“I have nothing to say to you,” I spat, my temper flaring. Crane nodded to the closest of his armed men. The man began walking towards me.

Fear gripped me again. I am going to die. I am going to die. I AM GOING TO DIE.

Long-buried memories clawed their way to the surface of my mind. The shot claiming my father’s life rang in my ears. The sight of my mother’s life pouring from her neck clouded my vision. I was not going to die this way. I might die tonight, but not before I killed Crane.

I yanked at my restraints, but they remained unyielding. My eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything to help me. Crane’s man was leaning over me.

NO, I mentally screamed at him. He halted. I concentrated hard, filling his head with a noise so high-pitched that usually only dogs could hear it. His hands flew to his ears. He dropped to his knees, blood trickling through the gaps between the fingers of one hand. The other men looked at each other uncomfortably. Crane gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You are quite a Talent, as I believe TOXIC calls it, Talia.” The repetition of my name unnerved me, and I snapped. I pushed my mental energies out towards everyone in the room. Crane’s men collapsed to their knees around him, shrieking. Only Crane himself seemed unaffected by my abilities, confirming my suspicion that he’d been conditioned against mental attack.

I gave another go at my restraints, this time with my mind. The solid metal shackles split with a screech. I yanked my wrists free, tearing a large jagged cut on my left wrist. I concentrated on my ankle shackles until they tore cleanly down the seams. Rolling onto my feet, I readied myself to attack Crane.

“No need to get physical, Talia. I just want to talk,” he said, holding his hands up as if to show me that he didn’t want trouble.

“I already told you, I have nothing to say to you,” I growled.

“You don’t need to say anything. Just listen,” his smile faltered for the first time.

“You killed my parents,” I said in a low, even voice that was too cruel to be mine.

“Your parents’ deaths were a regrettable consequence of war,” he argued. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought that the expression in his beady little eyes was pain.

“Consequence of war? Is that what you’ll say about my death—it was a consequence of war?” I demanded.

“Isn’t that how TOXIC justifies all their kill missions?” he asked lightly.

“TOXIC doesn’t kill innocent people,” I fired back.

“Really? You know nothing about what your Agency does to innocent people,” he shouted, his control slipping.

“TOXIC has taught me to use my abilities, to become a more complete person. You and your Coalition would subjugate Talents if you had your way,” I screamed back.

“And what do you think your Agency does, Talia? What do you think the Mandatory Talent Testing Act does? It enslaves you.” His black eyes burned into me, as if he were willing me to share his views.

“Mac has taught me to use my abilities for good,” I argued.

“Danbury McDonough? You think he has taught you to use your abilities? Talia, you don’t even realize how strong you are! Or what you are capable of! He has only taught you enough to make you compliant, to make you his minion. Your powers are so much stronger than any Talent I’ve ever met,” he sounded almost reverent when he said the last part.

“Is this where you tell me that you can teach me to use my Talents better than Mac did?” I asked sardonically. “You wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“I already know how to use your gifts better than you do!” he yelled.

“Really? And who could have possibly taught you that?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Your father,” he spat.

I was momentarily speechless at the mention of my father. My hands started to twitch, and the primal urge to attack overtook me. I wasn’t going to stand here and listen to him tell lies about my family. I lunged for Crane.

“Talia, please listen to me.” His tone held a note of desperation. A red haze was already beginning in my peripheral vision; I was beyond listening. My bloodlust-filled screams mingled with the pained screams of Crane’s men, many of whom were still writhing in pain on the floor.

Crane shielded himself with his hands, as I crashed into him. I knocked him to the floor, landing on top of him. Crane grabbed for my wrists to restrain me, managing to wrap one large hand around my injured arm. I punched him with my free hand, my fist connecting with his cheekbone and producing a satisfying crunch. Crane didn’t even flinch. I raised my hand to strike again as I heard footsteps behind me. I felt three more men rush into the already too-crowded room. The lead man raised his gun.

“NO!” Crane screamed, but it was too late—the man fired. I deflected the bullets with my mind. He fired again…and again…and again. He emptied the entire clip into the room, but all of his bullets hung in midair until I let them drop harmlessly to the floor. I turned my attention back to Crane.

“Talia, please,” he begged. His eyes grew as wide as saucers as he stared at something behind me.

I turned to see the first man was locked, reloaded and poised to fire again. I went for the gun this time. I mentally yanked it out of the man’s hand, but not before he squeezed the trigger with his index finger. Pain exploded in my back, just above my left hip. A bloodcurdling scream tore from my lips. I stretched my mental muscles to the breaking point, making the men in the doorway fall to the ground, incapacitated. I jumped off of Crane. Pain seared white-hot as I moved.

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I was afraid to look at my wound. I needed to leave. I was using so much mental energy, and I wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer. I needed to get to safety. I needed to get out of Nevada. I tried to formulate a plan, but the pain was excruciating, preventing me from thinking straight. Erik did me no favors by easing my pain when I’d been stabbed; maybe if I’d learned how to think through the pain, I wouldn’t be so ineffectual now.

A thought struck me. I fell to my knees next to Crane. I grabbed his already-swelling face and locked his eyes with mine. I tried boring into his mind, but it was like when I mentally tried to reach through the door upstairs. His defenses were even better than I’d first thought. Whoever had trained him was extremely talented, at least as talented as I was, maybe even more so.

“Let me in,” I growled. Black spots dotted my vision. I worried that I was going to pass out before I broke through his resistance. Pure desperation fueled my last-ditch attempt to break Ian Crane. Just as the blackness at the edge of my vision grew larger, threatening to render me blind, I felt the fight go out of Crane. His mental barriers gave way, sending me toppling into his mind.

I focused on the physical pain, forcing the agony from my body to his. The pain slowly eased, before disappearing completely. Crane’s face contorted. He curled into the fetal position, screams escaping through his pursed lips. I sat back on my heels, panting from the exertion. I watched him for several seconds, our earlier conversation replaying in my mind: his mention of my father; his argument about the Mandatory Talent Testing Act. You don’t have time for this—MOVE! I ordered myself.

I needed to stop the bleeding. I mentally pulled cabinets and drawers open, searching for something, anything; this was a medical facility, after all. I found towels and gauze first. I pressed the towel over the wound, and Crane screamed louder. I used the gauze to hold the towel in place as best I could. Grabbing several extra towels and an extra roll of gauze, I stuffed them into my pouch. The bag was now devoid of my gadgets, thanks, I assumed, to Crane’s men.

I bent over one of Crane’s men curled in a ball on the floor, unable to do anything but whimper; I divested him of his own weapons. Guns were not my first choice—despite all the target practice, I had horrible aim—but I was desperate and had no idea where to find my knife belt. I gave one last look at Crane, a million questions burning in my mind.

“Talia, please listen to me,” he urged through my pain.

“You killed my parents,” I said softly.

“No, no.” He shook his head from side to side. I heard faint footsteps and judged them to be coming down the metal steps.

Two options warred in my head. I desperately wanted to kill Ian Crane, but I also desperately wanted to live to fight another day. I couldn’t do both. My abilities were already stretched to the breaking point, and it was unlikely that I’d be able to control more people mentally if the more men caught me.

I may have transferred the pain to Crane, but I was still the one not-so-slowly bleeding to death. I was physically too weak to fight. My only chance of survival was to run, and if I ran, I needed to keep the pain at bay as long as possible. I didn’t know how long I could hold Crane’s mind. I did know that if I killed him, the pain would transfer back to me and I wouldn’t get as far as the door. I chose self-preservation, a decision that would haunt me for a long time. With one last glance down at Crane, I turned and ran for the exit.

I easily navigated my way through the maze of corridors in the basement, and burst through the door that I knew to be the exit. I found myself at the bottom of a concrete staircase. I ran up the steps without hesitation, my eyes darting from side to side as I tried to get my bearings. I was behind the stone house, not far from where Kyle had parked the vehicle. I ran straight to the parking lot.

Luck was on my side—the first car that I tried was unlocked. I threw open the door and fell in. I mentally started the engine and took off, without bothering to determine whether I was being pursued.

The hover-vehicle rose and cleared the high fence, but a high-pitched wailing noise went off as I passed. If there had been any question about whether there was an intruder at Crane’s place, there wasn’t now. I pushed the vehicle as fast as it would go. My mental fatigue was threatening to consume me, and I let go of Crane’s men’s minds. I was positive that I already had a slew of people pursuing me, what was eight more?

I clung desperately to Crane’s consciousness. My blood had already soaked through the towel and was working on the fabric of the seat. My head and stomach were woozy. I began to doubt whether I was going to live; I wasn’t sure how much more blood I could afford to lose. Unfortunately, I was going to lose at least a little more before the night was over, and not from my gushing gunshot wound.

My only chance of survival was to be rescued; the only way I was getting rescued, since Crane’s men took my Communicator, was to activate the tracker implanted in my hip. I put the hover-vehicle on autopilot and reached for the knife I’d taken off Crane’s man. Hiking what was left of my short dress up, I felt for the small lump that marked the tracker. I found it easily but hesitated. I hated the sight of my own blood.

My knife hand shook as I brought the tip close to my skin. I started panting. Scared that I was hyperventilating, I pulled the knife away from my hip and counted to ten. Closing my eyes, I focused on calming my breathing. Then, as if to psych myself out, I swiftly reached across my body and sliced the skin right over the tracker in one motion. It didn’t hurt. Well, it didn’t hurt me. I hoped that Ian Crane felt like the skin on his hip tore open when I cut myself.

I threw the knife onto the passenger seat. I gritted my teeth and looked down at the cut I had made, my head beginning to swim. It was a good thing I hadn’t actually tried to look at the bullet hole in my back. Pressing both of my thumbs to the bottom edge of the tracker, I worked it out of my hip. I sighed with relief as the slippery chip slid into my fingers.

I looked through the windshield of the hover-vehicle, just as I sped over the city border. I entered my code into the tiny tracker and held my breath until it glowed green, letting me know that the signal had started. Glancing behind me, I was relieved to see that nobody was following me…yet. I risked driving the hover-vehicle all the way to the clearing where I’d been dropped off two days before. Had it really only been two days? I needed to get out of the air; I was mighty conspicuous flying a stolen Coalition vehicle.

Not so gently, I landed the vehicle on the edge of the clearing. I crawled out of the car, toward the woods. My hold on Crane’s mind was slipping; I couldn’t hold on much longer. The tracking signal was on, but I didn’t know if anyone would get here in time. I found a shallow hole and collapsed into the soft leaves. My eyes were heavy, and I wanted more than anything to close them, but I knew that if I did, I might never open them again.

When I couldn’t stand it a second longer, I did the only thing that I could think of to stay awake—I released Crane’s mind. It would only buy me a couple of minutes of consciousness at best. I had lost—was still losing—too much blood to hang on much longer. The pain washed over me, but I didn’t even have the energy left to cry. The pain was so intense that it was only a matter of time before I passed out. I held onto the pain as long as I could; as long as I could feel pain, I knew I was still alive.

I reached for my small bag and fumbled around inside until my fingers closed around the edges of Erik’s letter. I unfurled the blood-smeared pages and began to read. The words swam in and out of focus, disbelief coloring my thoughts. Too late, I realized I wasn’t ready to read the words on those pages.