It was insane. I knew it was insane, and I could've listed a dozen right off the top of my head. Still, I watched him expectantly, praying that a man I had no business trusting wouldn't leave me here. Alone. He pulled the keycard from my grasp and unlocked the door, turning the handle and pushing it inward.

"Did you even bring a change of clothes?"

I bit my lip and shook my head sheepishly. "Tonight didn't exactly go as planned." Rolling his eyes, he began to unbutton the faded blue undershirt he wore, exposing the plain white tee beneath it. I struggled to swallow. "What...what are you doing?"

Ignoring me, he dropped the shirt onto a chair before beginning to lift the hem of the white tee and pulling it up over his head. Tossing it at me, I scrambled to catch the shirt, blinking rapidly to clear my head as he wordlessly picked up the first shirt and began to slip it back on. "It would be uncomfortable to sleep in a dress that tight."

"Thanks."

Turning away from me, he moved further into the hotel room and I turned toward the bathroom to change. Folding the dress into quarters, I set it gently on the lip of the tub and tugged self-consciously at the hem of the shirt. Truthfully, it wasn't much shorter than the dress had been, but wearing a man's shirt held much different connotations.

"I raised you better than this."

"You left me like this."

Forcing my lips back up into a smile, I let out a breath and opened the door, stepping back out into the main hotel room. He stood by the window, looking down at the street. Pulling the covers up, I slipped into the bed and sat cross-legged before tucking the comforter around myself. "Have somewhere to be?"

"The sun will be up in three hours."

"Enjoy watching the sunrise?"

"No," he responded flatly, half turning back toward me and looking me over with his usual stoic expression. "You should go to sleep."
"My grandfather died of a heart attack."

Cassian didn't react to the news, his face never changing as he returned my gaze without so much as an ounce of surprise. Or sympathy. "People die. It's the cycle of mortality."

"Have you ever lost someone close to you?"

He looked back out the window. "Yes."

"The nightmares only come around when something triggers it."

"Nightmares are just that; nightmares. You're still perfectly safe when you wake up."

I sighed and looked away. He didn't get it. Shimmying further down onto the bed, I laid down and rolled to my side, giving him my back. "Thanks for driving me here, and for coming in. You can leave now."

***

She wanted reassurances. I studied the curve of her back uncomfortably. Uncertainly, I took a step toward her. "Amya—"

"We aren't friends, we aren't family, we aren't even co-workers. Honestly, I have no idea what our connection is at all, and I don't need you here."

She'd gone back to hostile. "You asked me to stay."

"I've been drinking," she replied without bothering to look at me. "Intoxicated individuals aren't known for their rational thinking."

"Would you like me to call someone?"

"No, I'd like you to walk out that door and never bother me again. You or your friend Zeke. I want to be left alone."

I hesitated as I watched her, but in the end, her mental state of being had nothing to do with my reason for following her. I moved to the door, "Good night."

***

"Grandpa, wake up!" I watched through the sliding glass door as my past self fell to her knees beside his unmoving body. She pulled his head into her lap, completely oblivious to her own blood as she quite literally sat on a bed of broken glass. With one hand holding his head in place, she scrambled to pull her phone from the pocket of her robe, blinking furiously to clear the tears as she continued to sob.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"My grandpa, he's...he's not moving. I need an ambulance!"

The world spun, and I sat lifelessly in front of a social worker, Mrs. Johnson stood behind me, gripping my shoulder reassuringly. "We're still looking for any family members who may be willing to take you in, but—"

"She can stay with us," Mrs. Johnson broke in, a hitch in her voice. "We want her to stay with us."

"We prefer to keep children with their family whenever possible."

"I have no family," my past self stated in a broken monotone.

"We are your family," Mrs. Johnson said firmly, stroking the top of my head as she looked down at me. She looked back at the woman, a fierceness in her gaze. "She's staying with us."

"There is a process, and—"

"Whatever it is you need from us, we'll do it. She's not going anywhere."

"Reginald Marquardt is survived by his granddaughter, Amya Marquardt, and was preceded in death by his wife and daughter, Pamela and Regina. He was a great man, a dedicated husband, and a loving father. Reginald—"

As the officiant spoke, I stood between Becca and her mother, both of whom listened attentively as they cried. My eyes were dry and lifeless as they remained locked on the casket. I had not cried since the night of his death.

"It's coming, Amya." My grandpa stood in front of me, looking exactly as he had the night he'd died. His silver hair combed to the side, and his hazel eyes filled with concern. "You need to be prepared."

Tears I hadn't let fall in years began to break free. "What's coming? Prepared how?"

"I've tried to warn you."

With a frustrated laugh, I brushed away the tears with a bit more force than was probably necessary. "Warn me about what, Grandpa? How am I supposed to heed your warnings if I don't understand them?"

"They're surrounding you," he said in a rushed tone, looking over my shoulder. "You'll be dead if you don't prepare."

"You're giving me nothing," I snapped impatiently. "I don't understand, grandpa."

"Be careful."

***

"We didn't get a chance to finish talking last night."

Stifling a groan, I rubbed my aching temple and squeezed my eyes shut. "Shane."

"Mya," Shane responded, falling onto the edge of my bed as I begrudgingly swiveled my computer chair around to face him. "You're avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you, I'm studying for my exams, which start tomorrow. I've only been home for an hour." I swiveled back around and picked up my pen as I reviewed my notes.

"Mya."

"Shane."

"Mya."

Slamming down my pen I spun back around to glare at him. "What?" I snapped.

He grinned back at me, pleased with my attention, no matter how negative that attention might be. "I missed you."

Guilt flooded me, and I felt my anger dissipate in an instant. "We did the right thing five years ago. It was the right decision to break up."

"The decision was one-sided," Shane said matter-of-factly. "Mya, give me another chance."

"Becca is my best friend, and if it doesn't work out—" I began, only to be cut off my him.

"Becca already considers you a sister, and my parents see you as a daughter. They'd be ecstatic if we told them about us," he insisted.

"There is no us for them to be told about," I responded stubbornly. I didn't understand why he refused to let it go. We had dated secretly during the summer after my sophomore year into about halfway through my junior year when Grandpa died. He hadn't taken it well at the time, but I hadn't been in a place to see beyond my grief. By the time I'd been able to see beyond myself, he'd moved off to college and he'd started dating again with a vengeance. Yes, there had been a few times throughout the years, where he'd tried to discuss it, but I'd either avoided being alone with him or cut off his attempts.

"Are you seeing someone else?"

My eyes widened in surprise, and I stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "What?"

He leaned back slightly to study me with a jealous look. "You disappeared last night in the middle of talking to me you didn't get back until this afternoon."

"Disappeared?" I repeated incredulously. "A few words from Cassian and you left me mid-conversation!"

"Who the hell is Cassian, your new boyfriend?"

Laughing in disbelief, I stared at him as my anger returned tenfold. "Are you joking? He told you to go away, and you walked away without a backward glance!"

"That's ridiculous. If you don't want to talk about it, then just tell me you don't want to talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," he bit out, pushing to his feet with a glare.

"Fine," I shot out, matching his expression with a glare of my own. I watched as he stomped toward my bedroom door, slamming it on his way out. What an absolute ass.