I devour my sandwich, not realizing just how famished I am, and we're out of the house five minutes later.

The sky is darker than midnight, the clouds hanging low over our heads. It's not raining at the moment, which I guess should make me thankful for small favors. Brendan is all focus and action, determination making him a man on a mission. He doesn't even bother to close the door behind him as he leaves the house. I do that for him. He hooks the duffle to the back of the motorcycle then reaches for the helmets.

“So, where exactly are we going?" I ask when he hands one of the helmets to me. Taking it out of his hands, I don't put it on, waiting for an answer.

"We're going to see a friend." Must everything be so cryptic?

"Do I know this friend?" I try again.

"You used to." There's that catch in his voice again, as if he's not telling me something.

“Brendan—" I begin, but his sigh cuts me off.

"Cal, I know you’re frustrated with me for not answering all the questions to your liking, but I’m trying to make sure we’re alive first. So can we do this once we get there? Or even just away from the house? I don't feel safe sticking around the city." It's hard to argue when he uses logic on me, but I have to.

"What about Jemma? I kind of left her at the party without an explanation." I'm a terrible friend for not thinking of her earlier, but I'm thinking of her now. "She'll probably freak and call the police if I don't come back. And you may have clothes and whatever supplies you stuck in that bag, but look at me; I'm still wearing this, and this is not exactly traveling attire." I wave my hand in front of my body, glancing up just in time to see Brendan's eyes darken. His gaze slides over me, pausing every so often, with a careful study that seems to take forever but only actually lasts a moment.

"Jemma is being taken care of and we'll get you supplies when we get where we're going. Now, get on." He swings his leg over the bike without waiting for reply, but I still won't budge.

"What do you mean Jemma is ‘being taken care of’? What does that mean?" I know my voice has risen an octave higher but my overactive imagination is conjuring up all kinds of horrible scenarios. I give myself some credit—it’s not like I’m not justified in thinking the worst.

“Cal …” He lets out a puff of frustration.

"No!" my voice rings out in the quiet around us, slamming into him as if I've physically reached out and pushed him. He sways on the bike, jumping off it to land on his feet. I stare at him in shock, unbelief racing through my veins.

"Did I do that?" I ask, fear lacing my voice. The hum of power still vibrates under my skin, and I have no idea how to make it stop. I glance down at my hands, wondering where that power came from and what exactly it means.

"It's okay,” Brendan manages, taking a step toward me. I'm thankful there's a bike between us now. I look up at him, terror rushing over my skin at what I can do, and all signs of this being a fluke fly out the window. He nods his head, reaching out to close his fingers over mine.

“Just breath, Cal. It’s okay. Don’t be afraid of your power.”

His voice soothes my nerves, and I feel myself relaxing at the simple touch. Swallowing down the fear and confusion, I meet his eyes, keeping my gaze steady on his.

"Please, Cali, just get on the bike,” he pleads once more. “We really need to get out of here. And the less your friends know, the better it is for them. They'll be protected, but we have to go." He puts emphasis on the last statement.

"I didn't mean to." The statement rushes out of me and I see his face soften.

"I know. I'm not afraid of you." The way he says it, I believe him. But what about me? I'm afraid of myself.

"Okay," I finally say, pulling the helmet onto my head and settling behind Brendan. He doesn't hesitate but reaches behind him and tugs my arms around him. How he's okay with me being this close when I can't seem to control myself is beyond me, but I silently thank him for his trust in me. Because I don’t trust myself and I don’t trust the life I’ve been living.

He's the only thing I have left to hold on to.