Wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my free hand, I walk down the driveway to the end. Luka circles me so we end up facing each other, my back to the house, his to the street. He’s still holding my hand and I slowly pull free, wanting to keep it together all on my own. I can’t start depending on anyone else. It’s me and only me. I need to remember that.

“The first few times I got pulled—” Luka’s eyes slide from mine, and he turns his head and looks off down the street, his jaw clenched tight. “The first few times I got pulled, I was a mess when I came back. I stood under a hot shower for hours, shaking and”—he pauses—“crying. There was no one to talk to, no one to help me understand. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you, shouldn’t have made you go through it alone.”

I don’t remind him that I wasn’t completely alone, that when I was freaking out over Richelle, Jackson was there for me. At the moment, I’m not even sure how I feel about that, about him. One minute I think we have some sort of connection, that he cares about me. The next, I see that his eyes are Drau gray, and I’m left thinking he’s my enemy. I open my mouth. I almost blurt out what I saw. Instead, I say, “It’s okay. You were just following the rules.”

He offers me a lopsided Luka smile. “Rules are made to be broken, right? Anyway, I want you to know, I’m here. You can talk to me. I’ll answer as best I can.”

“Will you?”

“I just said so.”

“Okay. Then I do have a few questions.” More than a few, but only one is digging at me like a dentist doing a root canal. “Have you ever seen Jackson without his glasses?”

His brows shoot up. “Wow. Okay. Wasn’t expecting that as your first question. Is there a particular reason you want to know?”

I cross my arms and hug myself. Is Jackson one of them? Is he some sort of spy? Worse . . . is he a shell? Is he an alien inside a human form? I should come right out and tell Luka what I saw, but that feels like a betrayal. I don’t want to stab Jackson in the back; I just want to make sure that he isn’t going to stab me first. “You said you’d give me answers, not offer questions for my questions.”

Luka scrapes his fingers back through his dark hair and frowns. “Okay. I did say that. No, I’ve never seen him without the shades.”

More questions leap to the tip of my tongue. Didn’t you ever wonder about them? Didn’t you ever ask him why he wears them? But asking Luka will only make him suspicious, and I’m not ready to divulge Jackson’s secret, not until I have the chance to stand face-to-face and demand answers from him. So I head in a different direction. “You’ve seen a room like that with all those . . . people . . . before. In Arizona.”

“It was smaller. Not as many—” He looks around as though deciding if it’s safe to talk. “Not as many rows of . . . people. But pretty much the same.”

“Those—” I break off and consider my words. “Those girls—can we call them shells?”

“I guess.” He looks around again. “Yeah, I guess we can.”

“Did you know them? Did they look familiar?”

He frowns again and shakes his head. “No, why?”

“I don’t know. Something about them nagged at me.” He just stares at me, waiting for more. I’m frustrated because I don’t have anything more, just a weird feeling that I’m missing something important. “Did you notice that they all looked the same?”

Luka nods. “Same original donor.”

That’s what Jackson called the dead girl in the cold room. “But the shells in Arizona came from a different donor?”

“Yeah.” He sounds upset. I don’t blame him. The Drau stole girls, killed them by taking their brains, kept their bodies alive with machines, and used their DNA to grow an army of mindless clones, also kept alive by machines. Clones who weren’t quite right and ended up rotting from the inside out. I’d say that’s reason to be upset.

“Do they use male original donors? Do they create male shells?” The questions come out in a rush.

Luka thinks about that. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever seen females. But I’ve only ever seen two places like this, so that isn’t much to go on.”

The relief I’d like to feel doesn’t come. Just because Luka hasn’t seen a male shell doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I’m quiet for a second.

“Luka, have you ever heard them speak?”

He knows I’m asking about the Drau. His brows draw together in a frown. “I don’t think so. I’ve heard them”—he cuts me a glance through his lashes—“I’ve, um, heard them scream. At the end, if you know what I mean. But not speak. I think they have this telepathy thing. . . .”

Unease crawls through me. “Do we? I mean, do you have a telepathy thing? Have you ever heard someone in your head?”

He’s still frowning. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No. Why?”

I shrug, trying to look casual. “Jackson said something about wanting to question one of the Drau. I was wondering how he would do that.” Through some sort of telepathy? Because he’s one of them? The thought is like liquid nitrogen in my soul. I don’t want Jackson to be one of the bad guys.

I can see that Luka’s about to ask me something. I don’t give him the chance because I’m not sure I want to offer answers.