“Peri!” Silas exclaimed, lunging after her. His thick arm wrapped around her waist as she lurched for LB, and she and Silas fell back, hard against the cement floor.

“Give it to me!” she screamed, trying to claw her way out from under him. “I can smell it! Give me the fucking Evocane!”

LB watched, wide-eyed, what she needed in his hand. “Okay. Right. Calm down.”

Silas grunted as her elbow hit his face. She struggled to be free, but he wrapped his legs around her in a wrestler hold, shifting his grip and forcing her to be still. “Do it,” he grunted.

“Give it to me!” she raged, the need unbearable. But she couldn’t move, bound by Silas’s arms and legs, and she began to cry in frustration. “You little bastard! Give it to me!”

LB crouched down in front of her, a wary distance between them. “Promise to hold still, and I’ll give it to you.”

She forced herself to stop. She was whimpering, hating it as she watched LB push her sleeve up. “Please hurry,” she begged, vertigo fighting with the shakes to see which could kill her first. If she could ever see straight again, she was going to kill Bill.

“Shit, man. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so white and still be alive.” With a casual expertise, LB filled a syringe and jabbed her. “You tell me if you’re going to blow, okay?”

With three beats of her heart, peace flooded into her. Immediately she relaxed, and Silas’s arms went from confining to comforting. “Oh, God,” she slurred as he felt the difference and he sat up, pulling her into his lap and rocking her, right there on the floor. Her eyes closed at the relief of no pain. And then she started to cry.

“No . . . I didn’t want this,” she said, head down to hide her heartache and guilt. “I was this close! Damn it, Silas, I was right there . . .”

“You were there all right.” LB stood, looking at the vial with a new respect. “You were this close to dying. Damn, this is some wicked dragon shit.”

Her head jerked up, and a cool certainty filled her, pushing out her misery. “That’s mine,” she said, voice utterly devoid of anything but a hard intent.

Silas slowly let go of her, and she sat herself up, her hand out until LB dropped the vial into her grip. It was cool in her fingers, and she hated how she couldn’t let go of it.

“That’s not euphoria,” Silas said as he stood up, leaving her there alone on the floor. “It’s just the absence of pain. Peri. I’m sorry. I don’t care what it takes. You’re not doing that again. I’ll pick the addictive parts out and wean you off, but you’re not doing that again.”

LB snapped the needle and threw it away. “All that grief, and it doesn’t do anything?”

She shook her head, her throat tight as she scooted to put her back against the front of the couch and just breathe for a moment. Jack was gone. Hopefully for good. But she was never that lucky. She was right back at square one, and there was no way she could ever move past it. She was hooked. The Evocane was warming in her grip, but she couldn’t let go of it. By her estimation, there was only five more days’ worth in it—five more days until she had to decide who was going to hold her leash. Damn you, Bill. “Where’s the rest?”

“Ahhh . . .”

Her focus sharpened. “You didn’t try it, did you?”

“No,” LB reassured her, but the vial wasn’t full.

“Where is the rest?” she demanded. “There should be more.”

Silas stood, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “We’ve been trying to duplicate it.”

“You’re wasting it?” Peri asked, suddenly concerned.

LB shrugged. “It’s not a waste if we can duplicate it.”

“But Bill said it was too complicated.” She was feeling better remarkably fast, and she levered herself up onto the couch as LB sat on the corner of the bed.

“We’ve got five days,” Silas soothed. “By that time, I will have made up a modified version that will address the withdrawal. I’m sure some of the addictive additives were a safety measure to be sure you never let yourself go without it and accidentally MEP from a routine draft, but Bill made it a hundred times worse to ensure you never left him. And he’s right. I can’t duplicate it, but I don’t need to. You haven’t been accelerated, so all you need is the addictive stuff. I can do that. It’s going to be okay.” He winced, clearly not entirely happy.

Need, she thought, thinking it was an ugly word. She hadn’t even known what it meant until now. Hope that she could be as she once was, even if that had been flawed and forgetful, seeped out of the cracks of agony, somehow making her feel worse.

The pain was gone, but her hands were still shaking, not in withdrawal but shock. She was hooked. She couldn’t fight this, and slow, silent tears slipped from her. She let them fall, not caring whether they saw them. She was no longer in control. She no longer mattered.

Silas’s attention sharpened on her. “I’ll crack this, Peri. I can do it.”

But that wasn’t why she was crying. She wanted to remember her drafts. She wanted to be free of being forced to trust by necessity, not desire. And if she couldn’t have that, she wanted to have the ability to just walk away. But what she had was a horrifying need pushing her into more and more desperate acts. “Maybe I should just take the accelerator. At least then I’d have value,” she whispered.

“Don’t.” Silas sat beside her, his weight making her slip into him. “We can get around this. I should have told you before, but I didn’t think it was going to be this bad.”

“Bad?” she said hotly. “You think that was just . . . bad?”

His head cocked and he jerked her into him, his relief making his mood soft. “Don’t get mad at me for my word choice,” he said as he coddled her, protesting, into his arms. “You haven’t been accelerated, so all you need is the addictive stuff. I can do that.”

“Yes?” A glimmer of hope sparked, wavered, and threatened to go out.

“Promise,” he said, his arms around her becoming more sure, more grateful, almost. “I should have told you earlier, but I wanted to get LB’s opinion on it first.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes closing as she gave in and felt herself melt against him, his warmth finally easing the last of the shakes. She felt loved, her emotions paper thin. Something tickled the back of her brain. His arms around her felt familiar, like home. From the year Allen had erased, she thought, swallowing hard. Why had she been so stupid? Opti was officially ended, and she was still fighting the same war.