“He protected you,” I say, more to myself than to Naeva. But why?

“Yeah,” she says, and then looks off at the wall. “But now he’s dead. And if I don’t get out before they decide my fate, I fear I’m going to end up dead too.”

But why would they wait this long to kill her?

It’s too risky. This could all be part of Vonnegut’s plan to track down the rest of us. What if they’re using Naeva—without her knowledge of it—to find us? No, that doesn’t make sense, either. Like Victor said, The Order has known where we were for a while; they wouldn’t need Naeva for that. OK, so that still leaves the question: Why would they wait this long to kill her?

Then she says, “If they don’t kill me soon, they’ll probably use me to get my brothers to give themselves up. I had to report something to The Order about the night Brant died. They already knew that Brant was hot on Victor’s trail, and probably closing in on him; not to mention, they know I’m always with him, so I had to tell them the truth about you and Victor getting away, about Victor killing Brant. They wouldn’t have believed anything else. The only thing I didn’t tell them was that I helped you and Victor.”

Warily, I cut in and ask, “And what exactly did you tell them about your role in what happened?”

“I lied, of course,” she says. “I told them that Victor almost killed me too, but that he spared me when I told him I was his sister. I said Victor let me go. And I think that’s the only reason I’m alive right now to tell you any of this.”

“They want to keep you as a backup,” I say, “in case they need to use you to lure Victor in.”

“Possibly,” she says. “Only thing I can figure is that since they think Victor spared me, that he might try to save me later because of our blood ties.” She starts to gesture her hands. “But Sarai, I don’t know if any of this is true. It’s all speculation. And believe me when I say I’ve been worried maybe they followed me here, even though I took every precaution before coming.” She shakes her head. “I have a lot of fears, and just as many theories, but the only thing I know about any of this that is concrete, is that everything I’ve told you is true. I know you don’t have any reason to believe me—I wouldn’t believe me, either—but this is all I have.” She lowers her head again, and folds her hands gently on her lap. “All I care about is getting to Mexico. Vonnegut, The Order, my life hanging in the balance—I don’t care about any of that.” A sadness suddenly fills her features. “And I love my brothers, but not even they are as important to me as me getting to Mexico.”

“You still haven’t told me, Naeva—why Mexico?”

When she raises her head this time, there are tears trapped in her eyes. “Leo Moreno,” she says, and her lips begin to quiver. And just like that time long ago when she cried out for the life of this man, I can’t escape the feelings of pain and heartache she infects me with.

I swallow, and I place my free hand on her wrist. I want to say something to her, to comfort her, though I don’t know what to say. But I do know that believe I her. The heart never lies, whether it’s telling you something you want to know or not—the heart is incapable of deceit. Sometimes, I admit, I get my mind and heart mixed up, but in times like this, when you feel the truth deep in your core, you know that it can only be your heart talking.

Taking her hand, I place my gun into it and close her fingers around the cold steel. She sniffles and raises her head slowly. She looks down at the gun in her hand, then back up at me; her pale, rosy features perplexed.

I glance at the gun. “Here’s your chance,” I offer. “If that’s why you’re here, you can do what you came here to do. I won’t stop you.”

Her eyebrows drawing inward, Naeva begins to shake her head, slowly at first, until realization fully dawns on her and then she shakes it more rapidly. “No,” she rejects the opportunity, and shoves the gun back into my hand, practically pushing me away with it. “That’s not why I’m here—please, you have to believe me.”

Either she’s the best actress in the world, or she’s telling the truth. And since she’s clearly not Charlize Theron…

“I do believe you, Naeva,” I say, and then I stand and reach out my hand to her. “But it’s not because I believe you, or because I feel the pain you feel for this Leo, that I’m…choosing to let you go with me.”

Her face lights up just enough to show how relieved she is by my decision, and then she stands, gripping my hand.

“Then why?” she asks. “I thought it’d be harder to convince you than this. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d say yes at all. I’m grateful, Sarai, but why are you going to help me?”

“Because you saved my life in Venezuela,” I answer. “And because you and every other girl I spent even two minutes with in that compound in Mexico, are and always have been very important to me.” I take her into another tight hug, and as I stand here with her in my arms, I learn something about myself. Or, rather I remember something that I’d forgotten slowly over time since I escaped Mexico. Those girls are another part of me; I shared something with them that I could never share or feel even with Victor. And I’ll do whatever I can to help any one of them for as long as I live.

Of course, these aren’t my only reasons for helping Naeva. The plot has thickened, so to speak; and Naeva is an unexpected, and very welcoming piece of a complex puzzle that I intend to put together all on my own. The very fact that Victor’s own flesh and blood sister was in the same compound that I was in, is an intriguing mystery in itself. Coincidence? Not even close—too significant to be a mere coincidence. And there’s more. So much more. The mystery surrounding Brant Morrison: his blatant jealousy and hatred for Victor, and his protectiveness of Naeva; why The Order wants Victor and Niklas brought in alive; why The Order wants me brought in alive; why I’m worth so much. My head is spinning with the possibilities!

I will get to the bottom of this. Everything is soon to come full circle. And that inevitable end will begin where things began—in Mexico; back into the heart of the nightmare that was my life.

“Are you sure about this, Naeva?” I gently grip her upper arms in my hands, anticipation seizing me now more than ever. “I meant what I said—you could die. And as much as I want to help you, I don’t want that on my conscience.”

Naeva smiles softly. She reaches up and touches my face.

“If I don’t go, Sarai…I’ll die anyway. I have to find him. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I have to find him.”

We embrace each other tightly.

Naeva Brun. The long-lost kid sister of none other than the man I love. Standing in my living room on the eve of the most important mission of my life. It’s one of those moments when you look back on your plans, your hopes and dreams, and realize that nothing ever happens the way you envision it; something odd or extraordinary, the one thing you never could’ve imagined, is thrown into the wheel in the most unexpected of moments. And it either helps to turn it, or it stops it in its tracks. Naeva, I believe, is very much turning that wheel—I feel it. I know it.

And even still, when I look at her, I can’t for the life of me see her as Victor’s sister. She’s Huevito, the girl who Izel nearly beat to death eleven years ago, a girl who I was not so unlike once upon a time, and I still feel as though I’m peering into a mirror when I look at her.

“What was that?” Naeva asks suddenly, pulling out of our hug.

I pretend not to have heard anything.

But then the voice gets louder, carrying through the vent in the floor.

“Did you hear that?” she asks; she squints her eyes in concentration, and gazes off in the direction of the muffled voice.

Then she looks at me, seeking answers.