And just as the bell rings and I try to bolt for the door, Munoz steps before me and says, "How do you do it?"

I press my lips together and shrug as though I've no clue what he's talking about. Though it's clear he's not about to let it go, he's been wondering for weeks.

"How do you—know stuff?" he says, his eyes narrowed on mine. "About random historical facts we've never once studied—about me?"

I gaze down at the ground and take a deep breath, wondering what it could hurt to throw him a bone. I mean, I'm leaving tonight, and chances are he'll never remember this anyway, so what harm could it do to tell him the truth?

"I don't know." I shrug. "It's not like I do anything. Images and information just appear in my head." He looks at me, struggling with whether or not to believe. And not having the time or desire to try to convince him, but still wanting to leave him with something nice, I say, "For instance, I know you shouldn't give up on your book because it's going to be published someday."

He gapes, his eyes wide, his expression wavering between wild hope and complete disbelief. And even though it kills me to add it, even though the whole idea makes me want to hurl, I know there's something more that needs to be said, it's the right thing to do. Besides, what could it hurt? I mean, I'm leaving anyway, and Sabine deserves to get out and have a little fun. And other than his penchant for Rolling Stones boxers, Bruce Springsteen songs, and his obsession with Renaissance times—he seems harmless. Not to mention how it's not going to go anywhere anyway since I specifically saw her getting together with a guy who works in her building.

"Her name is Sabine," I say, before I have a chance to overthink it and change my mind. Then seeing the confusion in his eyes, I add, "You know, the petite blonde at Starbucks? The one who spilled her latte all over your shirt? The one you can't stop thinking about?"

And when he looks at, me, it's clear that he's speechless. And preferring to leave it like that, I gather my stuff and head toward the door, glancing over my shoulder to say, "And you shouldn't be afraid to talk to her. Seriously. Just suck it up and approach her already. You'll find she's really nice."

Chapter Forty-One

When I exit the room, I half expect to find Roman waiting for me with that same taunting gleam in his eye. But he's not. And when I get to the lunch tables, I know why. He's performing. Orchestrating everyone around him, directing everything they say and do—like a band leader, a puppet master, a big-top circus ring leader. And just as the hint of something nudges at the back of my mind, just as an inkling of insight begins to take shape—I see him. Damen. The love of every single one of my lives, now stumbling toward the lunch table, so unstable, so disheveled and haggard, there's no mistaking that things have progressed at an alarming rate. We are running out of time.

And when Stacia turns, makes a face, and hisses, "Loo-ser!" I'm stunned to realize the taunt is not meant for me. It's directed at Damen. And in a matter of seconds, the whole school joins in. All of the derision once reserved just for me is now directed at him.

I glance at Miles and Haven, watching as they add their voices to the chorus, then I rush toward Damen, alarmed to find his skin so clammy and cold, those once high cheekbones now alarmingly gaunt, and those deep dark eyes that once held such promise and warmth, now watery and rheumy and barely able to focus. And even though his lips are horribly dry and cracked, I still feel an undeniable longing to press mine against them. Because no matter what he looks like, no matter how much he's changed, he's still Damen. My Damen. Young or old, healthy or sick, it doesn't matter. He's the only one I've ever really cared about—the only one I've ever loved—and nothing Roman or anyone else does can ever change that.

"Hey," I whisper, my voice cracking as my eyes fill with tears. Tuning out the shrill taunts that surround us as I focus solely on him. Hating myself for turning my back long enough to allow this to happen, knowing he never would've let this happen to me.

He turns toward me, his eyes struggling to focus, and just when I think I've captured a glimmer of recognition—it's gone so fast I'm sure I imagined it.

"Let's get out of here," I say, tugging on his sleeve, trying to pull him alongside me. "What do you say we ditch?" I smile, hoping to remind him of our usual Friday routine. Just reaching the gate when Roman appears.

"Why do you bother?" he says, his arms folded, headcocked to the side, allowing his Ouroboros tattoo to flash in and out of view.

I grip Damen's arm and narrow my gaze, determined to get past Roman whatever it takes.

"Seriously, Ever." He shakes his head, glancing from Damen to me. "Why waste your time? He's old, feeble, practically decrepit, and, I'm sorry to say, but from the looks of things, not long for this earth. Surely you're not planning to waste your sweet young nectar on this dinosaur?" He looks at me, blue eyes blazing, lips curving, glancing at the lunch table just as the shrill of taunts hits the next level. And just like that, I know.

The idea that's been nudging me, poking around the edges, and trying to get my attention, has finally been heard. And even though I'm not sure if I'm right, and knowing I'll have no choice but to slink off in shame if I'm wrong, I take in the crowd, my eyes moving from Miles to Haven to Stacia to Honor to Craig to every single kid who's just going through the motions, following along, doing what everyone else says and does without once stopping to question, without once asking why. Then I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and focus all of my energy on them when I shout: "WAKE UP!!!"