“Nick. Wait.” I caught up to him and Sam. “Can you come back inside and talk, please?”

“Talk?” He looked over at me, his eyebrows furrowed in irritation. “That’s the problem, Anna. All you want to do is talk.”

“Maybe because you never do.” My teeth chattered against the cold, but it didn’t stop the heat in my voice. “I’ve been living with you for two months, and I still know nothing about you other than you’re a jerk and—”

He stalked over to me, putting his face just inches from mine. “Fine. Let’s talk. Where do you want to start? How about we start with the fact that I can no longer tell what’s real or not real? That I’m having flashbacks so often, I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind?” He stopped only long enough for a breath. “Or maybe we can talk about how often my flashbacks end with dead people? People I killed? You have no idea what the Branch had us doing. And you don’t want to know.”

Sam edged between us. “Come on,” he said quietly. “She’s just trying to help.”

Nick didn’t take his eyes off me as he spoke. “I don’t need her help. I don’t need any of you.”

He twisted back around and walked off. “What I need is some f**king space.”

“How much?” Sam asked carefully. “A mile? A county? A state?”

Nick shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “As much space as I can get.”

I glanced over at Sam.

“Are we just going to let him go?” I asked quietly.

Sam nodded. “If he needs space, let him have it. Nothing we say or do will change his mind.”

Sam retreated inside. I stayed where I was, legs freezing, fingers numb, waiting for the moment when I could no longer see Nick.

He disappeared around a bend in the driveway, the darkness and the falling snow swallowing him up completely.

When I got inside, Sam resumed his position downstairs, keeping watch over the house, while I went upstairs to bed. With the quilt tucked around my shoulders and the house quiet, I hoped I’d fall asleep quickly enough so I didn’t have to think about Nick.

But as soon as I closed my eyes and felt myself relaxing into the pillow, voices filled my head. A flash of white light shone behind my lids.

I knew immediately what it was: a flashback.

There was yelling.

A pink blanket beneath me.

A jewelry box open on the dresser.

A boy next to me on the bed.

“You okay?” he asked.

My hair fell forward, and I wiped at my eyes. I was crying. And I didn’t want him to see me like this, like a baby.

He leaned in closer. “Anna?”

“Why are they yelling at each other?” I asked.

“Sam’s mad about something your sister did, and your sister is a—” He cut himself off, and I felt him watching me. He took a deep breath. “Never mind.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to see something my mom taught me?”

I sniffed, wiped my face clean. “What is it?”

“You got any paper? I’ll show you.”

The voices faded. I dug for a piece of paper in my desk. A pretty red sheet with hearts on it. I handed it over, and the boy snorted.

“What?” I said.

He ruffled my hair. “Nothing. It’s just, you’re such a girl.”

“Anna?” Fingers dug into my shoulders and shook. “Hey, wake up.”

I opened my eyes. Sam was hunched over me, moonlight painting a lace pattern on his face. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed since I’d gone to bed, but it seemed like hours.

“What?” I croaked.

“You were crying.”

I swiped at my face. My hand came away wet.

“It must have been a bad dream,” I answered. I looked over his shoulder, to the hallway. Cas’s bedroom door stood open. “Cas on watch now?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you lie down with me, then?”

He nodded and went around to the other side of the bed. I heard him set his gun on the table, felt the mattress shift as he double-checked the extra gun beneath it. He did that every night. Somehow it made me feel safer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of his shirt being tossed aside, then felt him slide in next to me beneath the quilt. He wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me closer, planting a breath of a kiss on my bare shoulder.

“ ’Night,” I whispered.

“Good night.”

When I fell asleep again, it was thankfully, blissfully, flashback-free.

5

TWO DAYS. IT’D BEEN TWO DAYS SINCE Nick left. He hadn’t even bothered to call. And the longer he was gone, the more anxious I became.

Even though we’d learned to tolerate each other, Nick and I were not friends. But I wanted him home just the same. And more important, I wanted to know he was safe.

The Branch had twisted and manipulated us with the Altered drug, making us feel a connection to one another that no one else could ever understand. They’d wanted to create a perfect, cohesive unit that listened to their programmed commander without question.

I’d been the programmed commander, and the boys had listened to me without fail, even when they didn’t want to, which was especially true for Nick.

We’d been testing ourselves for weeks now, trying to document the exact moment the programming wore off. Nick had been the most eager. He just wanted to be done with it.

Every Wednesday morning, we went out in the backyard and we tested two things: the boys’ ability to ignore my orders and their ability to stay put even when they thought I was in danger.

Those were two of the main components of the Altered drug. The boys had felt an undeniable, inexplicable need to protect me—the drug’s built-in backup. The Branch wanted to be sure that the boys wouldn’t turn on me even if they found out what was going on.

We knew from Sam’s more frequent flashbacks that he was most likely the least affected by the drug, so we tested him first. And when I’d given him an order, he’d just stared at me.

Then I pointed a gun at my head.

Cas reacted first. He swept my feet out from underneath me and grabbed my wrist, shoving the gun away. Nick was there a second later, catching me before I hit the ground.

Sam hadn’t moved.

Cas and Nick, those first few weeks, listened to every single order I gave them. Hop on one foot. Bawk like a chicken. Nick loved that one.

By the third week, Cas no longer had to obey me.

By the fourth week, Sam had pointed a gun at my head, and Nick had slammed him to the ground.

The fifth week, Nick refused to do any more testing.

So that was my excuse, I decided. The whole reason I wanted to know Nick was safe. Because we were somehow still connected through the Altered drug. There was no proof that our link to each other had worn off like with Cas and Sam.

And if that wasn’t the reason, I had no idea what was.

When Sam wasn’t training me for one thing or another, I usually did an hour or two’s worth of research on the flash drive Trev had given us when we’d escaped the Branch. He’d stolen the files as a way to say he was sorry, but it could never make up for betraying us, for picking the Branch over me when I’d needed him.

At the head of the kitchen table, laptop open in front of me, I clicked through the main file labeled ANNA O’BRIEN. There were at least a half-dozen subfolders, some of which I’d yet to fully explore. Today I was on a mission, so I opened the O’BRIEN FAMILY folder and started skimming.

I was determined to convince Sam that learning more about my family could be important for both of us. After all, our pasts were connected to Dani, and I thought it was worthwhile to know her story in order to move forward with our future.

And, more than anything, I wanted to know my older sister, even if I learned about her indirectly. I’d take whatever I could get.

Dani had been part of the Branch long before me. She, Nick, and Cas were to join Sam as the first candidates in the Branch’s genetic alteration program. Once the Branch was successful with the alterations, they’d turned the boys into assassins. They even had résumés with lists of successful kills, from a U.S. senator to a scientist to a foreign diplomat.

Although I knew what Sam and the others were capable of, I still had a hard time connecting the Sam I knew now to the Sam who’d spent his days planning missions and following through with kill orders.

It was even harder to imagine my older sister doing the same thing, though we’d been unable to find anything that said she’d ever been an assassin. But if she hadn’t, what role had she played in the Branch?

I’d read her files over and over again and come away with nothing important. But that didn’t mean there weren’t clues present, something between the lines.

I decided to start over.

Dani O’Brien: Entered Branch March 12. Moved to Cam Marie for initial treatments. Will be integrated into unit #1 May 22.

April 28: Dani has responded well to treatments. OB has requested a shift in the time line. Dani will be introduced to unit #1 this afternoon.

April 29: Dani’s introduction to unit #1 a success. All accepted her.

May 2: Dani shows successful signs of heightened senses, greater strength, and a slower rate of aging.

I skimmed the rest of the page, then opened the picture attached to the file. It was of Dani standing in front of a white brick wall, hair hanging loose around her shoulders. It looked like an ID picture, one you’d put on a company badge.

While she wasn’t exactly smiling, she didn’t look sad. She looked hopeful. There was a glow to her cheeks, a brightness in her eyes.

It was a far departure from the few minor flashbacks I’d had of her. In every memory, she was unkempt, disheveled, worn-out. In the picture, it was as if she was about to embark on a new adventure and couldn’t wait to get started.

I opened a new file, this one labeled WILLIAM O’BRIEN. Will was my biological father’s older brother. From what I could tell, he’d been close to our family. The picture of him looked like it’d been taken covertly. In it, he was crossing the street in some nondescript town, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes.

His hair was the color of cinnamon, like Dani’s, kept short and neatly trimmed. Freckles covered his face.

Based on what little information I’d been able to find, he was still alive. But he had vanished off the face of the earth over six years ago. I couldn’t dig up anything on him, not even a parking ticket, which made me wonder if he knew about the Branch and how it had ruined our family, and if he’d been in hiding ever since. I wasn’t giving up hope that he was out there somewhere. I’d find him eventually. He might have answers to my past that no one else did.

A coffee mug was thrust in front of me. I looked over my shoulder at Sam. He was freshly shaven, dark hair still glistening from the shower.

“Hey,” I said, taking the mug in my hands. The coffee inside was such a light brown, one might argue it was more milk than coffee, but that’s the way I liked it. And I liked it even more that Sam knew that.

“Hey,” he answered. “Have you eaten yet?”

No. “Yes.”

“She’s lying,” Cas called from the laundry room. I hadn’t even known he was there.

“How would you know?”

Cas came into the kitchen as he shrugged into a navy-blue flannel shirt. “Because if you had cooked something, I would have smelled it, obviously.”

I checked the clock on the laptop. It was close to noon. “Fine. I’ll make something now. I have everything for spaghetti and—”

The front door burst open.

Cas and Sam armed themselves and pressed into the wall that backed up against the living room.

I hid beside an old rickety buffet and mentally calculated the feet between me and the closest gun in the house. There was one in the laundry room, hidden in an old box of powdered laundry detergent.