tree is resting on something somewhere down the line. I cringe internally, I'm familiar with begin crushed under something impossibly heavy. And knowing you could never lift it in a hundred years. Knowing no one is coming to save you. Knowing you're going to die there, pinned. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

We carry on as fast as we dare, watching the ground beneath the tree for a body, or a sign we're getting close. I expect blood, but it's the glimmer of something lighter that catches my eye first. Tangled with the stub of a long-gone twig, fluttering slightly, is a clump of fine blonde hair. It's way too long to belong to Dieter. Before I have a chance to look closer at the clump, Maverick shouts.

"Found—" He cuts off as Delilah's bubble pops, plunging us both into the maelstrom. She jerks her arm to force the dome back up. Maverick wipes the rain out of his face but doesn't comment. He gestures down at the base of the trunk, and I crouch to get a better view of what he's showing us. I find myself inches away from a pale, feminine face.

Not Dieter, not by a long shot. I pull back in surprise. Her wide green eyes flit over me, straining to see. Branches on either side of her look like they took the brunt of the weight when the tree fell. Since then, they have sagged, and now the trunk rests almost entirely on her chest.

"It's not Dieter," I say for Delilah's benefit. The woman under the tree opens her mouth but no sound escapes. The tree must be crushing her lungs.

"What are we supposed to do?" I ask.

"We have to get her out of there," Mav answers. "Can you lift it?"

"Yes," I say, but uncertainty bleeds through. I'm sure I can lift the tree. I'm less sure I can keep it off the ground with this storm ripping around us.

"Do it fast," Delilah says, "I'm tapped out, we have to go back."

Mav bites his knuckle. "Okay, we'll get her out and then go back," he says.

"What about Dieter?" I ask. He's the whole reason we're out here.

"She's all I sense."

So, Dieter really is either dead or flung away out of Maverick's reach. Either way, we're not getting to him before the storm gets to us.

"Get ready to pull her out." I rock forward on my heels and jam my hands as far under the trunk as I can get them.

Maverick crouches by the woman's head. She stares up at us, a mixture of terror and disbelief plain on her sharp features. I heave, the tree rocks, and a sharp cry bursts from her.

Damn. She's lying too angled for me to roll the tree, it'll crush her legs. I'll have to lift straight up. I switch grips, brace, and haul up. This tree is nothing, I tell myself. My arms strain and I lift from my legs, like they taught me in the Compound. Two-point-nine tons, I can lift two-point-nine tons, this tree is inconsequential. The wood groans as it is lifted from its resting place. The bark bites into my bare skin, and I lean back a tad to distribute the weight more evenly.

Maverick moves in quickly. He hooks his hands under her armpits and drags her out from under the tree. During the process something snags on one of the branches, causing the tree to lurch. I jolt rapidly to keep the trunk from collapsing back onto the woman, crushing her for good. I over-correct, and the trunk ends up crushed into my face. Bark scrapes like sandpaper, the tree wobbles.

It reminds me of that day back at the Compound, with the huge concrete weights.

The heaving and the trembling limbs.

The knowing that I was pushing myself too far, and the worse knowledge of what they would do to Elle if I didn't keep pushing.

Then the collapsing, the falling, and the pain, and my legs—my legs—and the fear.

The absolute, overwhelming, fear.

My breath hitches in my chest and won't release. Not soon enough, Maverick gets the woman clear. I can't set the trunk down fast enough, but before it reaches the ground, Delilah's bubble snaps like a rubber band.

Rain blinds me. An overpowering gale gusts the trunk clean out of my grasp and threatens to fling my body into the air as well. The tree flies up as if possessed, and the wind pushes it over top of me.

It's falling. On me. It's going to crush me. It's going to kill me.

I'm already shaky from the burst of panic that came moments earlier. My muscles lock of their own accord at this new danger, and I can't force myself to jump out of the way.

Sharp pain cracks across my face, but it's not from the tree. I think somebody slapped me. My vision snaps back into crisp focus, blessed air hits my lungs and loosens my panic-cramped limbs. Delilah's bubble has made a reappearance. Maverick is in front of me, his hands on either side of my shoulders. His eyes search mine for a sign that I'm back from wherever my mind went. Residual strands of the panic he must have heard screaming from my brain peek from the corners of his eyes.

"You good?" he asks. I peer over his shoulder at the tree. It's now several feet away, lying flat on the ground.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." I reach up and wipe the lenses of my glasses. He claps my shoulders.

"Let's head back." He turns to address the other two. "We'll have to look for Dieter tomorrow." He says, thinly masking his resignation. He pauses a moment, considering the woman. I take the time to get a better look at her as well. She's on her feet, gripping a heavy pack in one hand while the other is wrapped tight around her ribs, her lean, muscled shoulders curve forward. She's clearly hurt. Her face is haggard, her nose is thin and sharp, her chin is pointed, and her eyes are hard like jagged shards of glass. Her hair is muddied and bracken from the dirty ground, but it's possible to make out strands of blonde, so pale it's almost white.

The woman driving the ATV had the same coloring. Suspicion washes over me. I step around Maverick and grab the woman by the collar of her stiff jacket, her eyes widen. She's sporting the unmistakable camouflage of army fatigues. Cool metal presses into my palm and I look down at the dog tags around her neck.

She's Army.

She helped steal Elle.

I grab her until her bones creak under my grip. She chokes, her mouth twists in a picture of surprise and pain.

"No—please." She gasps, "I-I have a—" I narrow my eyes and lift her, so her toes barely scrape the dirt. Her hands claw at mine.

"A little girl," she rasps. "Marsya."

"How ironic," I sneer and drop her. Her knees buckle, she crumples at my feet. "I had a little girl too, do you know what happened to her?"

"Da," she wheezes at the same time Maverick intervenes.

"By the stars, Trick, calm down." His hand clamps over my shoulder and he yanks me away from the woman. I bat him away, incensed.

"Tell me," I demand. The woman winces, her arm is wrapped protectively around her. To her credit, she doesn't shrink away. "What do you know? Where is she?"

"Trick, stop." Maverick jerks me back once again, this time he drags me farther away.

"She took Elle," I snarl, struggling to free myself. It should be easy, but my arms aren't cooperating quite like they should. Another of Maverick's handy-dandy telepath tricks. One he never uses because it's exhausting and headache-inducing. Mind control.

"Ice it," he commands again, his words have taken on an ethereal tone. Sapped of the ability to move, my mind takes that moment to catch up, and suddenly I'm aware that, without realizing it, I've slipped into dueling mode. "She wants to help us get Elle back. She snuck away to come find us and take us to the camp because she thinks what the military is doing is wrong."

I look to the woman for confirmation. She dips her chin and stares at the ground, refusing to meet my gaze. Her long fingers twist around the chain of her dog tags, her chest rising and falling with rapid wheezes.

"My name is Anushka Tatyanin," she says, her accent is thick, and her English is broken. "I am a Sergeant in the thirty-sixth regiment of Krovavaya Brigáda." Her breathing evens. "We were on a mission to find escaped Experiments. I thought we were looking for animals but when we found your group, the lieutenant commanded us to—to," she hesitates, grasping for the right word.

"Capture us?" Maverick supplies. She nods.

Her fingers clench around her chain. "I am sorry. I want to return her to you, we should not have captured the little one."

By the time she's done apologizing, I've shrugged back into my own mental skin. A majority of me is unwilling to return to normal, but I quash the anger and stuff it where it can't be found. Maverick, sensing that I have control of myself, releases me. Free, I run a hand over my face, shoving my glasses out of the way, and heave a sigh. A knife of guilt for forcing him to pull that out when he's already in rough shape twists in my chest.

"Can you walk?" he asks Anushka. She raises her head to look at him.

"Da."

"We found shelter not far from here, if you agree to help us get Elle back, then you can come back with us," he offers. He would probably let her hide from the storm with us anyways. Then again, the ultimatum he gave Dieter comes to mind.

"I want to help you, but." She holds up a hand to stop us. "You must also promise safety for my child, Marsya. What I am doing is treason, the Bloody Brigade will kill me if I am caught, and they will try to hurt her. Please, she is only four."

A sympathetic pang goes through my gut. I hadn't noticed earlier, but Anushka is young. She can't be that much older than me.

"We'll keep her safe," I promise before Maverick can answer. He shoots me a dubious look but holds his tongue. Anushka's relief is palpable.

"Thank you," she breathes. "I will help you get your malyshku back."