It took me a little while to come to terms with everything.

The first thing I'd done was cry. I'd kept a lock on my tear ducts for a while, because I didn't see what point there was to them. Tears wouldn't bring back the dead. Nevertheless, there was a certain freedom to collapsing on Rian's couch and letting myself dissolve. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried in earnest; for my parents, for Rian, for myself. I suppose you could call the experience cathartic.

The next thing I did was leave Rian's apartment. I gathered my things and walked Siggy home, making sure to lock the door behind me. It was raining. His spare key was still gripped in my fist.

The third thing I did was listen to a voicemail from Lisa. She and Rokim had won their competition and were on their way back home. I half-smiled, because that was good news. I wasn't sure whether I was in shock or if I'd simply accepted the way things were. Or, according to Rian, the way things had to be. 

I'd done my best. Sometimes your best wasn't good enough, I supposed.

The fourth thing I'd done was get kidnapped.

♛

I opened my eyes, looking around blearily. I was sitting on a roughly hewn chair, shrouded in darkness. My head was foggy and everything ached. 

I groaned, trying to move, and frowned hazily when I couldn't. My arms and legs were restrained by . . . was that rope? 

What happened? I thought in sudden alarm. Why the hell am I tied to a chair?

Slowly, I pieced together the shards of my memory. My apartment—I'd been in my apartment. It was late, and I'd just gotten around to doing the laundry. Rokim had sent me a text that he and Lisa were due to arrive in about an hour, so I'd left my door unlocked. 

God, I'm stupid.

I took in a breath, trying to calm my nerves. Adrian had called, but I hadn't picked up. And then . . .

I squinted into the dark, trying to remember. I'd been shoving my sleepover clothes into the washer when I'd heard a sound behind me. It was weird; like humming, but not by a human. It was machine, mechanical. Static.

My eyes widened when I made out a shape in the blackness. It was a table, and sitting on top of it was a Taser.

"What the fuck?" I whispered. 

The rest of my memory rushed back to me. I'd only managed to get a glimpse of the attacker when I'd felt my body seize up, overwhelmed by a sudden and shaky sort of pain. It felt like forever before it had stopped and my knees had buckled and my head had slammed on the corner of something hard on the way down. I'd hit the ground and the world had gone dark.

And now I was here.

I groaned again, letting my head loll forward. I'd just gotten—what? Dumped?—and the same day I'd managed to get myself kidnapped. Was it even the same day? How much time had passed? I didn't know.

Go me.

"So you're awake."

My head snapped up at the loud words, echoing in the dim. Something in my mind ticked, whirred—I recognized the voice. The feminine lilt, the nasally edge. The sound of hatred.

"Vanessa?"

"Congratulations, you've guessed correctly. Did you want a prize?" The drawl to her words was mocking, vicious. Suddenly, fluorescent lights lit the room, and I blinked away the ache in my retinas. My vision focused on the woman at the opposite end of the cavernous space, and my gaze hardened.

"What the fuck is this, Vanessa?" I snapped in irritation. 

"Just making sure you get what you deserve," she growled back, stalking forward until she was only one or two feet away. "What better end for a pig than the slaughterhouse?"

Eyes widening, I took in my surroundings again. The stale air, the cold lights, the coppery smell of dusty blood. In the distance, I could make out a few gutted animal carcasses hanging from the ceiling. A chill ran down my spine when I saw a rat gnawing on a piece of rotten meat in the corner.

"Oh my god," I muttered in disgust, glancing back up at my captor. "Vanessa, this is insane. You're crazy."

A sharp sound ripped the still atmosphere, scaring away the rat. My vision had jerked to the right, and it took me a moment to realize it was because Vanessa had slapped me.

"Shut up," she hissed, bending down so we were face to face. "Do you have any idea what you cost me? That stupid program was my only chance not to have to go into the family business," she spat, flipping one manicured hand at our surroundings. "Look at this. Livestock. Dead animals. Rats."

I slowly turned my stinging face back to her, staring in disbelief. She sneered when we made eye contact.

"I was there first, you know? I was the very first student Prof scouted. Me. I was a fucking prodigy." She straightened, glaring down her nose at me. "And then you showed up and everything went to shit. Hanna this, Hanna that. The culinary genius." 

I let my face fall forward, shaking my head. How had I ever believed I was friends with this girl?

"Oh no. You don't get to look away." She grabbed my hair, and I grimaced at the biting pain when she yanked my head to meet her glare. Her nails bit into my flesh as her other hand grasped my throat, cutting off my air supply.

"You're disgusting, you know that? Prof was all over you, letting you stay in France for who knows how long, sending you to the ecomp. What did you do, sleep with him?" 

I coughed out an incredulous laugh. "He's gay, you absolute fucking twat."

"Shut up!" she shrieked, digging her nails harder into my neck. I winced when I felt them break the skin. "You don't get to do this. I have to work at my dad's company now. As a figurehead. A pretty little accessory, just like my mother. Like my sisters. I had one shot to get out of that life, and you—" she broke off to tighten her grip on my hair, eliciting a hiss from me. "You took that all away."

She released my head with disgust, pushing me away so hard the chair I was in skidded a few inches. I gasped in a breath, my lungs heaving for the air she'd denied me. Still, against my better judgement, I couldn't keep the scorn from my face.

"Boo-fucking-hoo," I said hoarsely, curling my lip. "You have to work for daddy now? You have to live rich and free and be with your family every day? God, that's so sad, Alexa play—"

Another slap cut me off before I could finish. I gritted my teeth against the sting.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Vanessa said, her hatred clear in each coldly enunciated word. "What would you know about family? You don't even have one anymore."

I stiffened, my ragged breath hitching. A high-heeled foot tapped in the corner of my vision, accompanying a tittered laugh from above me.

"Oh, I suppose that's a sensitive topic for you, isn't it?" she mused smugly. "In that case, you should talk about shit like that in a place with thicker walls. Your psychiatrist should invest in better infrastructure."

It took me a moment to understand what she was saying. When I did, my enraged gaze shot up to hers again.

"You . . . you followed me?" I spat in disbelief. "To a therapist's office? Who does that?"

"Someone who's interested in you and that little boy toy of yours." Her nasty smirk widened. "You know, the one with the nice ass—what was his name again? Rian?"

I flinched when she said his name. "Don't fucking talk about him."

"Sorry, no can do. I have so much to say, now that I know the whole story." She laughed, tugging on a strand of my hair painfully. "God, and I thought I was fucked up. I've got nothing on you."

I worked my wrists against my restraints, feeling the rope burn into my skin, but they wouldn't budge. I resigned myself to simply glaring at her.

She released my hair, strolling away from me to the table. I tensed when she picked up the Taser. She traced her fingers around it before settling them on the trigger, pointing it at me. "Poor little Hanna, the orphan prodigy. I guess no one really knows the truth. But you know. And I know." Her cruel grin was wider than ever. "From what I heard, it sounds like the whole thing was all your fault."

All your fault.

I dropped my eyes, my mouth going a little drier. "No, it wasn't."

She snorted. "Right. That's why you turned a three month trip into a three year study. Because it wasn't your fault." She took a step forward, the clack of her heels against the cement floor loud and vindictive. "Take that gas main, for example. So what if you switched it on? So what if you did, and only a few minutes later your mommy caught fire?"

I jerked my head towards her, a mixture of rage and pain boiling in my gut. "Stop."

She kept advancing. "No, no. I see your point—it was definitely an accident. Just because you shoved the repairman out the door so you could say hello to your boyfriend doesn't mean you're to blame." She paused, bringing a dainty hand to her lips. "Oh, wait. I guess it does."

"Stop it, Vanessa."

The bitter amusement left her eyes. "Why should I?" she hissed, leaning down contemptuously. "You know I'm right. And the worst part is it wasn't just your own family you destroyed, was it?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head, but the dreaded images still flickered on the backs of my eyelids. A flash of white. A hand reaching for me. My mother's lifeless eyes.

"You killed his, too."

Rian's scream of agony. He kept screaming, screaming, screaming—

"Tell me—how did it feel, becoming both an orphan and a murderer in just one day?"

Enough.

My eyes shot open and I lunged forward, my teeth clamping on Vanessa's arm. She shrieked, trying to shake me off, but I held tight. For a brief second, our eyes met: hers wide with shock, mine narrowed in defiance.

She can't get to me. The accident was not my fault.

Then my body seized, crumpling against the current of the Taser.

Vanessa ripped her arm away, staring angrily at the bloody mark I'd left on her skin. Despite my weakened state—being tased was not a pleasant feeling—I let out a raspy laugh. Her affronted eyes shot to mine, and I grinned, licking the red off my teeth.

"You bitch!" she screamed, hitting me across the face with the Taser gun. I groaned, dizzy from the blow, and dimly realized she'd put the Taser back down on the table. I couldn't help the rush of relief that pulsed through me. I hated that thing.

"You're . . . insane," I grunted, doubling over. My head pounded. In the back of my mind, I knew it was in my best interests not to aggravate her further, but still I burned with the desire to reduce her to a sobbing puddle of goo. "How . . . how haven't you been locked up yet?"

She sniffed in contempt, one hand pressed against her bleeding forearm. She'd seemingly regained her composure, but malice still shone from her eyes. "I could ask you the same thing. Murderer."

I straightened, letting the insult roll off me, fluid as a raindrop. 

"I'm not a murderer, Vanessa," I said, certainty coating my words with steel. "If you'd said this to me maybe a week ago, I would have agreed with you. But then we'd both be wrong, I suppose."

She frowned, a moment's confusion cutting through the venom on her face, as if she couldn't fathom where all my self-loathing had gone. Despite myself, I felt a surge of pride at finally being able to say the words.

I am not a murderer.

Then Vanessa's face contorted again and my satisfaction vanished. I was still stuck here. And even if I wasn't a killer, I suddenly got the feeling Vanessa very well could be.

"Whatever, Gandhi. You're still a piece of shit." She grabbed my throat again, and I hissed when her fingernails dug into the crevices they'd left behind before. My neck moistened with thin rivulets of blood.

"Vanessa," I said, my voice hoarse but mild. My wrists and ankles were still immobile. I couldn't see a way out, other than convincing her to give me one. "You're not stupid. You know that this won't turn out well for you. Let me go."

I gasped when her fingers in my throat dug deeper. She smirked. "That's the upside to being rich, I guess," she mused, watching my face redden with pain and a lack of oxygen. "I can do pretty much anything I want."

My anger reared its head again. "As long as daddy's paying for it, right?"

She sneered, reaching into her pocket. I closed my eyes, sure that this was it. How would she do it? A knife, maybe? A handgun? 

I'd pictured the moment of my death countless times, wondering how it would feel. I'd always thought it would at least provide a little freedom, release me from the guilt I carried. But now, in the moment, I realized I didn't want to die.

A click sounded, barely two inches away. My eyes shot open, expecting to look down the barrel of a gun. 

Instead, I was faced with a lighter. 

"This is it, right?" Vanessa said smugly. "This is what you're afraid of?" Another click, and an orange flame gushed from its top. Smokeless.

I flinched. The heat of it beat against my face as Vanessa drew it closer, her grip on my neck keeping me from rearing back.

I had never been bothered by fire when it was contained, like when I was cooking. But something about this free flame, in this awful place, with the memory of the accident so fresh—it made me seize with terror.

"I figured it would be nice for you to go out the same way as your mommy. It's ceremonious, you know?" Vanessa continued. I tore my eyes from the lighter to look at her, not understanding. Then horror dawned on my face as I realized what she intended to do.

"Vanessa," I said, my words tripping over each other. I could barely think with the fear that pulsed through me, renewed with each frantic heartbeat. "Vanessa, no."

She brought the lighter down to my chest, letting the flame terrifyingly close to my clothes, my hair. "Finally." Her voice was triumphant and awful. "Finally you're afraid."

I swallowed, tracking the fire with my wide eyes. I had to find a way out of this. Logical. I had to be logical.

"Yes," I answered. "Yes, I'm afraid. I'm petrified." I turned my gaze onto her intensely. "But is my fear really worth what you're about to do?"

One side of her mouth curved downward.

"Think about this." The fear was making it hard to speak, but adrenaline gave me the push I needed. "You're about to murder someone. Murder someone. People will notice I'm missing. And do you really think no one noticed you dragging an unconscious girl out of her apartment in the middle of the night? 

Her frown deepened. "I was careful."

"Even if you were!" I insisted. "What about traffic cameras? Lobby security? If you used a car to get here, the police can track your license plates. Your fingerprints are all over my apartment."

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

But even as she said it, her grip on my throat loosened. My breath came a little faster. "Yes, I do. Everyone in the class knows you hate me. When my body turns up, all fingers will point your way. And then even your father won't be able to protect you."

She released my throat. I sucked in a gulp of air but didn't remove my eyes from hers. 

Emotions warred across her face. Uncertainty, fear, hatred. So much hatred. I watched the battle carefully, chanting a mantra in my head.

It's not worth it. Killing me is not worth it.

My heart dropped when I saw her lip curl. Hatred had won out.

"I don't care about any of that," she growled, turning around and fumbling for something near the table. "If I have to live like a pawn, then you shouldn't get to live at all." 

My shoulders slumped. My eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything, I could use to escape. Just as Vanessa turned back around, my gaze caught on a coil of rope in the distance.

"This should speed things along," Vanessa said, and with a chill, I realized she was dragging an enormous can of turpentine behind her. "I'd prefer to drag things out, but I've never really liked the smell of burned meat. Consider yourself lucky."

I felt like I was about to throw up. My eyes went back to that rope, hanging beneath an animal carcass. I didn't even know why it had caught my attention—and yet, something in me screamed to look harder. To see what my subconscious brain had already discovered.

I glanced down at the bonds that restrained my arms and legs, then back at the rope. Was that what Vanessa had used to tie me up? I risked a look at her, and found her struggling to lift the heavy container. That bought me some time. 

I looked back at my bonds. Back at the rope. Bonds. Rope.

Rope. 

My eyes narrowed when I saw the puddle of clear liquid the rope was settled in. It was dripping from the carcass above it. Animal fat.

Animal fat was flammable. That rope was flammable.

My restraints . . .

Jerking my head back to my captor, I saw that Vanessa had succeeded in lifting the can. I cringed away—if that stuff got on me, spilled liquid fuel all over, I was as good as dead. One flick of the lighter and I'd go up.

What I needed was a concentrated flame. Something to help me get out.

The lighter.

"I can't say I'm surprised," I drawled loudly. Vanessa met my gaze. "I always knew you were doomed to be second-best, but stooping this low? Even I thought you were better than that."

Her nose wrinkled with animosity. I waited, my gaze level.

She lunged.

Smack!

My head was knocked to the side by the back of her hand. I grunted, slowly turning back towards her. 

"I should have done this earlier," she hissed, taking out the lighter again. She pressed it close to my face. I leaned back, eyeing it warily. Waiting.

She flicked it on.

The flame danced in front of my nose. Time slowed down.

I saw Vanessa's face stretch into a cruel grin as she shoved her hand forward, ready to push the flame into my cheek.

I saw the soaked rope that tied my right hand to the chair. 

I saw my chance.

A flash of white.

Except this time, the white wasn't an explosion. It was my teeth, once again sinking into Vanessa's outstretched hand. 

She screamed. I ripped my canines away, using the momentum to knock the lighter out of her hand.

I watched it fall with aching accuracy. It hit my wrist, splashing the flame onto the fat-drenched rope tying me down. I grimaced, because this was going to hurt.

The fire caught. 

Within moments, the entire length of rope on my right arm was ablaze, wearing away under the heat, helped along by the flammable liquid soaked into the material. 

I screamed, the sound dwindling into a strangled gasp, as pain bit into me. Vanessa fell back, horror touching her features. 

The rope burned away.

Shoving down the brutal pain, I ripped my freed arm from the ashes. A second later, I had the rope on my other arm undone. I used it to pat down the remaining flames, ignoring the red welts marring my pale skin. 

Vanessa broke out of her stupor, shooting to her feet. "What the fuck?" she shrieked, coming for me. 

By that point, I had one foot free, and I used it to kick her in the stomach. She landed hard on the floor, gasping for breath. I untied the other foot.

I got up, legs shaking. Vanessa clawed for me, but I was past caring. Her talon-like nails scraped into my skin as I stepped past her, breaking into a run. Vanessa was screaming obscenities behind me.

I ran the length of the room, turning left towards an enormous hangar door. I bolted outside—fresh air, finally—and came to a stop when I saw Vanessa's car parked outside. Despite my ravaged state, I couldn't keep back a scoff. 

She'd used her own car? She really was the worst criminal.

All the better for me. I scrambled over to the driver's side, yanking the door open with little resistance. The keys were still in the ignition.

I slid inside, groaning when my burned arm brushed the leather interior. A quick glance to my right revealed my belongings scattered in the passenger seat, having been stripped from me earlier; my phone, wallet, an emergency syringe, a candy bar. A spare key.

My heart clenched, but this wasn't the time for sentiment. Vanessa had reached the hangar door, her face contorted with rage. My hands performed the movements automatically, starting the car and putting it into drive.

I flipped Vanessa the bird as I peeled away. 

It wasn't hard to find the road from there. Within minutes, I was speeding down an empty highway, seatbelt forgotten. My body was shaking with exhaustion and fading adrenaline.

I saw a gas station a few hundred meters ahead, a convenience store perched next to it. I breathed a sigh of relief, my arms aching as I pulled in and parked.

I simply sat there for a minute, trying to comprehend exactly why my life was so shitty.

Then a buzz made me jump. I wearily glanced to my right. My phone was vibrating.

My phone.

I grabbed it just as the call ended, staring down first at the time. It was five in the morning. I had been missing for eight hours.

My eyes slid to the missed call icon, feeling a ridiculous bubble of hope bloom in my chest. Ridiculous, because after everything that had just happened, I was still thinking about him.

Rokim. 28 missed calls.

Lisa. 34 missed calls.

104 new messages. From Prof, Adrian, even Rikki.

But nothing from Rian.

The bubble in my chest popped, disappointment settling in. I pushed the feeling away—the morning before felt like ages ago. There wasn't anything I could do to change his mind. The best thing I could do was move on. 

I pressed the phone to my ear, listening to the dial. Within a few seconds, the phone picked up.

"What the fuck, Hanna? Where the hell have you been?"

"Rokim," I said, surprised to hear how tired my own voice sounded. "I got kidnapped."

"What?"

"Please just come get me," I said, fatigue sinking into my bones. The words flowed out of me, nonsensical, but I couldn't muster the strength to fix it. "I don't know where I am, and—I stole a car, I'm outside a gas station. My arm hurts."

"You—you stole a car?"

"Yeah." Drowsiness threatened to overtake me. I leaned back against the seat. The pain in my right arm throbbed, subtly encroaching on my shoulder. "Pretty badass, right?"

I heard shuffling on the line, and suddenly a new voice was jammed into my ear.

"Hanna! Oh my god, Hanna. Are you alright? We've been trying to get in touch with you for hours!"

"I'm alright, Lis," I said blandly, glancing down at my battered arm. The hot pain had spread from my shoulder to my upper chest. "I think I might pass out soon, though. Can you—can you guys get here?"

"Where is here, Han?"

I glanced around at the empty station blearily. "I don't know. It's kind of far from the city, I think. Near a slaughterhouse."

More mumbling on the line. "I think she's delirious. Maybe in shock," murmured Lisa. Rokim hissed something back that I didn't hear.

"Guys?" I said, confused. The line was crackling, as if they were going through a tunnel. I caught a few more disjointed words before the connection failed.

I tried calling again. It didn't go through.

Frowning, I tossed the phone back on the passenger seat. What could mess with the connection? There weren't any tunnels in my apartment building, and I had stellar service.

Too tired to think things through, I opened the car door and stepped out. Hissing, I drew my sleeve over the burn on my arm to hide it. Then I headed to the convenience store, wallet in hand.

I grabbed some gauze, rubbing alcohol, a bottle of water. My head spun the entire time. The fluorescent lights bit into my eyes, reminding me of the cold illumination of the slaughterhouse.

I shuddered, then went back for painkillers. The pain from my arm now enveloped my entire right side, pulsing in my ribcage.

I paid quickly and stepped back outside, ignoring the curious look from the clerk. I hurt everywhere. I felt lightheaded, my vision blurring. I missed a step when the curb dropped down to the road and stumbled, barely keeping from sprawling on the pavement.

Shit. I was going to pass out.

I managed to make it to the passenger side of the car, tossing the stuff inside. It hadn't escaped me that Vanessa was probably still foaming at the mouth. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't drive like this. I was stuck.

Suddenly, a car pulled into the lot. My stomach roiled with nerves as I slumped against the passenger door. 

Was it Vanessa? Had she called another car?

I nearly cringed when the vehicle parked a few feet away. The angle of the car kept me from being seen, but it was only a matter of time until I was noticed.

I felt cornered, claustrophobic. The pain in my side ratcheted up a degree.

The car's back door opened. Two figures stumbled out, glancing around desperately.

"Here! It says here!" one of them argued, pointing down at their phone. I frowned through the haze in my head. They sounded familiar.

"Well, I don't see her anywhere!" the other answered, grabbing the phone out of his companion's hands. My frown deepened. 

Not possible. I'd just talked to them on the phone . . .

I stepped out from around the car just as they whipped around, locking gazes with me.

"Hanna!" they both yelled in unison, rushing towards me. Rokim and Lisa. My foggy brain struggled to understand how they'd gotten here so fast.

"You're here," I said dumbly. "How are you here?"

A thunk interrupted them before they could explain. The driver's side door of their car had slammed open, hitting a nearby pole.

Rokim and Lisa turned around, and it was only then that I realized they'd both descended from the back of the car. They were passengers.

So who was driving?

A sharp stab of pain distracted me, a strangled gasp seizing my chest. My right side felt like it was on fire. 

This isn't the burn from the rope this is real it's happening again—

The realization that I was suffering through an episode did nothing to quell the pain. Rokim and Lisa frowned at me in confusion, hands flitting around as though they were afraid to touch. They hadn't yet realized what was going on.

I blinked sweat out of my eyes, coughing. It felt like I was back in my volcanic living room, watching my mother die. 

Vanessa had gotten to me, after all.

Just as I felt I was about to collapse, I heard a voice. A strangled, pained utterance:

"Thank god."

Then a pair of arms pushed Rokim and Lisa out of the way, wrapping around me. Heedless, I grasped a pair of shoulders, trying to stay upright. My arm stung with friction, but I couldn't make a sound as I was pressed tight against a chest. A head buried itself in my neck. Fine hair tickled my jaw. Warm lips pressed against my skin, murmuring 'thank god' over and over.

The pain began to fade.

I sighed with relief. The agony evaporated faster than it had appeared, and all that was left was bone-deep weariness. The desire to sleep overpowered me, and I felt myself beginning to drift off.

The person holding me drew back, palms reaching up to cup my face. My eyes closed drowsily, but I reached up to cover their hands with my own. My small fingers found familiar crevices, traced over knuckles I'd traced many times before. 

A sleepy smile made its way onto my face as I slumped forward against his chest. A memory I'd never quite figured out suddenly resolved itself in my head. A girl, scooped up into the arms of a stranger, at a bar called Mac's.

"I know these hands . . ." I mumbled blissfully.

Then everything went black.