"You can't tell him about Adam. He'll kill me."

"I don't really care one way or the other what happens to you. But you dying would destroy Fia, so I'll do whatever I can to cover up your mess. Because I care about your sister."

I hang my head and cry. He leaves without a word.

I see Fia that night. I don't know if it's a dream or a vision, but she's alone, and she's scared, and she's crying.

But she isn't scared for herself.

She's scared that something will happen to me because she got kidnapped.

In the morning when I wake up again on the couch I immediately know I am not alone. I can smell tea, my favorite tea, and the tiny clink of a spoon stirring.

"Good morning, Annabelle."

Mr. Keane. Here. In my room. If I were going to die, would I have seen it? I can't die. I have to save Fia.

"James informed me of the unfortunate development with your sister. I'm very disappointed."

"Do you know where she is? Can you find her?" I sit up. I want to smooth my hair, to pull the blanket over myself so he can't see my bare arms, but I resist.

"I have everyone working on it. I'll be very upset if we lose Sofia. And I expect you'll be pushing yourself to see something helpful."

"Of course."

"Very good. Because without Sofia, there really isn't a place for you here."

He doesn't say if there's not a place for me here, there's not a place for me anywhere. He doesn't have to. I swallow. I hope he doesn't see it.

I hear him stand, and almost sigh in relief because I know where he is now in relation to me, and it means he's leaving.

"There is another matter. The matter of Adam Denting."

James, James, how could you? "Yes?"

"I've heard some interesting things about him since he was killed. Did you know he was a neurologist? Studied brain abnormalities in women. Something of a prodigy. Very interesting. And I've been thinking about what you saw, his name swallowing mine. I'm curious: How can a girl who has been blind since age four understand a vision that revolves around words?"

I stutter, grasping desperately for something, anything to explain this. Fia would know. She'd have a lie. She'd twist and slide and slip through this. She'd never have messed up this bad in the first place.

I am lost.

His voice is close now, too close, and I sink back against the couch, wishing I could disappear into it. "If you ever try to manipulate me again, dear girl, I can assure you that your death will not be nearly so pleasant and fast as the last one you saw, and I will personally make certain it happens."

No footsteps, he has no footsteps, but I hear the door open with a click and a whisper. "If I were you, I'd pray for Sofia's swift return."

Chapter Fifteen

ANNIE

Eighteen Months Ago

I STOP HALFWAY TO FIA'S DOOR, THE TRAY BALANCED carefully on my hip. "You're new," I say. He smells like oranges and...something darker. Richer. Not the cheap, stinging aftershave of Stewart, the regular guard.

He laughs; it has an edge to it that sets my senses on alert. It's unnerving and a little bit sexy. I am eighteen years old. I know nothing about sexy. Or men. I wish I did. I wonder what it would be like to have a life where boys were a part of it.

This man, whoever he is, knows everything about sexy. I can already tell by his smell and his laugh. "I am new. How did you know I was here?"

"Stewart smells much worse. And he breathes like a horse."

He laughs again. "You must be Annabelle."

I smile, then inwardly berate myself. What am I doing? He's one of them. And, even worse, he's new. Which means something must be changing. Which is absolutely terrifying. "Why are you here?"

"They needed a replacement for the previous project manager."

The previous project manager. Clarice. Dead Clarice. "So, what did you do wrong to get assigned here?"

"Ah, you mean what did I do right? Because here is looking pretty good now."

I don't know if I'm blushing; my cheeks are hot and I feel like I need to tuck my hair behind my ear or touch my neck, but I'm holding the tray. Fia's tray. "I have to take this in to Fia. Open the door."

"Fia," he says experimentally, then repeats it softly to himself. "Yes, about that."

I feel the tray wobble ever so slightly. He touched it. "What did you just do?"

"I think it's time we weaned your sister off the sedatives, don't you?"

"Really?" I turn my face toward his voice, overwhelmed with hope. They've kept her so drugged up ever since...ever since that day. She's barely a person. I've asked and asked, pleaded, argued, demanded. What was the point in keeping her here if they were going to leave her a zombie forever?

"Really."

Tears spill down my face, warm tracks. I don't know what to do with myself. I bend and set the tray on the ground, then, on impulse, throw my arms in a hug around him. He is tall and solid, and being this close he smells even better. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, but I'm not doing it for you."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." I let go and back away, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."

"James."

"The beautiful boy with the booze?" I ask, horrified. That's how Fia and I have referred to him ever since that night. And now he's in charge of our very lives.

I wish I could take back my hug.

"Come on. Please? No one describes movies as well as you do." I finish brushing Fia's hair, but she still sits listlessly on the end of the bed. I moved into a bigger dorm, more like an apartment, last month.

James let me move her out of the secure wing and back in with me five days ago. She hasn't seen him yet. I haven't told her he's in charge of us now. I still don't know what that means, how that changes things.

But thanks to him, she's off the sedatives. I just give her one at night to help her sleep. There's almost no difference between heavily sedated Fia and normal Fia, though.

"You act like nothing changed," she whispers.

"Why should I act like something changed?"

"You know what I did!"

I flinch away from her voice, but part of me is glad. At least I got a reaction. "It doesn't matter."

She laughs. It's low and empty and I wish she wouldn't ever laugh like that again. "You didn't do it."

"Let's move on. Forget about it. You're not going to be punished for it. Everyone understands. I talked with-I talked with Mr. Keane."

"The Mr. Keane?" she asks.

"Yes. On the phone, right after. I was so scared they'd-they'd take you away. I told him everything, about what you saw, about why you-why it happened. He wasn't angry!" Actually, he'd laughed, a silent whisper of a laugh. I couldn't get it out of my head. It was the only laugh I've ever heard worse than Fia's dead-girl laugh. "So we move on. Back to our plan. The plan not to have a plan. Remember?" I nudge her, smiling hopefully. She needs to have hope. She needs to have something.

Ever since it became obvious that I knew what this school really was and that I wasn't seeing anything other than the occasional glimpse of Fia, they've pretty much ignored me. I can do whatever I want as long as I stay in a few select (and guarded) wings of the building. But they don't pretend to care about my future anymore-no new tech, no more visits from the doctor. I wonder if there ever was any hope for my eyes. Probably just another lie woven to keep me invested and Fia trapped.

Just another future I've lost.

"You can't see my hands," Fia whispers. There's a noise, almost too quiet to hear. A tiny tap-tap-tap, like she's playing a beat on her leg.

I try to reach out for her fingers, but she snatches them away.

"You can't see my hands, and you didn't see her face. Remember that night we fought? Just before? You said you'd be okay without me. Did you mean it?"

"Fia, sweetheart, let's don't talk about that. That was a long time ago."

She sighs. "I want to sleep now."

I leave her alone. I'll figure it out. I try to research post-traumatic stress disorder online, but nothing fits. I don't know how to help her. Nothing I'm doing is working.

And the thing is, I can't ever tell her, but she didn't need to do what she did. Just knowing that they'd kill me if she didn't do what they wanted her to would have changed things. Killing Clarice wasn't the only option. If she had asked me, if she had just waited and talked about it, I'm sure I would have told her not to do it.

I think she knows. She picked the first way to stop that vision from ever happening. But she didn't pick the only way. The other way would have been doing whatever it was they wanted her to. I hope it was worse than what she did. I really do. Because the option she chose is destroying her.

That night when I go to get her sleeping pill, the brand-new bottle is empty.

"Please," I say. "Get off the couch. We haven't been outside since you were sick." Since you ate a bottle of sleeping pills. Since you tried to leave me in the only way you could. "Let's go walk the grounds." The school is a square with an open courtyard in the middle. They let us go out there. Maybe if I can get her in the sunshine, maybe if we can feel it and she can see it, maybe it will help.

"Eden can take you."

"I don't want to go with Eden."

She doesn't even answer. I don't know what to do anymore. This is worse than when she was sedated, worse than anything, because there's nothing to fight, nothing to rally against. She's completely lost herself, and I don't know how to bring her back.

Someone knocks and I shout for them to come in, hoping it's Eden and I can get a break from this frustrating, mind-numbingly awful existence. But the clomp-clomp-clomp of heavy, confident steps and the scent of oranges and velvet night air flood my apartment.

"James?" Fia's voice is incredulous.

"Apparently I am to be addressed as the Beautiful Boy with the Booze. But I take it Annabelle didn't tell you I was back."

Of course I didn't tell her. I've heard all the girls talking about him. He flirts shamelessly with everyone. The Readers whisper that he thinks constantly about sex. Eden says he reeks of lust. I don't want him in my rooms. I don't want him around my baby sister.

"Unfortunately," he says, "this time I didn't find any bottles of whiskey to steal before visiting. Can I still come in?"

An exhalation. Was that a laugh? Not the hollow dead-girl laugh?

"I don't care," she says.

"Excellent." I hear the couch's leather creak. How close is he sitting to her? Is he touching her? I want him away from her. I wish I had been sitting on the couch next to her so I could block him, shield her from him.

"To what do we owe the honor?" I ask.

"I was bored. Running this school is dead dull."

Fia's voice is sharper than it's been in weeks. "Since when do you work for your father?"

"Didn't you hear? I own the school. Twenty-one now, and I've come into my mother's idea of an inheritance. I would've preferred my own island, but there are perks to this." There is a pause here; no one says anything; and I have never felt so blind as I do now, trying to imagine how he is looking at her when he says "perks."

Finally James talks again. "Now, Fia. I've got a confession." I stiffen, furious. He can't call her that. He doesn't deserve to use her nickname.

"Hmm?"

"The first night we met, when I told you my name, do you remember what you said?"

She doesn't answer.