Iris~~

I pull open the front door of Chester's, the smell of fried food initiating the grumble from my stomach. The inclement weather seems to have caused a flood of patrons. The separate conversations join together in a potluck of words—I'm not really sure what I'm hearing, but they all come together to create a buzzing energy, life. This is my favorite restaurant. I was here earlier for lunch. It was the first place I ate when I moved to Baltimore. I focus my eyes on an empty booth in the back room and guide Erik under a wooden archway to a green checkered table.

My hand scoots along with me as I slide over the brown vinyl cushion of the booth. "My last name is Levine."

He already has his silverware unrolled, laying the napkin across his lap. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Yes, it was supposed to be a signal for you to say your own last name. "No, decorum obligated me to say it."

He folds his hands and looks at the wall.

I drum my fingers across the cushion. "You?"

"My last name is inconsequential to someone in your position."

My fingers pause. "That means?"

He glances at a rather expensive looking watch on his wrist. "At the most you have two hours to store my last name in your head. It would be a waste to tell you."

I start drumming my fingers again. He didn't have to be my personal timer. Also, he's horrible at acting like he has nothing to hide. Does he really think I don't recognize him? I don't know what danger there would be in telling someone who has less than two hours to live. Maybe he thinks since it's my last day, I'll lash out at him—not the worst assumption considering I did invite him to eat with me, hoping there would be the possibility for revenge.

Erik stares at me. Uncomfortable, I reach for the closest object to occupy my hands with—the salt shaker.

"Are you wearing contacts?" he asks.

Sitting up, I set the salt shaker down. It wobbles. "What—"

"Welcome to Chester's." Our waitress sets two menus in front of us. When she pulls back her arm, I see she has less than five years. "Can I get you started with something to drink?"

I glance at Erik, but he's still staring at me. "A cherry soda, please," I say.

The waitress looks at him.

"Water."

She leaves, and I return my focus to the salt shaker.

"Contacts?" he asks.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Are you wearing contacts?" He sounds irritated.

"No. I don't need them."

Even though I know what I want, I study the menu. Erik can't admit his last name, but he thinks I should answer any ridiculous question he has? I rub my forehead. How did I think I could possibly get revenge on the Society in two hours? Kidnap him? I won't be around long enough for them to even realize he's gone.

After the waitress returns and takes our orders, she collects the menus. Erik still stares at me.

"Why aren't you with family?"

I could ask him the same thing. "They're dead." I never knew my birth parents, but the directors of my orphanage, Kirk and Lilyana, were like parents in a way. Kirk was there when I shot my first gun at six. Lilyana showed me how to bake poison into food. They taught me how to be a rebel, but their lessons on why I should want to be one took seventeen years to sink in and yet were squashed on the same day.

"Friends?"

"Non-existent."

I watched the Society burn down my home with Lilyana and Kirk locked inside. I stood there with the other kids I grew up with, who I trained to rebel with, and we cried, all the training pointless in the end. The Society kept us from doing anything. I don't put stock in the rebellions. I've experienced first-hand how powerless they are. What made me think I could ever hurt them, let alone destroy them on my own?

"Surely there has to be one."

I take a long sip of my drink. I would have thought so too. As much as Kirk's and Lilyana's deaths broke my heart, the way my friends betrayed me after, shattered my heart worse. "There isn't." I twist my hands around each other in my lap. "How long have you been in Baltimore?"

The muscles in his neck flex. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious. I haven't been here that long."

"A few years," he says, reaching for his drink.

Half of me wants to call him out on his lie. The other half knows I need to play it cool. The new Order is in the process of being initiated into their positions. His ceremony has to be in less than a week. I love this city, I really do, but why would he choose to be in Baltimore when it's so close to his home? He can go anywhere if he was looking for a vacation. Anywhere in the world.

"By yourself?" I ask.

"If you're asking if I'm single, I'm sorry to be the one to point this out to you, but I don't think we'd work out." He has the gall to have a humorous tone. But then his smile that had just surfaced disappears. "Has anyone told you, you have beautiful eyes?"

I purse my lips, the skin between my eyes drawing together. My eyes are green, and when I look in the mirror, they definitely aren't enough to be the sole focus of my attention. "Uhh, no."

"They're what made me turn back in time to help you."

"Oh." I hate that that's what comes out, but what other reaction can I have? On one hand, I'm incredibly grateful for my eyes right now, but on the other, I'm kind of creeped out by his dawning obsession with them.

The waitress sets a salad in front of Erik and my chocolate chip pancakes in front of me. I breathe in the scent and study them, my stomach churning. They're my guilty pleasure, but they're also my last meal. Erik is already eating his salad. After a few minutes, he sets his fork down, his expression troubled.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

I shake my head. "What if it poisons me or I choke on it?"

"You have so little time. Whatever is going to kill you is going to. You can't escape it. So, if those pancakes are what is going to do you in, then you might as well enjoy them."

I can't help the tears that surface in my eyes. "You don't understand. I'm . . . nervous—so scared that I'm sick." The day that you can truthfully think to yourself, I'm going to die tomorrow, is the day that you live. You cry a lot, but you do a lot. On your Expiration Date, though, you accept your fate.

But that's impossible to do.

"Fate's cruel to drag this out so long for you. But I'll stay with you until the end. No one deserves to die alone."

"You could be what kills me."

A pause. "I could. But I can assure you that if I am, it won't be on purpose. What would have been the point in helping you earlier?"

I duck my head to hide the tears from him. "I thought I was going to die then. I saw the light. I—I couldn't move."

"My dear Iris." There's a teasing lilt to his voice. I look up, startled by the endearment, though his tone is far from caring. It's on the border of mocking. "You know you can't speed up or slow down your death." He scoffs. "You were never going to die then."

"I know that now." I do, right? I don't know if I really want Erik Blackwood with me for my last hour. He said no one deserves to die alone, but with his odd fixation with my eyes, I can't help but wonder if he's sticking around so he can pry them out of me when I'm dead.

Or before.