Sitting on the window ledge, I keep up the pretence of reading the book in my hands even though the argument in the room next door has reached a stage where both of us sitting in this room can hear every word said.

The argument is my fault, as are most of the disagreements which have occurred since my arrival four days ago. All of them stem from my unwanted presence.

"Originally you said it was only for a couple of days and now you're telling me it will be a couple of weeks, possibly longer?" The male voice shouts.

"There's been a delay in setting a wedding date due to an administrative mix up; her fiancé is in the process of sorting it out. A few weeks that's all," The female voice responds, her tone calm but assertive.

"Why can't she go to someone from her family?"

"She doesn't have any family which is why I volunteered to take her in."

"I still don't understand-"

"She's a child," The female voice hisses.

"Barely."

"Faryl. It's a few weeks."

"I want our living room back."

"Don't be selfish. If you're so desperate to have access to the living room at all hours, you can sleep on the couch and Cady can sleep in our room with me."

"You can't be serious? What would the neighbours think?"

"Our sleeping arrangements are none of their business."

A sudden increase in the television volume drowns out the voices. I look up at the culprit sitting on the couch. The fifteen-year-old son of the two voices glares at me, remote control in hand as the noise of the program reaches an ear-splitting level. His mouth moves, the sound gets lost among the racket but the words and their sentiment are clear. 'This is all your fault.'

I want to agree and add 'you can't even begin to imagine the extent of what I am at fault for'. Instead, I redirect my gaze to the book in my hand which I can't read; the pages a mass of letters forming lines of nonsense.

All books remind me of Grey and the night he read to me, a night full of firsts. The thought causes my insides to knot and I welcome the pain, it's the reason I continue to sit in this spot every evening feigning interest in an array of books and magazines which I can't read. I do it in the hope of remembering Grey and feeling something.

The ache fades too rapidly and I sigh closing the book. My eyes shift to the wall of photos filled with four smiling family members in various locations. The images restart my internal debate on the reason Dorothea, a fully grown adult, would be willing to take such a big risk. This woman has everything: two children, a husband, a steady job, a perfect house in a perfect neighbourhood and all of it could be taken away because of me, a person she barely knows.

Dorothea walks into the room, takes the remote control out of Max's hand and mutes the television.

"You shouldn't have had to listen to all of that," Dorothea says softly, walking towards me. She rests her hand on my shoulder and I shrug.

I should care. I should feel angry or embarrassed but I don't. I've always been emotionally deficient but I've managed to reach a new level, one where I'm almost completely numb.

All the emotions I felt five weeks ago, when Grey was taken, have slowly drained away; leaving behind a hollow carcass which is barely functioning as I'm moved from place to place by Charlie and Jas.

The old me would have a plan. The old me would have escaped by now. The old me would embrace this new found emotional detachment. The old me is gone.

The new me remains where I've been told and seeks out ways to ignite some resemblance of feeling. I want to be tormented by pain because I deserve it. I'm the reason Grey was killed and now, I'm simply waiting to add more names to my list entitled 'people whose lives were ruined by Cady'.

The list is slowly getting longer. The Official, Gloria, my mum and Grey go under the subheading 'Killed by Cady'. There are others who go under this subheading such as the nameless people who I led into a cascade of bullets when I escaped being kidnapped long ago. I'm so good at ruining lives, I can do it without being formally introduced to a person.

The other subheading is 'Outcome unknown but lives still ruined by Cady'. This list includes Lottie, Darla and the other's from the fight bar.

What subheading will this family come under, 'dead' or 'may as well be dead?'

"I want you to know you can stay here for as long as you want, Cady," Dorothea says, squeezing my shoulder gently.

"Thank you, Dee," I respond flatly.

I don't want to be here but I have nowhere else to go. Not unless I find death appealing and strangely right now, I don't. Yet, this aversion has nothing to do with wanting to live for myself. It's simply because nothing is appealing or unappealing. I'm numb.

I survey the outside world through the window. Evening descends covering everything in a blend of blue and purple dark shadows. Bright lamps flick on illuminating a suburban neighbourhood full of perfectly manicured lawns situated in front of perfectly normal houses filled by perfectly normal families acting perfectly normal moral and wholesome lives.

My desire has been fulfilled. I'm finally living a perfectly normal life in one of those perfectly normal houses with a perfectly normal family. And the final conclusion I've reached after four days is, I hate perfect and normal because it means The State are still functioning and in control.

Grey's death hasn't changed anything or saved anyone like Jas promised. Everything has remained the same.

A loud rumble brings me back into focus and my eyes are drawn to one of the perfectly normal-looking houses across the road. A van parks outside the front, Officials pour out flooding the lawn with green and gold. My heart stops, my whole body becomes rigid and the hand on my shoulder tightens, fingernails digging into my skin.

A young woman and her mother are dragged out of the house. High pitched cries of human agony slice through the air, even brick walls and glass can't soften the sharp wail of desperation produced by their strained vocal cords.

The mother doesn't resist as she's yanked towards the van, a limp form of despair. In contrast, the young woman is kicking and screaming, her face contorted by a range of emotions from fury to sorrow to bewilderment. My mind flashes back to a similar moment, where I had felt those same emotions as Grey was beaten. Then the feeling is gone. I'm numb again.

The young woman continues to resist; it doesn't stop the Officials from throwing her into the back of the van and locking her inside. A man stands in the doorway of the house clinging onto a small baby but disappears from view as curtains close in front of me.

"Max, go to bed," Dorothea orders. Her one shaking hand clenches the fabric of the curtain whilst the other remains on my shoulder.

"But, mum..." Max whines. He's standing next to Dorothea. I hadn't noticed he'd moved from the couch to get a better view of the events unfolding outside.

"Go to bed." Dorothea shouts.

I jump as does Max. Dorothea rarely shouts, rarely gets angry. From my four days here, I already know she is the calm one, the gentle one, the mediator in this family.

Max grumbles but makes himself scarce, ensuring to glare at me one final time before leaving the room. It's his usual method of saying goodnight to me.

Dorothea's hand is still gripping my shoulder tightly, it hurts but I sense she needs to channel her emotions somewhere. I don't mind being her personal stress ball. At least, I'm being useful.

Minutes pass until Dorothea peers down at me, suddenly aware she's not alone.

"Cady," Murmuring my name softly, she releases my shoulder and massages her fingers. Her jaw is clenched, her body trembling slightly, her chest moving rapidly as she draws in shallow ragged breaths.

I'm familiar with the signs of panic, I'm aware of what I have to do. I pull Dorothea down next to me and hold one of her hands in mine. I'm having to do this again, having to distract people.

I inhale deeply. "Faryl told me all the photos on the wall were taken on your holidays. What was your favourite?"

"I'm not sure," Dorothea stammers. She looks at the photos. "It's lovely spending time away with the family, away from the stress of school, work and our surroundings but it's still... well, you know what the resorts are like."

I shake my head from side to side and whisper, "I've never been on holiday."

"Really?" Dorothea frowns. "Sorry. I assumed you would have experienced the resorts at some point..."

"No, but I'd love for you to tell me about them."

This is the problem, even Dorothea doesn't know I'm unmarked. She's aware I'm hiding from Officials, aware I'm wanted and therefore my Birth Brand must never be scanned. But Charlie and Jas felt it was better to limit the amount of people who know I, an Unmarked, exist.

I wonder whether Dorothea would have allowed me to stay here if she knew I was an Unmarked. Does she have standards? Possible criminal, yes. Possible labour camp escapee, yes. An Unmarked, no way.

I'd like to think she wouldn't say no however I'm not going to test out my faith in Dorothea's willingness to accept a freak.

"There's not much to tell. Every year you are encouraged to go on a two week holiday to one of The State's Resorts. You are given a selection of dates and resort locations, you choose the most suitable and off you go as a family."

"What sort of things do you do?" I ask.

"Lots of organised activities: archery, canoeing, cycling, horse riding, painting and the list goes on. In the evening there are shows, family dances that sort of thing. It's fun but tiring, you're expected to join in at all times." Dorthea peers at me questioningly. "It's offered to everyone free of charge. Why did your family never go?"

Because I don't exist, not officially anyway and if The State found me, the last thing they'd offer me is an all expenses paid holiday.

I shrug. "My dad died when I was a baby. My mum brought me up alone whilst running a business. I guess she didn't want to leave for two weeks in case it affected business. My mum barely slept because she was working all the time."

"That's a shame," Dorothea sighs, "However, I'm sure everything your mother did was to ensure life was comfortable for you."

I nod. I don't want to think about my mum, about what our life was like because I'm already struggling to stop myself from comparing this family to my upbringing.

Every day I stay here, I'm confronted with additional evidence to show my childhood was dysfunctional and for want of a better word, shit. Being here distorts the mental image of my mum which I'd constructed. The image-based around the idea that she may not have been perfect but she tried her best.

Watching Dorothea around her children makes me question whether my mum really had my best interests at heart, whether she really loved me. The problem is, I don't want to taint the memory of mum. For the time being, I want to hold onto my previous version that she did try her best even if it's false.

"I should go to bed." Dorothea stands slowly. "Thank you, Cady, for calming me. Usually, it takes a lot longer for me to overcome my episodes. You being here helped."

"Does it happen often?" I ask. I'm referring to her panic attacks as well as the Official raids.

"Not too often, thankfully." She smiles tightly, understanding the double meaning to my question. "Good night."

"Good night," I respond, watching her leave the living room and gently close the door behind her.

I stand and hobble slightly before walking normally. My ankle is no longer sore but it's weak since I jumped or rather fell from The State Headquarters window. The task which was both a success and failure because The Organisation now know it's the Birth Brand which allows The State to be one step ahead and aware of their activity. However, the information is useless since The State have upped the number of random checks of Birth Brands and everyone must scan their brands to access any public building or to purchase any product.

The cast on my arm itches and I resist the urge to scratch, the irritation may help keep me awake. I'm always looking for methods to prevent me from sleeping. I dread night time. As soon as my eyes close, I'm subjected to a bombardment of nightmares and haunted by ghosts of the people I have killed, by the people who will be killed because of me.

Pacing the room, my feet softly pad against the rug on the floor. Time slows down and I struggle as seconds take hours to pass and my muscles become more fatigued and uncoordinated. Eventually, I won't be able to stay awake and I'll succumb to the accusations and horrific scenes awaiting me in my mind. Every evening, I try to prolong the inevitable. I'm waiting for the moment I burn out and implode. I've been waiting for five weeks. It's must be due any day now.

Author's note:
This is the sequel to Unmarked. You kind of need to read Unmarked first for this story to make sense.

Let me know what you think of the first chapter.

Also, what do you think of the cover? I don't know if you've noticed I never describe how characters look because I think you can decide hair, skin colour, etc but the only cover that seemed to work was this one with a face. This isn't even how I imagine Cady's appearance. Oh well! xx