A quick thank you to MadelineSane for the super awesome trailer on the side! THANK YOU LOVE!

Gradually peeping open her eyes, the first thing Autumn distinguished was that she wasn't at home. At home, in her apartment, a full-length mirror hung on the back of the door. However, in this room the door was bare.

She had expected to have been rushed to a hospital. Deep down, though, Autumn surreptitiously hoped she had stumbled or even fallen and had hallucinated all of the events that had occurred.

The single thing she desired to be true was Tate.

How she felt around him; for him. There were no words to define the comfort and security that enveloped her. Autumn realized that the warm sensation flowing through her body wasn't unsighted ease but a sense of peace: she wanted to forever lie there and examine the soft cobalt ceiling.

But she knew she couldn't.

As Autumn started to sit up, a ghastly ache exploded in her lower abdomen. She hissed in agony, grasping her stomach.

"Be careful," a calm voice cautioned. Autumn's head whipped in the direction of the noise, her eyes arriving on Tate. He was seated on the rim of a deep-rooted stiff chair which was assembled mere inches from her bed. "It'll be sore for a while."

Nodding, Autumn sustained her awfully sluggish goal of sitting up. Tate assisted the process, offering his hand in support. After some time, she proved successful and leaned against the headboard.

"Hi." Autumn voiced with such simplicity; it was as if she was visiting an old friend.

"Hi," Tate responded; he hesitated before asking: "How are you feeling?"

"Okay . . ." Autumn wasn't sure how to reply. She only became aware of her discomfort when she shifted and currently all her muscles and joints were tender and weak.

"What do you . . . remember?" Tate conjectured, fastening his fingers together he positioned them in his lap. His foot bounced in anticipation for her answer.

"I remember everything that happened in the store?" Autumn strained to be inconspicuous, she didn't want to contemplate what had transpired.

"Like what?" Tate pressed, demanding to know more.

"Uh I . . ." She broke off to collect her memories which were a mesh. "I remember showing up with my boyfriend-"

"Boyfriend?" Tate grilled instantaneously. Autumn analyzed his abnormal expression; he looked as if he were . . . jealous?

"Yeah . . . Mark." Just saying his name stung. "I remember heading to the check out and then someone started firing. I-I tried to run and Mark and I went into the back and he . . ." Autumn wavered for a minute, discovering that recounting the incident was just as grueling as surviving it.

Tate was uncomplaining and extraordinarily sympathetic with Autumn. He recalled the first time he had underwent a trauma like that, blameless people dying for him and his sister.

It was something that could never be forgotten.

Tate didn't desire to persist on. Nonetheless, he was tremendously curious to know if she witnessed his and his sister's dirty little secret.

"We were leaving and . . . No - You, your sister and I were walking out." Touching her injury, Tate bobbed his head in encouragement.

"You don't have to tell me everything." Tate beamed, pleased that Autumn couldn't fully gather her thoughts. On the other hand, she did. Autumn knew precisely what data he was attempting to pry out of her.

"How nice of you to visit me in the hospital," she added, catching him off guard.

"What?" Tate quizzed, taken aback as his grin plummeted. It was then that he grasped just what she intended and he recognized what part was approaching.

"I am in the hospital . . . aren't I?" Autumn interrogated, befalling into an progressively worried state.

"Yeah," he lied, his gaze fixed on his sneakers.

"Where am I?" Autumn demanded, her tenor growing as did the rank of her terror; which rose from the pit of her stomach and inversely triggered her heart to race.

"You see . . . it's . . . you're . . ." Tate toppled over his own words.

"Why won't you tell me? Does it have to do with your eyes?" She regretted voicing the previous inquiry the second his head jetted up.

"What did you say?" Autumn threw all her cards on the table and ensued the single plan her brain unrelentingly conjured. She bolted for the front door. Her side burned with an unspeakable agony but she didn't allow it to stop her actions.

Tate sprung from his chair, an arm wrapping around her waist. He yanked her backwards, tossing her onto the bed. Panic was in full swing. Autumn receded away and into the corner of the wall, detaching herself from Tate.

"Please don't do that!" Tate pleaded. "I . . . I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that yo-you were going to go and you're . . . I'm not going to hurt you-"

"Tate, please tell me what's going on." Her voice broke as did the tears from their sockets. They raced from her eyes and down her cheeks; Autumn was petrified. Unhurriedly gliding back into the chair, he saw her loosen her guard to some extent.

"You're not at a hospital . . . Well, not exactly. You're at . . . my place."

"Your place?" Autumn doubted, swiftly casting an eye over the room; it was excruciatingly normal. Well-lit navy walls, one trivial nightstand complete with a dark lamp, and a medium length mahogany dresser alongside the wall.

"Well, no. Not my actual place. More like . . . headquarters?" Tate twisted toward Autumn, seeming like he was proposing it.

"Headquarters?" She was more inquisitive than horrified.

"There's no way out of this," he murmured to himself, entombing his hands in his face.

"What?"

"You see . . ." He stared her straight in the eye. "The people at the store weren't just going around trying to cause meaningless harm . . . Well they were, but they were also looking for someone. . . They were looking for my sister and I. My sister and I, and well everyone here, we aren't exactly . . . normal."

"Normal? No one's really normal-"

"We aren't . . . human." Autumn's heart was at a standstill. Her mind went blank and she halted.

"What?" She come across herself mouthing. Once she wholly gathered what he had said, Autumn launched a series of brash laughs. "Very funny."

"I'm not kidding," Tate claimed.

"Prove it." Autumn was pondering over two things.

First, she assumed Tate was joking.

Second, she believed every word that spilled from his mouth.

These two contradictory states of mind fought against each other, battling inside of her head. Tate sighed; he didn't want to do this. Telling her everything was to some degree damaging to her life. Nevertheless, showing her would alter it forever.

The day she protected Tate was the day Autumn had killed herself. For the real Autumn would never be able to conceal it. This different Autumn would know the buried mysteries of the world. Deliberately rising, Tate plopped down on the bed next to Autumn.

Autumn, whom was still cowering in corner, leaned in closer to see. She didn't feel at all endangered by him. Little by little, Tate's left palm ascended – facing the chair.

Autumn inspected with vigilant eyes, witnessing a golden veil overrun his radiant sapphire eyes. The cloud was a stunning shade and it even glinted in the crappy lighting of the room. Autumn curved her focus to the chair. Within a second, the chair was soaring across the room. Crashing into the wall, Tate dropped his hand and his eyes reverted to their original tint.

Autumn couldn't move; she couldn't think. She was entirely and extremely caught.

First off, Autumn was flabbergasted. He did, after all, launch a chair from corner to corner. She was, correspondingly, frightened. For a flash she was 99% sure it was all an illusion or a cruel dream.

Had he really just . . . moved a chair with his mind?

"I'm sorry," he expressed his regret with gloomy eyes. Leaping off the bed, he hurried for the door. "I . . . I didn't mean to scare you." It was then that Autumn spotted it. She could clearly see how vulnerable Tate was. He may possibly have not mulled over and saw himself to be human but he unquestionably thought like one.

"Wait!" Autumn called. Tate stopped, revolving around. They could only gaze into each other's eyes, Tate looking forward to what Autumn had to say and Autumn even now traumatized by what she had perceived.

She knew it was expected of her to scream and run from place to place like crazy in one giant mess of an effort to escape from him. However she couldn't summon those feelings.

"What you can do . . ." She initiated, struggling to find the correct words to use. "Is amazing." Autumn made sure to leave out the supplementary emotions blurring her ruling: fear, pain, excitement, fear, and oh did she mention fear?

Tate was shocked by her. He could tell she was afraid, it was something she couldn't suppress. Nonetheless, he was certain her words were truthful.

"Really?" He inquisitorially asked. Tate ventured back to Autumn, finding his spot on the edge of the bed.

"You . . . pushed a chair across the room with your mind! That's . . . freaking amazing!"

"You're taking this rather well," Tate remarked. Autumn couldn't find a retort; no words came to her mind. She was seizing it all well on the outside. Inside was a different story; the whole lot of reactions and judgements were earsplitting as they all shouted different things.

It was ten minutes or so before he spoke again.

"Why?"

"Hmm?" Autumn deliberated.

"Why did you save me?" She gazed into his expectant eyes. Autumn unfastened her mouth to answer but she was quietened by the knock on door. Tate hung on for the fifth knock before breaking away and throwing open the door, and striding out into the hall.

Autumn could make out a woman's gabbles, but she couldn't form the sentences. She lingered tolerantly until Tate reentered the room.

"What's going on?" She contemplated as soon as he did. His lips thinned as he gulped.

"It's time to talk to them."

"To who?" Autumn could effortlessly identify the look of utter dread plastered all over his face.

"The council."