AFTER A RESTLESS night, I wake up ready for war.

During the sleepless hours I spent in the darkness of my bedroom, my mind was buzzing and alive, Mason's words still fresh in my head, and I went over it all countless times. The betrayal, the deception, the murder plot that went awry when it became too real. Remarkably, the more I processed the situation, the less afraid I began to feel, making way for a blinding rage that's lasted until this morning, and I don't think it'll be going away any time soon.

The fact that they actually had the audacity to go through this whole thing, and that they thought they could actually get away with it—that they still think they can—infuriates me to no end. They need to pay for what they've done to me.

I feel like an idiot for all the effort I've put into trying to make them like me, to protect their feelings, and meet their expectations, when all the while they're the reason my life has been ruined.

The moment it's somewhat socially acceptable to be awake, I fly out of bed, getting dressed and putting effort into my appearance for the first time in what feels like a long time. I'm not sure why, since I don't have anyone to impress, but if I show up at school looking put-together and confident, it might piss Zoe off, and that the thought of that gives me a twisted sense of satisfaction.

It's still quiet in the house when I creep down the stairs. As stealthily as I can manage, I head for the front door, slipping into my shoes, pulling on my coat and grabbing my school bag. After glancing at the address displaying on my phone screen, I slide the device into my pocket, leaving home and walking down the drive. It takes a while, but I eventually reach my destination.

Taking a deep breath, I stare at the house in front of me, looking for signs of life. After several moments of nothing, I pull out my cell phone. Navigating to my messages, I shoot off a new one, typing quickly.

Come outside, it reads, humming as it delivers.

Sliding it back into my pocket, I lift my chin, my gaze returning to the house as I wait once more.

It doesn't take long for the front door to open, and a very disoriented-looking Mason Byrne to appear.

His ice blue eyes are bewildered, dark hair mussed with sleep, and he remains in the doorway wordlessly, shaking his head as if to clear it. Swallowing, I approach him, walking up the creaky wooden steps of the porch until I'm two feet away from him. The shocked look on his face doesn't budge, his eyes running over my face, as if the sight of me standing on his front porch is too strange to comprehend.

"How did you find my house?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Google," I say promptly, and one of his own eyebrows quirks up in response as I slide past him, my shoulder grazing his chest, escaping the chill.

Once I'm safely inside, he closes the door behind me, locking it. The entryway of the Byrne house is small and cramped, and I find myself trapped between Mason and the front door, though he makes no moves to let me further into the house. I try to ignore our close proximity and the racing of my heart. He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks me over, and despite his clear lack of approval of my presence, he appears to be slightly amused.

"You really shouldn't be here," he lectures me,tone scolding, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes as he glances out of the window. With another heavy sigh, he leans back against the wall behind him, lifting a brow. "Well, Castillo," he says, "you have my attention. What are you doing at my house at six forty-five in the morning?"

Straightening up, I lift my chin in an attempt to look stern and intimidating. "You told me you have a plan. I want to hear it."

Mason sighs tiredly, nodding. "I should've guessed."

"Well?" I urge, looking at him expectantly. "Are you going to be a gentleman and invite me in?"

He pauses for several moments in consideration, before taking a step back, turning to go further into the house, and he gestures for me to follow him. "We can talk in the backyard."

I nod wordlessly, trailing behind him as we creep through the silent corridor, tiptoeing on the creaky kitchen floor until we reach the door to the patio. He slides it open slowly, allowing me to exit, and I do so, greeted by the brisk morning air once more. I pause outside of the door, waiting until he joins me, closing the door behind him. He gestures to the deck stretching out in front of us, and I take a seat on a step, tucking my hands between my knees to keep them warm, and he sits beside me a second later, running a hand through his bedhead.

"So," I start, sighing. "I'm assuming your master plan involves me getting back together with Dylan."

"Correct," he remarks. "That should buy us some more time."

I'm unable to stifle the groan of displeasure that escapes me as I lean back next to Mason, squeezing my eyes shut. Never mind the fact that Dylan was part of the plot to murder me, the boy is just annoying as hell in general. "Fuck me."

Mason does little to hide the amusement in his voice when he speaks next. "It's a little early for that, don't you think?"

My eyes fly open, and I'm quick to glare at him, though my lips threaten to quirk up into a smile. "That's not funny."

Uncharacteristically, his mouth breaks out into a grin and he holds up his hands in surrender. "You're right, I'm sorry."

I allow my gaze to linger on him a moment longer, caught off guard by his easy smile and good humour. It's all completely out of place and inappropriate given the current circumstances, but I can't help but wonder if this is the way things used to be, before everything went horribly wrong. Maybe Mason used to joke with us, and maybe seeing him smile didn't always feel like such a rare gift. I begin to imagine how different his life would be if he never got involved with me in the first place. Thinking about it all makes a deep sadness settle in my bones, and I can feel my expression fall ever so slowly.

His eyebrows furrow as he processes the change, and I clear my throat, blinking and snapping out of my reverie.

"Anyway," I say, folding my arms over my chest, ready to get down to business, "tell me the rest of the plan."

✘✘✘

Talking to Dylan is the first order of business.

I pull open the heavy door to the school, entering and hauling in a deep breath between my teeth. The scenario is not unlike the one I experienced days ago, the first time Mason ordered me to fix my relationship with Dylan. I had been so scared, the mere sound of Dylan's voice enough to send me running. But not this time. This time I'm ready.

It doesn't take long to locate my old crew, and I find them standing in a cluster near James' locker. They're always together, like wolves. I need to separate Dylan from the pack.

James is the first to spot me. Previously, he was leaning against his locker, but he straightens up when he sees me, a hint of a smirk on his face as he raises an eyebrow, and I have to resist the urge to scowl. He hushes Zoe, jerking his chin in my direction, and they all turn to look at me abruptly, shock flickering over their expressions. I approach them slowly, and Dylan's eyebrows furrow as he watches me. I suppose they're probably expecting me to bolt at the last second, the way I did last time, but I remain rooted in place once I reach them.

I do my best to look apologetic, frowning and forcing my eyes to water with false tears. Zoe eyes me skeptically, pursing her red lips and crossing her arms over her chest, but Dylan instantly looks sympathetic. I scoff internally at how easy it is to win him over. Mason was right, he really is naive.

"Hey," I murmur quietly.

"Hey, Allie," he returns in a similar fashion, sticking his hands into his pockets and ducking his head.

The contrite, devastated ex-boyfriend act is getting old.

Looking at him tearfully, I chew on the inside of my lip. "Can we talk? I have something I've been wanting to say."

"I do too," he says, nodding eagerly, and in my peripheral vision, I see Zoe's eyes narrow. "Maybe we could go somewhere at lunch."

Forcing my lips up into a small smile, I nod as well. "I'd really like that."

His face softens. "Me too."

"See you then."

I turn around, unable to keep my lips from curling into a twisted smile once they can't see it, and I begin to set off for the English classroom. He's really making it too easy. A dark excitement flickers in my chest at the thought of getting to ruin all of them, to pretend to be their ally, the way they've pretended to be mine.

The morning passes by in a blur, and at lunch, I find Dylan waiting for me by the entrance to the parking lot.

He leans against the wall, hands stuck in his pockets, his foot tapping with what appears to be nerves, or agitation. I work on controlling my expression, using the brief few seconds before he looks my way to prepare myself. I can't let him have even the slightest suspicion that I've learned the truth about what happened to me.

When his eyes flicker in my direction, I give him a hesitant smile that he returns in kind, and I maneuver through the flow of students to reach him.

"Allie," he greets softly, and his brown eyes take in my features. My name always seems to hold a certain reverence when it falls from his lips, as though there's no one he regards with higher respect, and while that knowledge is disturbing, given the context of his actions, I can't help but feel a twisted sense of victory. It's going to be so easy to destroy him when the time comes.

Pressing my lips together in what I hope appears to be trepidation, I drop my chin in a minuscule nod. "Hi," I return meekly.

"Do you mind if we go out somewhere to eat?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. "It's too stuffy on campus."

Immediately, warning bells and sirens go off in my head, a surprising bout of panic seizing my chest at the thought of going anywhere with him alone, and the idea of going somewhere out of Mason's vicinity. At least here, at school, I know Mason isn't far, and could help me if I really needed it. My breathing threatens to pick up, so I swallow, forcing it to remain under my control.

I'm overreacting. Dylan has clearly been looking forward to this talk. There's no way he'll try to hurt me if he thinks we're going to get back together.

"Not at all," I lie, and my light tone sounds forced, causing me to cringe internally. "Lead the way."

He sends me a grateful smile, before pushing the door open and allowing me to exit. We walk side by side in silence, making our way over to his car. Closing my eyes for a tiny moment, I breathe in deeply through my nose, sliding into the passenger's side.

Pender Falls goes by in a blur as we ride along, a myriad of trees and glimpses of the top of mountains, and I gaze out of the window silently, my mind blank. We arrive at a fast food joint soon after, and Dylan easily slides into a parking space. Once outside, he falls into step beside me, walking a little closer than necessary, and I try not to bristle in response. When we reach the front door of the building, he opens it for me, and I give him a quick smile of thanks before ducking past his watchful eyes.

After collecting our food, we take a seat at a table near the back. Dylan crosses his arms, resting them on the table. Taking a deep breath, I meet his eyes, studying them, looking for any signs of apparent guilt.

But it seems as though he's able to look at me without thinking of everything that happened that night. I have no idea how, since I'm able to think of little else.

"So," he begins, after breathing deeply. "How've you been?"

Biting my lip gently, I sigh. "Not great," I say, and it isn't a lie, though the next words are. "It's been... really hard. Without you." His eyes instantly become sympathetic, his eyebrows tipping upward, and it makes me want to roll my eyes. Breathing in shakily, I make sure my voice sounds like it's on the verge of breaking. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you after I got home from the hospital. This all feels like a new world to me, and I'm still adjusting, but I shouldn't have pushed you away. I didn't realize how much I needed you until we were apart."

He gives me a sad smile, before his gaze drops to my hand, and he reaches for it. My breathing hitches slightly, my hand twitching, but I force myself to intertwine our fingers, as nausea begins to brew in the pit of my stomach. Feeling encouraged, his thumb grazes over my own softly. "You don't have to apologize," he murmurs. "I understand. I should apologize too. I shouldn't have been so forward, and I should've given you more space. I'm actually not surprised you wanted to break up. But I figured if I gave you a bit of a breather, you'd come back in the end, anyway."

My teeth clench at his words, but I force myself to smile. Egotistical asshole, I curse mentally, briefly tempted to pick up the fork on the table and stab it through his eye socket. "Call it fate," I force out, hating each word as it falls from my lips.

His smile spreads as he nods, and he gives my hand a squeeze that sends chills down my spine. "You're exactly right. God, I'm so glad to have you back."

Pursing my lips, I pretend to consider. "I do have one condition," I say.

"Uh oh." He quirks an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. "Am I going to need a lawyer to look over this contract?"

I roll my eyes good-naturedly, and he smiles again, before I look at him seriously. "We really do need to take things slow this time," I remark, raising my eyebrows. "I mean it."

"Of course," he says emphatically, eagerly nodding his head. "There's no need to rush. I just want you to be happy."

Seconds later, he launches into a story about something that happened at football practice, and he proceeds to talk for the rest of the hour as I pretend to listen. It's as though he feels the need to catch me up on everything that's happened in the short amount of time that we've been broken up, but by the sounds of it, it doesn't seem like I missed anything worthwhile. After finishing up our food, we decide to make the journey back to school.

Exiting into the fresh air, I stick my hands into the pockets of my coat, heading toward Dylan's car, his footsteps falling a few paces behind me. I'm almost to the door when I feel his hand encircle my wrist, effectively stopping me, and my entire body becomes ice, frigid and stuck in place. I turn to face him, wondering at the reason for the abrupt stop, trying to ignore the feel of his hot grip through the sleeve of my jacket.

"Dylan—" I start.

My next words get lost in my throat, as the next thing I know, Dylan is taking hold of my face and pulling me to him, our lips meeting in a rugged kiss. I flinch, my hands desperate to reach up and shove him off me, but I'm too frozen to do anything about it. He kisses me for several seconds before he pulls away, his thumb grazing my cheek, and I shiver, though not out of pleasure.

When he sees the bewildered look on my face, he grins, removing his hands from my face to hold them up in mock-surrender.

"What the hell?" I blurt, unable to keep myself from sputtering the words, and I quickly throw in a laugh to make me sound less angry.

It works, and his grin remains intact, his hands still up. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, though he doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I just couldn't resist, I had to kiss you at least once. But from here on out, we take it slow. I promise."

He pretends to cross his heart, laughing, before heading to his car and waving for me to follow him. I stand stock-still for a moment or two longer, then force myself to snap out of it, and ignore my deep-rooted disgust.

I allow myself one shudder when I'm out of his line of sight, only following him when I've regained my composure.

✘✘✘

"I wanted to set myself on fire."

Mason's soft chuckle comes through the phone, causing my lips to quirk slightly as I adjust my position on the bed, crossing my legs and sitting up a little straighter. It's been hours since my encounter with Dylan, and I still feel repulsed, especially as I recount all of the events to Mason. Talking about it gives me the urge to go and take a long shower, even though I did so the second I got home from school. I still don't feel clean.

"I don't blame you," he says seriously. "That sounds awful."

I suppress a groan, letting out a sigh instead as I nod, despite the fact that he can't see me. "It was," I agree.

"Well, it seems like you're doing a damn good job so far," he praises, and I lift an eyebrow. "You've already got Dylan back on your side. James will probably be easy, too. Zoe will be the one to give you the most trouble."

"It's going to be so hard to not punch her right in the middle of her stupid face."

He grunts in amusement. "Sorry, princess. You're going to have to exercise a little self-control."

The use of the nickname catches me off guard, and I feel a small flicker of warmth in my chest, despite the fact that he probably used the word as a dig. It occurs to me then how much of a comfort it is just to hear his voice over the phone. I made sure to keep my distance today at school, and I've been on edge because of it. Coming home and talking to him has felt a bit like entering into a safe haven, and it scares me when I realize the amount I've come to trust him in such a short amount of time.

I can't help but wonder if I'm making a mistake.

Pushing aside the tiny doubts I have, I lean back, falling against my pillows with another sigh and staring up at the slanted ceiling. "I feel like a spy or something," I tell him, only half-joking. "Maybe we should get burner phones."

He pauses, and I can practically hear him raise his eyebrows. "That would actually be a good idea. I'll have to look into it."

Laughing, I shake my head. "I was kidding, Nancy Drew."

"Regardless," he says, not put off by my comment, "remember to delete this call from your history."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll remember," I remark, trying to ward off the yawn that creeps into my voice.

He's silent for a moment again, and I blink rapidly, trying to keep my eyes open. A glance at the clock tells me it's still way too early to go to sleep. "And, Alina," he starts, and I wake up a little. "Get some rest tonight."

My eyebrows furrow, still a little thrown off guard every time he shows even an ounce of interest in my well being. I'm not sure why it's so surprising to me, since the boy risked his life to save mine, but that doesn't keep me from feeling a vague sense of shock.

I'm about to respond when I hear a gentle rap on the door, and my eyes follow the sound. Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I keep my gaze fixed on the door. I remove the phone from my ear momentarily, placing my hand over the speaker. "One second," I call to whoever waits on the other side of the door.

"Hey, I gotta go," I tell him, once I've placed the phone back to my ear, keeping my voice down. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure," he responds. "Remember what I told you."

I roll my eyes. "I already said I'd delete the call."

"No," he corrects me, "Get some sleep."

My lips curve up into a gentle smile. "Right," I say, despite the fact that I most likely won't follow his orders. "You, too. Goodnight, Mason."

"Goodnight."