She stepped toward him, glaring. Man, she was pissed. "You lack compassion, lack remorse. You may be free at the moment, but it won't last forever, because I'll make sure you pay for what you've done."

Through her anger, her guard slipped, letting Luce glimpse into her unbridled thoughts. Hannah was her name. Serah had been by her side since the beginning of time, and she harbored deep resentment over losing her best friend.

"Careful, Hannah," Luce said quietly, looking away from her. "Your wrath is showing."

Without responding, Hannah evaporated, the pop of static loud. Luce glanced back at the street then, finding Serah long gone. Sighing, he gathered his cards and slipped them in his pocket for safekeeping before standing up and walking away from the school, determined to find her.

Serah had turned her attention away from the area and strolled down the street. Luce followed behind, hands needlessly shoved in the pockets of his black pants, bare feet dragging against the concrete.

He had no purpose for following her, other than driving himself crazy. Maybe he still got his rocks off on suffering, because seeing her and not being able to talk to her, or be with her, was undoubtedly torture of the worst kind. A few times he thought about touching her. She wouldn't feel it, or really know what it was she felt, the touch of an angel little more than a tickle, resonating deep inside of them, but he'd feel it.

And if he touched her, he suspected he wouldn't be able to let her go. He hadn't been brave enough to even get close enough to make that happen.

Maybe he was the coward now.

He followed her all day as she walked to and fro. He could hear some of the thoughts of those she encountered, hear their assessment of the young woman who always smiled and never seemed to be in a hurry to get anywhere.

They thought it was weird, how she stopped to smell the flowers when she encountered some.

Luce thought there was nothing more beautiful.

Serah tugged at the stiff black dress as she gazed in the mirror, casually fixing the white apron tied around her waist. It was a stark contrast, the black and the white, the light and the dark against her pale skin.

It's not all black and white.

The peculiar words echoed through her mind, whispered in a voice that wasn't hers. She wasn't sure where they came from, or what they meant, but the words washed through her like they were gospel.

The room was cramped, barely large enough to contain the old double bed. It had a bathroom, though, and a small television, and even had a mini-fridge wedged into the corner. It was air conditioned and heated, and wired with electricity, giving Serah nearly everything she needed.

It wasn't perfect, but she wouldn't dare complain. She had a job and a place to stay, two things she had woken up without. The time following her injury, the mysterious incident that caused her memory to be wiped, had been filled with doctors and sterile hospital rooms, flimsy backless gowns and rehabilitation centers. They poked and prodded, interrogated and investigated, before merely shoving her out into the streets and wishing her the best of luck.

Compared to that? This was practically Heaven.

"Knock, knock."

Serah glanced toward the open doorway as Gilda Barnhart stepped into the room. She seemed a lot like her son, round and kind, with hair bordering between blonde and white.

"Hello," Serah greeted her, smiling warmly.

"I see the uniform fits."

Smoothing the material, Serah glanced down at herself. "It certainly does."

"So I brought your cart up and left it out on the walkway," Gilda said. "There are only two rooms occupied today, 7A and 21B. You'll want to talk to the front desk in the mornings for a list of our occupancies, just so you're aware, but your key is universal."

Serah pulled the key she'd been given when hired from her dress pocket. It was a card that when swiped would open every door in the motel. She gazed at it, running her fingertips along the magnetic strip. "Thank you."

"Of course," she replied. "It's great to have you on board."

"It's great to be here," Serah said, meaning that as she said it.

Gilda gave her a quick rundown of what to do, which added up to basic maid services, nothing Serah couldn't handle. The woman departed with a whispered good luck, leaving Serah to her duties.

Neither rented room was actually occupied when Serah made it to them. She swiftly cleaned both, in and out and finished within an hour. She returned to the lobby of the motel and stepped inside, approaching Gilda as the woman sat behind the front desk.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Nothing," Gilda said. "That's it."

That was it? Didn't seem like much of a job to Serah. People worked from nine to five, didn't they? It was barely ten o'clock in the morning. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Gilda said. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

Shrugging, Serah stepped back out of the lobby, on her way back to her room, when something across the street caught her eye. Her footsteps briefly faltered. It was a man, wearing all black, with dark hair, shorter on the sides and dramatic. He was handsome in a harsh way, his features sharp, his expression stoic like a hardened warrior, but that wasn't what stalled her.

What stalled her was the spark of recognition.

She'd seen him before.

And he was watching her.

There was something strange about him, the way he stood so still it was like he wasn't breathing, a fixture along the street, alive like the trees, but not swaying in the breeze. She recalled his face, a face she'd seen before, staring down at her when she awoke in the street, her mind a blank slate. No name, no identity, no sense of direction, but his eyes were as familiar as looking at her own reflection.