For the first time since I’d started going out with Jace, I had an evening off. He confirmed to us via private message that the second appointment wasn’t until Wednesday (with the third set for Thursday), and with that, I had an entire night to myself.

I thought I might enjoy having the evening free, but I found myself wishing that I was out doing something. Moping around the cabin allowed my mind one opportunity too many to return to Bridgeton, and the memories that had resurfaced there. The feelings the place had dug up hadn’t left me yet, either, as I’d hoped they would. Instead they lingered, simmering just beneath the surface of my consciousness, and bubbled up whenever my mind wasn’t deliberately focused on something else.

Which was annoying, because I didn’t want to keep feeling awkward around Jace. He was my colleague, and this foolish crush I had on him was making it even more difficult to focus on the task at hand, adding to the tension I was already feeling by going out on these uncertain missions. I had to get over it. And I would. I probably just needed to give myself more time.

And in the meantime, I’d keep acting like I wasn’t swooning over him every time he glanced at me.

This evening, the main problem was that there wasn’t much more to do on the OH+ portal to distract me, given that we were waiting for the poll results to emerge. I did have a number of submissions to vote on starting to trickle into my inbox, which was something, but it didn’t take very long for me to go through them. Most of them were recycled ideas that I had already seen bandied about on the forums. They were less rash than they had been in their original state (most likely rethought in order to get them through the admins’ moderation), but all seemed to be rooted in short-term vengeance, rather than long-term thinking. I just hoped that, when people saw Gabby’s and my suggestion, they would be able to see past their bitterness and recognize that it could make sense from a strategic point of view.

After logging out of the portal, I just ended up getting an early night, catching up on some extra sleep for the next day, in case we got back late. The appointment had been set at another remote location, in the countryside, which, according to Jace, we could still reach by train.

And I was glad for that, because a motorcycle journey would’ve been tedious, and I had been spending way too much on fuel recently.

Once the end of the workday arrived the next day, I headed straight for the nearest station, and, after a couple hours’ journey, reached Yew Station, located in the small village-like town of Appleburn. I was both surprised and relieved to find that everyone had already arrived, because waiting around would’ve only made me feel uneasy—not just from the fact that I would’ve felt pressure to make small talk with Jace, but also because it would’ve allowed more opportunity for tension to build up for today’s meeting.

As it was, I was able to immediately launch into action, because as soon as I approached them, we took off into the night.

It wasn’t long before Jace was veering us away from the town, and along a seemingly endless road that wound between fields of wheat, with a disconcerting lack of lampposts. They were stretched too far apart to shine light on every stretch of the road, and Jace ended up pulling out his flashlight to help illuminate the way.

To say I was nervous about tonight’s location would have been an understatement. I sensed the nerves stretching around all of us, even Jace, who kept glancing uncertainly down at the map on his pad, as if wondering whether it might somehow be leading us the wrong way. For all we knew, we were walking right into a trap, and although we were armed, we had no idea how many people might be waiting for us at our destination. Or whether they were government moles.

“You sure we’re going the right way, Hux?” Ant asked warily, after fifteen minutes of walking along the dimly lit road.

Jace swallowed, then nodded. “Per the GPS.”

“And what is this person, or people, supposed to be offering us that’s worth the risk of us coming out this far in the dark to see them?” Abe asked, his angst mirroring his brother’s.

“He/she wouldn’t say, exactly. Same deal as with Mr. Montague. Said they didn’t want to disclose details until we’d met face-to-face, but it’s supposed to be some other kind of technology. Said it could be particularly useful during stealth missions. So we’ll just have to see.” He paused, glancing at each of us. “Unless any of you don’t feel comfortable about this and want to turn back now. You’re free to, of course.”

We all glanced at each other with a firm look that said, “Nope, we’re in this together,” and kept walking, swallowing back our nerves and fixing our sights on the road ahead.

Once Jace’s GPS announced that we were approximately ten minutes away, we paused to pull on our masks, and then prepare our guns. I retrieved mine from my bag and slipped its cool frame into my pocket, keeping my fingers wrapped around the handle for easy withdrawal.

This was a much dicier situation than Bridgeton had been, and I found myself wishing we were wearing Mr. Montague’s suits for this already. Even if the contact wasn’t a government mole, they could easily just be regular thugs, looking to rob or do who knew what to us. And, out here, nobody could hear us shout. There was no saying how long it’d take for cops to reach us.

Not that we’d dare call the police anyway.

I tried to keep my brain on a more optimistic line of thought as we took a left turn off the road and down a dirt track, which was completely devoid of light, except for a warm orange lantern glowing at the end of it.

As we neared the light, a small building came into view behind it, and Jace cut a beam across it with his flashlight. It was an old chapel, judging by the steeple and stone slab walls, and had been abandoned many years ago, based on the many holes punched into the stained glass windows. The smallest flicker of light spilling through from one of the ground-level windows caught my attention, and I pointed to it.

Each of my colleagues followed my gaze.

“Seems like someone’s home, at least,” Jackie muttered.

“So, I’m thinking same protocol as last time,” Jace said, his voice whisper soft. “Everyone okay for the twins to play backup again, or you wanna switch things around?”

“I’m okay to go in,” I replied. “Up to you, Jackie.”

She nodded curtly. “I’m okay with it. They just owe us next time.”

The twins exchanged a look, and then Jace was distributing the comm equipment again. Once we were all set up, he unlatched the wooden gate and eased it open, just enough for him to squeeze through. He gestured for Jackie and me to follow, while the twins ducked down behind the stone walls.

It was eerily quiet as we moved through the overgrown yard—which I quickly realized was a graveyard, as my foot connected with a low headstone. Jackie cursed beneath her breath as she almost tripped on one too, and we tried to stick to the narrow path that wound in between the weeds toward the entrance.

Then Jace was approaching the heavy oak door and knocking his fist against it hard, three times. And then we were all holding our breath and waiting.

I counted the seconds in my head. Thirty passed, then sixty, then ninety, and I was about to suggest to Jace that he knock again when I heard the whining of metal, and the doorknob twisted. It made me jump, as I hadn’t heard the slightest sound of footsteps on the other side, and when the door creaked open, I was equally taken aback by the figure that stepped into view.

It was a small woman. A small, young woman, wearing a patchwork dress with a woolen shawl clutched around her shoulders. She was probably not much older than any of us, and yet there was a weariness to her features that aged her. Her blue eyes were dull, her mouth downturned, and a small scab ran across her lower lip. The skin around her jaw was oddly slack, her face holding a pallid, sickly hue.

Her thin lips stretched into a crooked smile as she laid eyes on us, and when she spoke, her voice was raspy, like that of a heavy smoker. “Ah, Mr. X and friends. I was worried you might’ve bailed on me! Come in, come in.”

She staggered slightly as she stepped backward, away from the door, revealing a brown bottle clasped in one hand.

None of us budged as we cast uncertain looks at one another.

I didn’t know who this woman was, but it seemed obvious that she was a waster. And I couldn’t imagine what value we’d get out of this meeting. Still, I wasn’t picking up on any imminent danger from her yet, so I supposed that since we’d come all this way, we might as well hear her out.

Jace and Jackie seemed to conclude the same thing, as they started to move after the woman through the door, and I took up the rear, careful to keep the door slightly open before following them through into a cavernous hall lined with dilapidated benches. All items of worship seemed to have been removed long ago, the walls stripped of decorations, leaving the place an empty, echoing shell.

I shivered at the chill draft wafting through. It felt a lot colder in here than outside.

The woman angled for a door in one corner of the chapel and pushed it open, leading us through to a small service room lined with candles. She’d turned it into some kind of temporary bedroom, judging by the sleeping bag rolled out in one corner, and a camping stove surrounded by a small pile of canned food.

At least, I assumed it was temporary. I couldn’t imagine living in this place full time.

“Sorry, I got no chairs in here,” she said roughly, gesturing to the floor around the stove. We all remained standing while she plopped herself down on her sleeping bag with a huff. “Suit yourself.”

“Um, Ella,” Jace finally spoke. “What is it exactly that you have to show me?”

Her blue eyes narrowed on him, and then a cackle bubbled up from her throat. “I’m sorry, I lied to yeh. Ain’t got no special stealth tech to offer, or any tech at all! But I do got myself. Pamella Pomfry, at your service. And that’s not a fake name, by the way. It’s the one my parents cursed me with.” She cackled again.

I exhaled, figuring we’d definitely seen enough by now, though my heart ached for the young woman. I didn’t know what had driven her to this state, but I could only imagine that her past was tragic. Nobody deserved to live like this.

Still, we were just wasting our time at this point.

It was just one of the risks that came with the job, I supposed. Sometimes the meeting would end up being a dud. Though duds were better than death traps, so there was that, at least.

Jace sighed and started to back away. “I’m sorry, Ella. In that case we have to leave.”

“Wait!” She shot to her feet so abruptly, she was practically a blur as she latched on to Jace’s right arm. She tugged him back into the center of the room, panting under the strain of pulling the large man. “Please, wait!” she said, a look of urgency streaking across her face.

She sounded so desperate that we couldn’t help but stall. A part of me felt terribly sorry for her, though another part couldn’t beat back a creeping suspicion that began to unfurl within me. She seemed to really want us to stay.

Could this be some kind of trap?

I looked nervously to Jace, who extricated himself from her gently, gripping her shoulders and guiding her back down onto her sleeping bag. He then rose to his feet, frowning down at her. “What is it?” he asked firmly.

“Just hear me out, mister,” she rasped, pinching the bridge of her nose while continuing to take deep breaths, as if trying to force herself to focus.

Jace nodded slowly, and then glanced at Jackie and me. Still half-fearing that this was a trap, I moved back to the door and peered out into the dark chapel. It was ghostly quiet, as before, the only movement a large spider weaving its web against a nearby windowpane.

I returned to the room and nodded at my colleagues, and then we sank down to the floor to be level with the woman. It just felt wrong to be towering over her when she wanted to tell us something.

“Okay, we’re listening,” Jace said finally, setting her with a stern look. “Go ahead.”

She nestled deeper into her corner, slipping her legs between the folds of the sleeping bag, then leaned back against the cold stone wall, her rheumy blue eyes glistening in the candlelight. “Let me tell you a story,” she said after a moment, her voice deep, calmer. “There was once a young girl… let’s call her Mella… and she fell in love with a young boy. Let’s call him Sammy. She was sixteen and he was seventeen.”

She paused and took a swig from her bottle, and a shiver crept up my spine at the way her story had started.

“Sweet sixteen,” she crooned, smacking her lips together as she set her bottle between her legs. “They lived in the same fancy neighborhood and went to the same fancy private school, and they’d known each other since kindergarten. Close friends all through junior high, and then lovers through high school. They were the perfect match, everyone said. Even their parents adored little Mella and Sammy as a couple.”

I let out a breath at the slight diversion the story had taken compared to mine, having been afraid for a crazy second that it might have been some kind of setup—that by some bizarre twist, she somehow knew my story and was going to out me or something here—and then I brushed all thoughts of my own history aside and refocused on the woman.

Her eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment as she stared at the wall, before she gave a hacking cough, and then continued, “So, they did what everyone expected them to do, as soon as they hit the legal age. They got married. They had a gorgeous wedding, surrounded by their friends and family. Mella looked like a princess in her frilly white gown, and Sammy looked like a freakin’ stud in his shiny black tux. Everyone rained down gifts and cards, wishing them a long and healthy life.

“After that, they went on their honeymoon. A three-week skiing trip up in the mountains, courtesy of their parents. And then, woohoo, before you knew it, the girl was growing a friggin’ bump. Funny what happens when you put a boy and girl together, huh?” She guffawed, then hiccupped, brushing at a bead of spit that had fallen onto her chin.

Then her smile faded suddenly. “Only, it wasn’t so funny once the baby was born.” Her breathing grew slow, belabored. “You wanna know why?”

I pressed my lips together, already guessing the answer. Assuming the story she was telling us was true, somehow, the baby had probably been confiscated, like mine had. Maybe her family had fallen out of fortune, or something, and her reason for wanting to be involved with OH+ was the same as mine: to act out against a system that had hurt her.

Though, she hardly appeared to be in a position to help us; I didn’t even know how she got access to a computer or the internet, and by the looks of her, she could barely help herself. I guessed this chapel couldn’t be her full-time base, and she probably just wanted to feel useful, somehow.

None of us answered her question in the affirmative—especially not me, who didn’t want to hear another traumatic tale of a child being prized from their birthmother, as it only ever reminded me of my own history—but the woman continued anyway.

“Because he had severe medical problems that not even the specialist doctors could fix.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper, her eyes growing haunted.

And I suddenly realized that I had probably gotten the wrong end of the stick. In fact, I didn’t know where this story was going now.

“You wanna know why?” she went on, and I found myself holding my breath at the sheer look of pain flickering in her irises.

A pin-drop silence fell about the room, stretching out for several long moments as she rose slowly to her feet, her hands balling into fists.

“Because little Mella and Sammy never should’ve been a mommy and daddy,” she whispered finally. “Little Mella and Sammy shared the same mommy and daddy.”

Before I could even process her words, her hand shot out for one of the candles and she threw it across the room, missing Jace’s head by less than an inch as it smashed into the wall behind him. A shriek of anguish tore from her throat, and she bent down for the metal stove, picking it up and hurling it blindly.

Jackie shot to her feet just in time to avoid being crushed by it, and then the three of us were racing from the room. She wasn’t trying to hurt us, I was sure, but the girl had clearly lost her mind.

And I realized that I couldn’t blame her.

My stomach roiled as we fled the church, a deep sickness settling there and threatening to overwhelm me as I processed what must have happened, her reason for hating the CRAS. She had found a long-lost family member, in the worst possible way. It made my own reasons pale in comparison. We pounded down the pathway toward the gate, her howling following us out into the night, her pleas for us to come back ringing in my ears and making my hands tremble.

We kept running, picking up the twins on our way back to the main road. Even though I wanted to go back and help her, I didn’t know how. None of us were qualified to deal with her level of problems, and certainly not tonight. She needed professional help. Though, if she came from a wealthy family, as her story had indicated, then something told me her parents would have already gotten her that.

No, what she needed was for that to never, ever have happened, I told myself, an angry fire burning through my veins. What had happened to her and her brother was a rarity, something I had never even considered before, but something I was sure as hell adding to my list now. It was an additional reason we could draw on if ever we needed to persuade others to help us end the CRAS. Because this was inexcusable.

Something like this never needed to happen. All Ella and her brother had needed was an open archive, so they could’ve known who the hell they were, and where the hell they’d come from.

The anger remained burning within me long after her cries had faded into the distance, drowning out all coherent thought and conversation. Until there was nothing but eight words repeating in my mind, in rhythm with the pounding of my feet:

We have to end this. We have to.