PUSHING PAST MASON, I enter the surveillance room and he follows, closing the door behind us with a click.

He comes to stand next to me as I appraise the multitude of computer screens before us, showcasing different areas of the hospital, and I glance at him, looking at the glow of the blue light gracing his features. The last thing on my mind should be how attractive he looks, but despite this, I can't seem to shake the thought away. He doesn't seem to notice my stare, narrowing his eyes as they dart over each monitor. He brings a hand to his chin, humming under his breath thoughtfully.

I turn my gaze and my focus back to the task at hand, observing the grainy shots of the building. Apart from several nurses and doctors roaming the halls, they're virtually empty, and I'm grateful for that. But still, I can't help but feel paranoid. Creeping back over to the door, I twist the lock, breathing deeply when I've assured myself that no one can get in.

Mason takes a step closer to the screens, before slowly raising his hand and pointing at one in particular. "That'll be the one," he says quietly.

It's a shot of the back entrance of the hospital, where little activity is happening. It gives a view of the edge of the cemented parking lot, the looming forest just behind it, looking like a dark entity. The camera's night vision makes it look creepier than it actually is, but knowing that's where I was brought that night makes chills run down my spine. Suddenly, I'm not so sure if I want to see what's on these tapes.

Mason sits down in one of the swivel chairs, in front of the keyboard, and I tentatively take the seat next to him, feeling my palms beginning to sweat. Swallowing hard, I focus on looking at the monitors, trying to be helpful, instead of a distraction.

"What do we do now?" I ask in a small face, turning to examine his side profile.

"We need to find the code," he says, pushing his cap up slightly to rub at his forehead. "Mark said there should be a copy in the filing cabinet. See if you can find anything in there."

I stand, locating the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. As quietly as I can manage, I latch onto the handle of the top drawer, pulling it open and peering inside. I pore through the file folders, not finding anything of particular interest, before moving onto the next drawer and winding up with similar results. The third drawer is locked and doesn't budge when I tug on it, so I try the fourth, crouching down and gazing at the contents inside.

Instead of meticulously organized manila folders, there are random documents tossed carelessly. They most likely didn't have anywhere else to put them, and I'm about to consider the drawer as write-off until I spot something else. I frown, plucking the small slip of paper from the floor of the cabinet drawer. It's a series of numbers and letters, and it looks like some sort of password.

"Hey," I say, turning to look over my shoulder, and he glances up from his spot across the room. "Do you think this is it?"

He takes a step closer, coming to stand close behind me, ducking his head to look at the paper in my hands, and I risk a glimpse of his face as he reads the combination of characters on the page, taking in the frown of concentration creasing his eyebrows.

"Only one way to find out," he remarks, going back to take his seat in front of the computer again. "Can you read it to me?"

I slowly reel off the correct numbers and letters, and he types them in, hitting enter, and both of our gazes focus on the main screen. It takes a few seconds, but we get into the system, and Mason breathes a sigh of relief, turning to give me a smile. "We make a good team," he tells me, and my lips twitch.

I scoot my chair a little closer to both the monitors, unintentionally bringing myself closer to him as I lean forward, narrowing my eyes. "So, you can just type in a date and it'll pull it up?" I ask.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shrug in the eerie light. "That's what I'm hoping," he says, before entering a date in late September into the system. It's strange to see the exact date of when this all happened to me, to know that it was the last day where I was fully myself, still aware of all my memories and past experiences.

He scrolls through the tape in fast forward, and we watch in silence as cars enter and leave the parking lot at hyper-speeds. There are glimpses of different people, both hospital staff and visitors, as the black and white image gradually gets darker, indicating nightfall. Suddenly, he pauses it at a particular point, and I look at him, catching sight of the uneasy look on his face.

"It should be around here," he announces, his voice low, and the familiar feeling of dread settles in my stomach. I bite the inside of my cheek, a wave of dizziness washing over me quite suddenly, and I fight to keep my breathing even. He studies me, his eyebrows furrowing. "Are you sure you want to see this? I can watch it by myself."

Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, shaking my head. Wordlessly, I rest my hand on the armrest of my chair, my palm facing up, and he follows the movement, before looking up to meet my eyes. He understands the question I'm asking without speaking, slipping his hand into mine and intertwining our fingers. He presses play, and my grip on his hand becomes tighter as the tape continues to roll on in fast forward.

My eyes are riveted to the screen, looking for any signs that something is wrong, and I'm too scared to breathe. For a long time, nothing seems to happen, but then the back door opens, and I catch sight of the top of Dr. Meyer's neatly combed head.

"There," I blurt, pointing at the screen with my free hand, and Mason rewinds a few milliseconds, allowing the tape to play at the normal speed.

Seconds later, a car hastily pulls up, parking haphazardly, and Dr. Meyer waits by the entrance. The two car doors that are visible fly open at different times, and the infamous three step out, all looking various degrees of agitated. The camera quality isn't the greatest, but I can still tell from Dylan's body language that he's worried and frantic, his movements hurried. James' shoulders are tense and wired, though it almost looks like he's bouncing from excitement, and I begin to feel sick.

Zoe is the most chilling to observe. Her body looks tense, but her movements are still fluid and graceful as she strolls over to her uncle, dark splotches staining her blouse, and they discuss something—most likely what they're going to do with me. All of this is hard to stomach, but the thing that stops me in my tracks is when James goes back to the car, reaching inside to pull something out, and Mason staggers to the ground, a fistful of his shirt in James' hands.

My breath catches in horror at the sight, taking note of Mason's sluggish movements, and it's clear he's been roughed up considerably. I glance at him sitting next to me, sure my grip on his hand has become deadly, but he merely swallows, keeping his eyes on the screen before setting his jaw. I feel incoming tears springing to my eyes, so I blink furiously, following his gaze.

Steeling myself, I place my free hand over our intertwined fingers, looking back at the screen, trying to avoid looking at the image of Mason and James, and focusing on Zoe and Dr. Meyer. They're still talking and gesturing animatedly, and Meyer looks to be troubled, reaching up and clutching his hair in both of his hands. They both walk toward the trunk of the vehicle, and I begin to feel nauseous. I know what's in there, I've had nightmares about it.

Zoe seems to bark out an order, and James happily obeys her beck and call, waltzing over to the trunk and popping it open. The way they've parked, half of the trunk is out of the frame, but what's inside can still be seen, once he moves out of the way.

The image is very hard to make out, but I can see a body in the trunk—mine—folded up uncomfortably, limbs tucked up in places they normally aren't, and if I look closely, I can see the rough details of my face, streaked with what appears to be blood.

I can't stop the gasp that escapes, as I let go of Mason's hand, pushing away from the desk. He instantly stops the video, looking back at me in concern as I rise out of my seat hastily, my breathing increasing at a dangerous rate. Placing a hand over my chest and squeezing my eyes shut, I try to forget the horrifying image, but I know it's already been seared into my brain permanently.

Turning slightly, I press my head, hoping the cool touch will calm me down. It doesn't. I feel the need to explain my behaviour. "I'm sorry, I just—"

I stop at the sound of him standing from his chair, his footsteps approaching me, and seconds later, he places his hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him. He wraps his arms around me, safely tucking me away, bringing me closer to his warmth, and I hesitate for only a moment, before returning the embrace, screwing my eyes shut and burying my face into the material of his sweater.

"Don't worry," he tells me, his voice low and loud in my ear, the words vibrating in his chest, and I feel them against my cheek. "We're going to give them hell."

✘✘✘

I come to with a start, flinching slightly and blinking into darkness as I straighten out in my seat, feeling a stab of pain in my back.

My eyes dart around wildly, trying to make sense of my surroundings as I inhale sharply through my nose, my eyebrows furrowed. After several moments of hazy confusion, I finally realize I'm sitting in the passenger's seat of Mason's car, the place I last remember being, but we're not parked outside of the hospital anymore. We seem to have taken up residence on a random side street, and I glance to my left, seeing the aforementioned boy still on the driver's side, silent as he gazes out of the window into the black.

He seems to hear me stir, turning to look in my direction, and in the dim light, I can see the soft curve of his lips. "Morning," he teases, and my eyes fly to the time on the dash, seeing it's a little after eleven.

Something slips off my shoulders as I sit up fully, falling into my lap, and looking down I realize it's Mason's jacket. He must have draped it over me at some point.

My forehead remains creased, not totally awake yet, pressing the heel of my palm to my eye, trying to push the sleepiness away. "When did I fall asleep?" I ask, still bewildered.

The last thing I recall is exiting the hospital, after Mason transferred the footage to the jump drive he'd been carrying in his pocket.

"About thirty seconds after we got into the car," Mason tells me, amusement in his voice.

I shake my head again, trying to clear it, a blush creeping into my cheeks. "Why didn't you wake me?"

He lifts a shoulder nonchalantly, turning his gaze back to the street ahead of us. "I figured you could use the rest. You looked exhausted."

"I always look exhausted," I mumble, fighting off another yawn, and stretching out my arms. "It's part of my charm."

He chuckles softly, before turning the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life and pulling away from the curb slowly. Once we're cloaked in silence again, I sober up, fully remembering what all went down tonight. I've had the details of what happened that night explained to me, seen it in my worst nightmares, but seeing solid proof confirms everything in the most horrible way. There's no room left to doubt any of it when I saw it play out before my eyes.

Mason lifts his lips in another gentle smile. "You were sleeping pretty soundly," he observes, and I feel a surge of embarrassment at the thought of him watching me sleep. "Any nightmares?"

I think for a moment. "No," I say, astonishment creeping into my tone. "None."

It hits me then that I didn't have any nightmares last night either, and when I process the common factor between the two times, my eyes flicker back to the boy next to me.

"I'm glad," he says, his eyes returning to the road.

My eyebrows furrow at that as I consider, and I gaze out of the window distantly as we slowly drive under street lamps, and around corners, on the way to my house. He pulls into the drive, and I make to get out of the car, sliding the jacket off my shoulders again, placing my hand on the door handle, before pausing. "Thanks for the other night, by the way You didn't have to come pick us up, but you did. I appreciate that."

"No problem," he says, his tone light.

After the door is open, I hesitate. Mason's car feels like a safe place, and I know Audrey and Sofia will most likely be asleep already. I don't want to be alone. Swallowing, I chew on the inside of my lip, considering asking him to come inside. That would be a horrible idea, as Sofia would have a conniption if she found out a boy stayed the night, even if there were no romantic implications.

I take a deep, steadying breath, trying to gear myself to exit the car completely.

"Hey," I hear Mason's voice again, gentle this time, and it's clear he's noticed how uncomfortable I look with leaving. "This is going to be over soon, alright?" His voice is reassuring, and I turn back to him, studying his eyes under the interior light of the car, having flickered to life when I opened the door. "We'll go to the police station tomorrow afternoon. We're almost in the clear."

"Yeah," I say shakily. "Yeah, that's right."

Feeling slightly better about the situation, I step outside, my feet hitting the pavement, and I'm about to close the door before thinking better of it, ducking down to look at Mason inside again. He looks at me quizzically, and I press my lips together, feeling mildly embarrassed. "After I get inside," I begin, my voice slow, then pause, squeezing my eyes shut. "Can I... call you?"

My question is met with nothing but silence, and I feel stupid for asking the question. I don't know when I became this desperate and needy, but I know listening to his voice is comforting, and I prefer it over the upcoming silence of the house before me.

"Of course," he says sincerely, and I open my eyes to look at his face. It's stoic as ever, but his eyes are soft, and that's enough.

I give him a small smile, feeling heat in my cheeks. "Thanks."

He nods once. "Talk to you soon."

With those parting words, I close the door, backing away from the car. Mason waits until I'm safely inside the front door to drive away, and I appreciate it. The house is as silent and ghostly as I expected it to be, and I kick my shoes off, feeling entirely too noisy. After shrugging out of my coat and hanging it on the hook, I make my way through the dark house.

After changing into my pajamas and brushing my teeth, I peel back my comforter, crawling under it and settling against the pillows, my phone gripped tightly in my hand. I think I gave Mason enough time to safely get back home, but I wait a few more beats, just in case, my pulse a little faster than normal.

I've spoken to him on the phone several times, but this time feels different for some reason. I've just swiped my thumb across the screen, unlocking the phone, when it lights up with an incoming call, surprising me. The very familiar number displays before my eyes, and I let it ring a couple times before answering, biting my lip.

"Mason," I say, by way of a greeting.

"Alina," he returns, and my lips curve upward slightly.

Sinking further into the pillows, I stare up at the dark ceiling. "I said I was going to be the one to call," I tease, my voice quiet.

"You took too long."

A fluttery sensation arises in my stomach, and I bite my lip, trying not to overthink his words, but failing miserably. There's a silence on the other end of the line, and I pause, my smile fading into a frown. "How are you holding up?" I ask.

"I'm okay," he says quietly, before changing his answer. "I'll be okay. We don't need to talk about it, though. It's not exactly a nice bedtime story."

"Fair enough," I agree, raising my eyebrows, though I do truly want to know if he's okay. He rarely talks about how he feels, but I don't want to force him. "We'll talk about happier things, then." I pause. "If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"

He laughs quietly, and I enjoy the sound in my ear. "Toronto," he answers.

"Out of anywhere in the world?" I question, before yawning, my eyelids beginning to feel droopy.

"I'm a simple guy. All I need is a place where I can be invisible. Though I guess that's not all that different from here."

My eyes fall closed, and I shake my head sleepily, even though he can't see it. "You're not invisible to me."

"Thanks," he murmurs softly.

"Tell me about Toronto," I urge, steadily losing my grip on consciousness.

He obliges, and I concentrate on his voice in my ear, humming in interest every few moments, until it eventually carries me off to sleep, the phone slipping out of my hand, a vague smile curling my lips.