I nod, but I don’t mean it. It’s not that I don’t trust her; it’s just that this is too big, too impossible. Maybe after I figure it out—when I can explain myself before she has me committed.

Or arrested.

What do you do with people who can magically pull lip balm from their pockets?

“Do you think maybe you’ll draw anything else before our next appointment?” Elizabeth asks, sounding light and casual; but we both know we’re walking on thin ice with my artist’s block and if she pushes too hard, it’ll break. I’ll break.

“Maybe,” I mumble, not willing to commit to more than that.

“Well, do you mind if I keep this picture until our next session?” Elizabeth asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

She holds up the drawing and a zing of jealous possession rushes through me. I suppress the urge to snatch the drawing back, take a breath, and remind myself that if I managed to draw one, I can draw another. Or ten. Or a hundred.

Besides, it’s only a couple of days.

So then why does my heart ache like it’s gone forever? Like he’s gone forever?

CHAPTER TEN

It’s pouring by the time our session is done. Elizabeth offers me a ride, but I turn it down. I have a lot to mull over—a walk in the rain is just what I need. And I managed to have the foresight to wear an actual raincoat today instead of my usual hoodie; I’ll stay dry enough. Elizabeth tries to insist—says I’ll get too cold. But she finally lets me go when I tell her I’m just heading to the library.

When I reach the curb of the parking lot, I look up and barely catch sight of a man half hidden by a bush. He’s leaning casually against one of the buildings across the street from Elizabeth’s office plaza and doesn’t seem to have seen me yet. But he looks familiar.

It’s only when he lifts one hand to adjust his sunglasses—sunglasses in the rain?—that I realize it’s the man who was staring at me when I ran into the wall. Have I got another stalker? Or should I add paranoia to the list of mental disorders brought on by my injuries? Most likely he just lives nearby, and now that I’ve noticed him, I’ll see him all the time—like how when you buy a new car, you suddenly start seeing the same model everywhere you go. Still, I’m creeped out, so I duck my head and grip my backpack straps as I pivot and head in the opposite direction.

I’m only two blocks from Elizabeth’s office when my stomach rumbles. I was so nervous about my appointment—not to mention keyed up about Benson—that I forgot to eat breakfast. Now I’m famished.

I’ve been hungry a lot lately. Like, starving hungry. When I came in from seeing Quinn yesterday, I think I ate twice as much lasagna as usual. I was going to ask Elizabeth about that, actually, but after everything that’s happened this week, I kinda forgot. I assume it’s a sign that I’m healing—that my body needs more fuel for repairs. Whatever it is, my stomach is screaming for food.

Part of me wants to head to the library anyway—maybe Benson and I can go grab lunch. He did say we should get together, away from work. But sanity worms its way into my brain and I realize that showing up soaking wet and bedraggled at someone’s work is not really a great way to fish for a date. Home first. And maybe I should borrow Reese’s car to go to the library; it is really coming down.

Looking nice for Benson didn’t matter before. But now …

When I reach the house, the front door opens on silent hinges and I’m several steps up the stairway before I hear Reese’s voice.

“It’s really not a good time, Liz. Tavia took off this morning and didn’t tell me where she was going. Did she even make your appointment?” Pause. “Oh! Well, in that case.”

Startled, I turn my head toward the kitchen, my ears perking up when I catch my own name. Reese’s steps are coming toward me and I instinctively duck out of sight as she carries the phone into the front room to peek out the window.

Watching for me.

“The blond guy again?”

Liz. Elizabeth? My stomach clenches within me as betrayal fills my chest. She’s telling them! Therapists aren’t supposed to do that. I clench my jaw, but I creep quietly down the stairs as Reese says, “She drew him? That’s excellent!”

I curl my knees up to my chest, shrouded by the shadow of the winding staircase, and try not to make a sound, to not even breathe.

“You’re sure? He looks just like our descriptions from Sonya? But—wait, he talked to her? That doesn’t make any sense, does it? Is there a possibility of a mistake?” She fumbles for a second. “Let me write that down. Quinn? Okay. A-ver-y,” she says slowly, writing. “I’ll look him up. It’s not a name I recognize, but you know how extensive our files are. Plus I can call in a favor. I have a friend in records who’ll keep it quiet.”

I hear her sipping something and she swallows quickly, then says, “The Earthbound triangle? At his house? So you think he knows what he is?”

I’m sick as I hear all my secrets dropping from Reese’s lips.

“No, I agree, it must be. I’m happy to check out the one on Fifth as well. Were you able to get a house number from the picture? Maybe whoever lived there was a Curatoriate. There might be something left that we can use. But get me the sketch for sure—this could be the break we need.”

The sketch … why did I have to leave my drawing with Elizabeth!?

“How long do you think we have before we have to do the pull?” A long pause follows and I can hear from her footsteps that Reese has started pacing again. “I am still worried about it burning her out. I always have been. We both know she’s no good to us if her brain is destroyed. But if she’s basically doing a slow pull on herself?”