He stops blinking and I can’t hear him breathe but colour siphons from his face to flame in his ears. Finally, he nods. I glance at Miriam, who looks like she’s poised for a bomb to go off.

Pressing on, I say, “I noticed while we were in hospital that my symptoms had gone. I was wondering how – how that was all going for you … and whether or not you had been feeling any different, yourself.”

I snatch a look at the guard, who still appears patiently bored. When I focus again on Aiden he seems stunned, a faint beading of sweat moistening his upper lip, yet, despite his bloodless face and glowing ears, his expression remains impassive.

“How is your friend?” Aiden keeps his voice steady, like it’s an unrelated comment, but I feel the effort behind his question and I know we’re on the same page.

“She’s great.”

A quiet outwards gust of breath and he closes his eyes for a moment. “When I came round after surgery my symptoms were gone.”

The relief of hearing him confirm it almost closes my throat. “You’re sure?” I concentrate and note the faint sound of his heartbeat settling into a less frenetic rhythm.

“Yes. Like waking from a bad dream.”

“That’s wonderful.” Miriam’s eyes glisten. “I’m so glad to hear that, Aiden.”

He folds his hands on the table. “Except that it turned out the nightmare was real and the monster was me.”

“About that.” I want to keep things moving. “Yesterday, I met some people who specialise in our condition.” I wait as the frown solidifies on Aiden’s face. “They have a private clinic. It’s very exclusive, but they’re going to bring me in soon to have me tested – see how I’m progressing.” Trying to find the right way to proceed, I look to Miriam.

She nods, finding her voice. “They’re very interested in Evie’s development and want to see what they can do to help her manage her condition. Help her through any future episodes.”

“Future episodes?” Aiden’s ears lose colour. “You’re telling me it could happen again?”

“For me, it’s certain.”

“And me?” His eyes dart back and forth. “Is it certain for me? If it’s certain for you then it must be–”

“That’s the thing–”

“Do they have a cure?” He leans towards me. “If they’re specialists, there must be a cure, right? Treatment of some kind?”

“Slow down.” I hold my hand up. “Like I said, it’s certain for me, but you’re an unusual case.”

“There’s never been a case like yours,” Miriam answers the question in his eyes. “People don’t snap out of it. They continue in a cycle of regular episodes of increasing intensity until there is an intervention.”

“What does that mean?”

For a split second the room goes black and the boom of a gunshot reverberates in my ears and vibrates up my arm as though I have just fired a weapon. The next second I recognise it’s Miriam’s KMT. Judging by Aiden’s sharp breath as he blinks and rubs his ears, the Transfer has been effective.

He pants, his voice rough. “What was that?”

I dart a nervous glance at the guard, who meets my gaze with a vague frown before staring back at the window, the phenomenon having escaped his notice.

“A cure.” Miriam sighs. “There are other methods, but the result is the same.”

“You did that, just now?” His voice pales. “You–”

“The point is–” I warn him, tilting my head at the guard. There is no time to explain the complexities of our abilities and no means to do so while we are being watched. “The point is, these specialists will be very keen to intervene, in your case, but we don’t think you need treatment what with your … unprecedented turnaround, health wise.”

I can only imagine the roar of questions mounting in his head. He stares back at me, mouth ajar, processing my words, weighing their meaning. He comes slowly to his point. “You think I should remain untreated?”

“Yes,” Miriam and I answer together.

His brow contracts. “They won’t agree.”

“No,” Miriam says. “These specialists … this clinic … they have a lot of rules, but I know for a fact they’ve never seen or heard of anyone like you who recovered in the middle of an episode.”

“What if it’s not a full recovery?”

“I think you’ve come right,” I say. “So does Miriam.”

“How can you know for sure?”

It’s like arguing with Jamie and I grit my teeth. “If you were still affected, I’d know. Trust me.”

“You can’t guarantee it.” He slumps back in his seat.

“I’m certain. We’re certain.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“Run,” I mouth the word. “You know you could.”

Miriam stiffens next to me. “No. He needs time to think.”

He rises abruptly from the table and turns to the guard. “We’re done.”

I stand up. “Aiden, wait.”

“Thank you for your visit,” he says. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need time to think. When they come, I’ll take the cure.” He strides out, not looking back.

DECISIONS

I bang my way into the bright warmth of the kitchen, saturated and breathing hard. Three and a half hours hoofing it up and down Allesford Ridge in the dark and the rain. I needed the release after the tense ride home from Roxborough, pins and needles playing havoc in my spine, reeling in the aftermath of Aiden’s response, I’ll take the cure.

I wring my ponytail, leaving wet droplets on the floor, and cross to the fridge for a bottle of water, my head spinning. Faint from exertion and no food – I couldn’t force myself to eat at the Roxborough mall – I lean back against the counter and drink until I empty the bottle, crushing the plastic in my hand, listing the obstacles in my head.

Miriam. Miriam’s a problem. How to act without her finding out? She’ll be watching me like a hawk now and I can’t let her even guess at what I have in mind. After glimpsing Felicity’s memory of the young man strapped to the chair in the ReProg room, or whatever Miriam called it, I can’t let it go. I see it over and over, or worse, I see Miriam in his place and it makes me sick with fear. If they find evidence of her helping Aiden, it can only lead to the question, why? And “why” might take them deeper, to secrets that have cost Miriam her whole life. I can’t let her get in more trouble than she’s in already for helping me. I have to convince Aiden by myself. This way Affinity won’t be able to hold it against her … I sigh and toss the bottle in the sink. Who am I kidding? They’ll hold her responsible for not knowing … but once they Harvest her memory there’ll be no evidence of involvement, at least not with my plans, and surely that has to count for something. God, let it count for something.

Aiden. Aiden’s the big problem. He won’t run. Hates himself for what he’s done – thinks he deserves to die. I have to show him it’s not true. Prove it to him, or at least get him into hiding long enough so that I can prove it. Like Miriam said, running is only a temporary solution …

My thoughts jump ahead to the next obstacle. The tracker. There’s no getting around the tracker. If I leave it in, I’m screwed. If I take it out, I’m screwed. Either way, once I move to help Aiden I have to accept they’ll come after me. Which means once I start I have to be prepared to go all the way and face the consequences.

A list begins to form in my mind and I make my way into the hall, not looking at the gap in Miriam’s bookshelf or the stair where Jamie kissed me goodbye. But I can’t avoid the ache in my chest, and curl my shoulders against it. A wave of dizziness makes me stumble and I nearly barge the Virgin from her shelf. Steadying myself against the wall, I hear music reverberating faintly beneath my feet. For me to hear it at all it must be at rock concert volume in the hidden training room. Miriam purging her worry and fear, sweating it out, thumping it out on the sparring dummy.

With a reckless rush of now-or-never, I square my shoulders and scoot upstairs.