I close my mouth. I’m not going to play this blame-trading game. “You’re not my aunt and uncle, are you?” I ask, not bothering to hide the accusation in my voice.

The question hangs in the air, one they obviously don’t want to answer. “No,” Reese finally says. “My name is Samantha. Sammi.”

I almost laugh at the nickname. It matches her pert blond hair and doll-like stature but is completely at odds with her formal, businesslike personality. “And you?” I say, whipping my head around to Jay, who I realize is leaning against the tree now—like standing takes too much effort.

“Mark. Just Mark,” he adds awkwardly.

“Why pretend?” I ask, shooting my words at him.

“To get you into protective custody without shocking you with everything all at once. It was hard enough for you to deal with your parents dying—not to mention the physical trauma—without pushing a bunch of supernatural stuff on you as well. We were trying to be gentle, while still keeping you safe and hidden.”

“Did you kill my real aunt and uncle before you stole their identities?”

“That is not how we work, Tavia,” Sammi snaps, plainly offended. “They’re alive and well and think you died in the crash. And trust me, falsifying TSA documents is no picnic.”

“Tavia,” Elizabeth says, speaking up for the first time, “if there’s anything I have ever said that you believed, please believe this: Sammi and Mark and I have dedicated every waking moment for more than the last year to keeping you safe.”

“Not to mention eighteen years ago,” Reese—Sammi—adds in a mutter.

Elizabeth shoots her a look and continues. “We almost lost you in the plane crash, and that failure has plagued us every single day. There are no three people in the world who you’re safer with than us. I promise you that.”

Safer than with Benson? I think wryly. Not a chance. But I say nothing, just reach back for Benson’s hands. He’s staying quiet, letting me speak, rant, accuse. But he hasn’t moved an inch, his warm chest a solid support against my back. As steadfast as any of these ancient trees. He makes me feel strong. Bold. Better.

“Please,” Elizabeth says, “let us take you somewhere safe—we’ll talk about anything you want then, but we’re tempting fate by staying out here in the open.”

“We’re pretty off-road,” I reply sarcastically, gesturing at the thick foliage around us.

“Anything but bulletproof walls is out in the open as far as I’m concerned,” Sammi snaps. “Please, let us take you to a safe house.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I retort. “I don’t want anything to do with the Curatoria or the Reduciata.”

“To be honest, I don’t think you’ll last long on your own. I’ve never seen the Reduciata hunt someone this seriously. Taking down an entire plane?” Mark says, confirming my suspicions. “That’s brutal even for them. We managed to get to the car crash in Bath about an hour after it happened, and to tell the truth, we thought they’d gotten you at that hotel in Freeport.”

I clench my jaw. They were never far behind. But still farther behind than the Reduciata, who have been getting progressively closer and closer. I want to take Benson and run—I want it so badly—but would it be a death sentence for us both?

“They want you,” Mark continues. “Specifically, and very badly. After the plane wreck we had to take you and hide you because when you were the sole survivor, the Reduciata immediately knew they’d failed to assassinate you. Only an Earthbound could have survived that crash.”

My fingers clutch Benson’s icy skin. “What is it about this crash that started everything? I don’t understand. I didn’t know anything then.”

“An Earthbound’s self-preservation instinct is incredibly strong,” Sammi says simply, as though we were discussing the migratory patterns of butterflies. “Awareness that borders on precognition, impulse self-defense in disciplines the Earthbound has never learned in conscious memory, that sort of thing. Sudden re-awakenings of powers in life-threatening scenarios is the least of what I’ve seen in my time. The simple need to stay alive brought your ability forth. We’re not sure exactly what you did, but somehow your instincts kicked in and you created something to save yourself.”

My throat is constricting now as the obvious question slams into me like a boulder. “I did it? I kept myself alive?” I whisper, and I can see in Elizabeth’s eyes that she knows what’s coming next. I blink, but that only makes the tears spill onto my cheeks—searing spots on my skin. “Then why couldn’t I save them too?”

“I don’t think your unconscious instincts could do anything beyond self-preservation,” Mark says, empathy—real or not—heavy in his tone. “You can’t feel guilty about that, Tavia.”

But I do.

If I—even without consciously understanding my powers—could rescue myself, then I could have rescued them.

And I didn’t.

Benson wraps his arm around my waist and I cling to him, forcing myself to fill my lungs several times even though it feels like knives are stabbing my chest.

The truth should be simple. And this is not simple. This is a fairy tale. And not the Prince-Charming-kissed-the-princess kind of fairy tale; the kind where the wolf eats the grandmother, the mermaid turns into sea foam, and the dancer gets her feet cut off.