“I can call it,” Benson offers.

I’m afraid to say yes. Despite everything we’ve discovered, this feels like a major turning point.

Benson looks down at his screen, and his thinking wrinkle appears between his eyebrows.

Every nerve is on edge as I nod. “Let’s do it.”

He waits a few seconds—giving me a chance to change my mind maybe—then touches his screen and raises the phone to his ear.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Then the phone on Reese’s desk lets out a shrill ring.

My knees collapse and I sink to the floor, drained of the will to support my own weight. “But I talked to them!” I shout, and my voice is so shrill—I hardly recognize it. “There was a woman, and it wasn’t Reese,” I add before Benson can say anything. “She wasn’t like Reese at all. I talked to her like six times. There’s no way it was Reese. Or Elizabeth. She was kind of cutesy and peppy, like a cheerleader. Like … like …” Like Barbie. Like Secretary Barbie. Who does her best never to talk to me, who’s hardly ever there even when I have an appointment.

My heart is pounding in my ears.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

“It was all fake,” I say, my voice shallow and strained. “Why … why would they do that?”

I hear Benson breathe in and out slowly a few times. “I’ve been thinking about this.”

“You knew?” I almost shout.

“No, no,” Benson says, his hands coming to my arms, rubbing up and down to calm me. “I didn’t know about the school thing. I mean I’ve been thinking about the whole plane thing, in light of everything else that’s happened.”

“And?” I say after the silence grows heavy.

“I hate to bring this up, I mean, I’m sure it’s still kind of fresh and all, but maybe … maybe you being in a plane wreck isn’t a coincidence.”

“What do you mean? Like someone—” But the words are hardly out of my mouth when I realize what he’s implying. “No,” I whisper. “No way.”

“Tavia, with everything that’s happened, you have to at least consider it.”

Despair rips through me. “No. No! I am not important enough for someone to bring down an entire plane! Do you know how many people were on that flight?” I’m managing to not yell, but only just.

“Two hundred and fifty-six,” Benson whispers. Of course he looked it up.

“It was an accident.” The words are shaky as they wisp from my mouth.

Benson is quiet, but his eyes don’t leave mine. Just as I’m sure I can’t look at him anymore, he says, “I don’t think it was, Tave.”

I sink to the floor, defeated. It’s one thing to lose my parents in a tragic accident—I’ve learned to deal with that—but murder?

Murder that was intended for me?

“Benson?” His name is a croak from my dry throat. “I’m no one.”

“You’re not no one.” He reaches an arm around me, pulling me to his chest, where I bury my face. He strokes my short hair. “Think about it. Someone must have found you when you were living in Michigan. They sabotaged your plane, tried to kill you because of what you can do. It all fits.”

Like a glove.

The most horrendous glove in the world.

I think I’m going to throw up.

“Then why am I still alive?”

“Maybe … maybe something changed.”

“Did I change?” My voice is so hollow even I can hear it, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything went crazy after the plane wreck. Did the crash change me? Have I always been this way, or did the crash turn me into something … something strange?” I look up at him now. “Did I survive a plane wreck because of my powers, or do I have powers because I survived a plane wreck?”

“Does it matter?” Benson whispers.

I look down at my file. “Maybe.” As I stare at that name—Tavia Michaels, is that even really me anymore?—a conviction solidifies in my chest. “I have to leave, Benson. I have to get out of here. Away from them, from everyone.”

“You can’t leave, Tave.”

Our heads jerk up to Elizabeth standing in the doorway.

With a gun.

Pointed right at us.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I don’t think.

I don’t have time.

There’s a picture in my head—a flicker of a picture—and metal bands appear from nowhere, wrapping around Elizabeth’s body, around her hands, forcing the gun from her fingers. More bands. And more. Iron. Cast iron, I realize, and it feels vaguely familiar, as if I’ve done this very thing before.

But now I can’t stop. More metal wraps around Elizabeth—her arms, her shoulders. Soon the weight drags her to the ground.

“Tavia, you … holy crap, what did you do?” Benson stares in horror at the uneven contraption holding Elizabeth to the floor.

“I don’t know. It just … it just happened.” Again. What is wrong with me that I can hurt people without even consciously thinking about it!

Shaking the thought away, I scoop the files from the floor. “Come on! We only have five minutes.”

“Tavia! Stop! Talk to me!” Elizabeth calls, but I ignore her as I scoot through the doorway and sprint to my room, Benson close behind. “You don’t understand what this all means,” she yells. “There’s more than you could possibly know.”