I cling to him, squeezing my eyes shut as my head swims. These memories were a gift from my sister, Emmaline. The sister I only just discovered, only just recovered.
And only because she fought to find me.
Despite my parents’ relentless efforts to rid our minds of the lingering proof of their atrocities, Emmaline prevailed. She used her psychokinetic powers to return to me what was stolen from my memories. She gave me this gift—this gift of remembering—to help me save myself. To save her. To stop our parents.
To fix the world.
But now, in the wake of a narrow escape, this gift has become a curse. Every hour my mind is reborn. Altered. The memories keep coming.
And my dead mother refuses to be silenced.
“Little bird,” she whispers, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “It’s time for you to fly away now.”
“But I don’t want to go,” I say, fear making my voice shake. “I want to stay here, with you and Dad and Emmaline. I still don’t understand why I have to leave.”
“You don’t have to understand,” she says gently.
I go uncomfortably still.
Mum doesn’t yell. She’s never yelled. My whole life, she’s never raised a hand to me, never shouted or called me names. Not like Aaron’s dad. But Mum doesn’t need to yell. Sometimes she just says things, things like you don’t have to understand and there’s a warning there, a finality in her words that’s always scared me.
I feel tears forming, burning the whites of my eyes, and—
“No crying,” she says. “You’re far too old for that now.”
I sniff, hard, fighting back the tears. But my hands won’t stop shaking.
Mum looks up, nods at someone behind me. I turn around just in time to spot Paris, Mr. Anderson, waiting with my suitcase. There’s no kindness in his eyes. No warmth at all. He turns away from me, looks at Mum. He doesn’t say hello.
He says: “Has Max settled in yet?”
“Oh, he’s been ready for days.” Mum glances at her watch, distracted. “You know Max,” she says, smiling faintly. “Always a perfectionist.”
“Only when it comes to your wishes,” says Mr. Anderson. “I’ve never seen a grown man so besotted with his wife.”
Mum smiles wider. She seems about to say something, but I cut her off.
“Are you talking about Dad?” I ask, my heart racing. “Will Dad be there?”
My mother turns to me, surprised, like she’d forgotten I was there. She turns back to Mr. Anderson. “How’s Leila doing, by the way?”
“Fine,” he says. But he sounds irritated.
“Mum?” Tears threaten again. “Am I going to stay with Dad?”
But Mum doesn’t seem to hear me. She’s talking to Mr. Anderson when she says, “Max will walk you through everything when you arrive, and he’ll be able to answer most of your questions. If there’s something he can’t answer, it’s likely beyond your clearance.”
Mr. Anderson looks suddenly annoyed, but he says nothing. Mum says nothing.
I can’t stand it.
Tears are spilling down my face now, my body shaking so hard it makes my breaths rattle. “Mum?” I whisper. “Mum, please a-answer me—”
Mum clamps a cold, hard hand around my shoulder and I go instantly still. Quiet. She’s not looking at me. She won’t look at me. “You’ll handle this, too,” she says. “Won’t you, Paris?”
Mr. Anderson meets my eyes then. So blue. So cold. “Of course.”
A flash of heat courses through me. A rage so sudden it briefly replaces my terror.
I hate him.
I hate him so much that it does something to me when I look at him—and the abrupt surge of emotion makes me feel brave.
I turn back to Mum. Try again.
“Why does Emmaline get to stay?” I ask, wiping angrily at my wet cheeks. “If I have to go, can’t we at least go toge—”
I cut myself off when I spot her.
My sister, Emmaline, is peeking out at me from behind the mostly closed door. She’s not supposed to be here. Mum said so.
Emmaline is supposed to be doing her swimming lessons.
But she’s here, her wet hair dripping on the floor, and she’s staring at me, eyes wide as plates. She’s trying to say something, but her lips move too fast for me to follow. And then, out of nowhere, a bolt of electricity runs up my spine and I hear her voice, sharp and strange— Liars.
LIARS.
KILL THEM ALL
My eyes fly open and I can’t catch my breath, my chest heaving, heart pounding. Warner holds me, making soothing sounds as he runs a reassuring hand up and down my arm.