"She did what?"

Andrea winced, looking back toward Amya's door as though she were hoping it would swing open on cue. "She seems to have barricaded herself in somehow. We can't get it open."

Of course. Moving past her, and toward the door in question; the knob turned, but the door wouldn't open. Damn that woman. "Amya!" I called out with no attempt to mask the anger. "Whatever you've done, undo it immediately."

"No," came her muffled reply.

Clenching my jaw, I stepped back and glared at the door. "You can't stay in there forever, Amya. You'll starve."

"I'll risk it."

"What do we do?" Andrea asked, coming up beside me. "It's a wonder none of our guests have noticed yet, but if we attempt to break through her door, it'll be hard to miss."

"Leave her in there."

"But—"

"Leave her," I repeated, loud enough for her to hear me through the door. "She'll have to come out eventually."

Her reply could be heard immediately, "Don't bet on it."

***

I found two granola bars, a jar of peanuts, and a can of ravioli in one of my desk drawers, three breath mints in my favorite hoodie pocket, and a handful of peach rings as well as a half-eaten bag of gummy worms in my dresser. It was hardly a feast, but anything was better than nothing. Piling all of it onto the seat of my computer chair, I sank back onto the edge of my mattress and studied it all consideringly. Who knew how long all of this would have to last me? I'd need to be stingy with my portioning.

Grabbing myself a handful of peanuts with a resigned sigh, I leaned to the left, stretching out my free hand toward my pile of books. Picking one at random, I opened it to the first page and settled in to pass the time. It felt as though time stood still in this windowless room from hell. My laptop sat open on the floor several feet away from me, plugged into the wall with the login screening staring back at me. I had no internet connection, so at present, it was simply being used as an overpriced clock. It showed 4:23 in the morning as the current time. Would they all be going to bed around this time?

It's not like it mattered; I still didn't have the code for the front door and Cassian would've undoubtedly planned for another escape attempt if I were to take the door off the hinges for the second time. Staying stuck in this room was the best place to be for the time being. Settling in, I focused on the book in my hands, tossing a few more of the peanuts into my mouth, and began to read.

I barely lasted forty-five minutes before the book I'd grabbed was tossed aside and restlessness began to fully take hold. With my hands on either side of my head, I held myself in a handstand using the wall to keep myself from flipping backward and stared at the chaotic state of my current bedroom. Maybe I could guess the front door passcode. Whatever it was had six digits when he'd typed it in the other night, and if I could just figure out which numbers he pressed, I'd at least be able to narrow down the number of possible codes, right? In the espionage movies, they'd use some powder and a blacklight, but I didn't exactly have a spy kit on me, did I?

Kicking back off of the wall, I tumbled forward and moved back into a sitting position, pulling my knees up and resting my chin on them, and staring consideringly at the wall. It was entirely possible boredom would get me before starvation did at this rate. Looking down at my bare feet, I wiggled my toes consideringly and glanced thoughtfully back at where my desk sat, pushed up against the rest of the furniture. Getting to my feet, I walked over to it, digging through one of the drawers until I found a bottle of nail polish. Painting my nails is as good of a distraction as any I suppose.

***

"The sun's about to rise and she hasn't eaten in over two days," Andrea stood in front of me with a furrowed brow. "I really think—"

"The choice is hers," I cut in impatiently. "Everyone will take shifts in the security room monitoring that hallway to ensure there isn't a second escape attempt. If she wants to starve herself in the meantime, we won't intervene."

"But—"

"We won't intervene," I repeated with more force. "This was her own doing."

"But she just healed and we don't know how she healed as quickly as she did. We have no way of knowing the effect it may have had on her body and its sustenance."

"One more day will hardly kill her. She won't last in there longer than that before she comes out on her own."

"And what if she's too weak and doesn't have to strength to move everything out of the way of the door?"

It grated that that possibility hadn't occurred to me. "That won't happen."

"But—"

"I've made my decision."

She lowered her gaze to the floor, offering a small nod of understanding even as her shoulders lowered in defeat. "Understood."

After Andrea left, I sat back in my chair and considered. She'd come out before anything serious happened. She was stubborn, but she wasn't crazy.

***

I stood in the corner of a bar, and it looked like it was about closing time. On the opposite side of the room, slumped over the end of the bar, was another woman with hair matching my own dirty-blonde locks. As the other patrons closed out their tabs and trickled out the door, she remained unmoving.

After a while, the bartender moved toward her, tapping her on the shoulder, "It's time to go."

The woman lifted her head at his words and I was surprised to find that the other woman was me. Her eyes were red and glassy while the smile she offered the man oozed sadness. "Closing time already?"

I took in the building as well as the bartender, trying to place it in my memory, but came up with nothing. I couldn't ever remember being here, let alone passed out at the bar.

"Veronica!"

I jolted at the name, feeling the name drain from my face as my head whipped around toward the entrance where Grandpa had just burst into the building, eyes ablaze with anger. He made a beeline toward the woman just as she called back cheerily, "Dad!"

"Mom?" I breathed, feeling the sudden urge to cry as I stared at the woman in question, realizing my mistake. Grandpa had hidden away all of her photos long ago and she'd died when I was five. I'd never realized how much I looked like her.

Grandpa grabbed her firmly by the elbow, yanking her to her feet and turning his attention to the bartender who was sliding her credit card and a receipt across the bar. She signed the receipt while Grandpa picked up and pocketed her card. I moved closer as he pulled her to the door. "What's wrong with you?"

Tripping over her own feet, only his grip on her kept her upright as they stepped out the door and onto the sidewalk with me following closely behind, an ache in the pit of my stomach. "I just lost my fiancé," she laughed bitterly, pulling away from his grip and looking out at the street as he led her toward the parking lot. "Have a little empathy, yeah?"

"You have a child at home. You should think of her when you're out here, numbing yourself with booze."

Her eyes welled up with tears. "I can't breathe, Dad. He's gone and I can't breathe."

"Then learn to live without air," he replied, gentler this time as he raised a hand to cup her cheek. "Your daughter needs her mother."

"You're in it now." I could hear the irritation in Grandpa's voice. He sat in his favorite recliner; we were both in the living room of our old house. "I warned you."

But I didn't want to listen to his riddled warnings. "I look just like her."

He studied me, his own eyes misty, and then he looked away. "The spitting image."

"I can't remember her."

"That's my fault," he admitted, turning his head to look back at me apologetically. "I should've kept her memory alive for you, but I was too focused on my own pain to think about yours. I'm sorry for that."

"Did she love me? As much as she loved my dad?"

"She loved you more."

"And he loved her?"

Grandpa didn't say anything for a while as we sat there in the dark old house, thinking of things that used to be. "He tried."

"We meet again."

The sudden bright light of the white room of nothing nearly blinded me as I lifted up a hand to shade my eyes and blinked blearily at Aurelia. She smiled warmly at me from a few feet away. "Does it count as a meeting if you aren't real?"

She laughed, "Oh, I'm as real as anything else."

"As real as my need for a psychologist, maybe," I replied with a roll of my eyes.

"You're quite prickly, aren't you?"

Letting out an annoyed breath, I made a point to look around the room. "So do you just stand for eternity, or are you hiding some furniture somewhere?" As if brought on by the mere mention, two swing chairs appeared, I wrinkled my nose slightly and cast her a sideways glance, "Bit void of color."

"You've built quite the wall around your heart, haven't you?" she said it with a sad note in her tone, and I swallowed hard breaking eye contact and falling into one of the seats as she placed herself elegantly into one of her own.

"My heart doesn't have much to say on the matter," I replied. "The fact is, I'm getting tired of all the vague warnings and weird visions. I don't know you or the guy you were with, and I don't see what any of this has to do with me."

"Not yet," she agreed easily. "But you will. It would be easier if you would open yourself up to it."

"Open myself up to it?" I repeated incredulously. "Open myself up to what exactly? I've got you showing me visions of your past, Grandpa warning me about the present, and I've got an idiot of vampire locking me up because he can't see my thoughts or manipulate me. How much more open do I need to be?"

Raising a brow, her lips quirked into a small smile. "Well, you'd need to remove all the furniture from in front of your door for starters."

I felt my face heat a bit at that and I met her amused gaze with an embarrassed one of my own. "That may have been a little childish."

"May have?"

"It's not like I'm visiting them on vacation," I snapped, defensively. "I'm being held against my will. It isn't my job to make their lives easier."

"You'd rather starve yourself to death?"
"It won't go that far." I hoped.

"You expect them to force their way in?"

Huffing out a breath, I leaned back in the chair, pushing off the ground with my toes so that it would swing. "I just want my freedom. If it turns out to be more of an inconvenience to keep me than to let me go, then he'll agree to free me."

"What if they kill you instead?"

I thought of my family, all of them long dead, and my heart ached. I looked away and answered quietly, "Dying only scares people with something to live for."