Well, this is awkward. It's not that I didn't expect to cause disdain between the two of them, I just didn't quite imagine being stuck in a tight space with them for several hours following our fall out. I need sleep so badly. I believe it’s after midnight, so technically we are into tomorrow. We climb aboard the jet and settle into the seats. With the window seat again, I gladly hold my stare out the window, but I'm still able to see their reflections thanks to the inside cabin lights. Axel is looking out the same window as I am, and Everett's head is resting on the seat's back, staring up at the small fan and light.

I've never flown in a jet before today, or today and yesterday, depending on how you look at it. The ride itself isn't entirely different from a regular commercial flight, but I appreciate boarding and taking off within minutes. It could be a luxury I’d easily become accustomed to if I weren't going to be either kicked out on my ass, or turned in tomorrow morning, not that I didn't quit three times already in the last day, but still.

As we ascend into the air, the cabin lights dim to a slight orange glow. It doesn't change anything, but it feels like less of a spotlight at least.

My plan didn't exactly work the way I wanted it to. I was close—within reach, even—but they have more control than I thought. It's my turn to carry this situation home, though.

I turn my head and twist my body to face Axel, finding his gaze closer than it appeared in the reflection. "Which one of you is going to tell me what Everett said you were hiding?" I ask him.

He leans over and places an unexpected kiss on my cheek, which is inappropriate after everything that just happened, but it wasn't for me. It was for Everett who's sitting directly across from us. It's clear Axel is trying to drive the final nail into the coffin.

Whether Everett saw the sentiment or not, I don't know, but I do know that regardless of everything happening right now, there is still a fluttering in the bottom of my gut when Axel does anything gently to me. It's like he knows he can control every part of me, and it's something that has to stop immediately.

"You wanted me to find you," Everett speaks up, still holding his gaze on the ceiling.

I'm not sure if he's speaking to me or Axel, but he knows one of us set up the door to give him easy access. I was hoping their argument would leave me with the information I needed before that part came out.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Axel asks Everett.

Everett looks over at me next, staring with a type of intimidation that should make me want to sink into my chair, but I've been through this type of training. Staring contests don't influence me. "Nothing," Everett says, which surprises me. It's the perfect way to rat me out, and he doesn't.

"Because I texted you to tell you I found her?" Axel scoffs.

"Yeah," Everett huffs with a raised brow.

"What did you want Axel to tell me?" I ask Everett. I'm not giving up on this until I have my answer. We're all stuck on a jet, there's nowhere to hide, and I'll know if one of them is lying. It's their turn for a stare down, and it's very obvious that there's something I need to know.

The idea of their hidden secret was the motivation I had to leave earlier, and that hasn't changed. In fact, my motivation has dramatically increased. "I'm going to tell you both right now … if I don't find out what's going on before we land, I promise you I will be gone by the morning."

"I don't know about that," Everett says. "I'm sure you'll be waking up next to your handsome prince since I doubt he'll let you out of his reach."

I return my glare to Axel's profile. "That won't be happening. I want answers. I'm done with the persuasion games. Since you two seem to think you know me better than you should, just know, I'm already ten steps ahead of you. You don't have to believe it, and I don't care if you do, but it is what it is." This is unbelievable. The two of them look like they're falling in love, with how intently they're staring at each other. "I'm going to the restroom. Maybe a minute alone will allow you two to collect your thoughts."

I unlatch my seatbelt and steady myself with my armrest to offset the turbulence we're going through. I make a run for the bathroom, nearly throwing myself into the wall before closing myself inside. This is bad. I wish I could hear what's going on from inside the stall but the automatic vent built into the light switch is muting everything outside.

I take a few minutes, stalling to give them the time they need to sort out their jealousy problems, hoping it will help supply me with an answer by the time we land, but the two of them are as unpredictable as I am.

When I open the door and walk back out toward my seat, another air pocket shifts the plane around, and I trip, falling to my knees while managing to knock my head into the armrest of an empty chair. It doesn't knock me out, but a wave of dizziness consumes me and weakens my arms to the point of giving out, and I fall flat onto the ground. It happens so quickly, I feel a gush of air shoot through my lungs. Both Axel and Everett are up in a matter of milliseconds, falling to their knees to help me up, but I kind of wish they’d leave me here indefinitely. "She hit her head," Axel says. "Careful."

My head feels like it's spinning in circles as I try to sit up, but I don't think I hit it that hard. I could be wrong, though. "Shit, I'm going to grab some ice," Everett says, pushing himself up.

"Isabelle." Axel wraps his hand around my chin, and the warmth from his touch makes my head feel heavy, like I could rest against him and just fall asleep. I’m fucking tired. I’ve been tired all day. "You okay? You hit your head kind of hard."

"I'm fine," I hiss. "But I don't want to be around either of you right now."

"Listen to me," he says. "Nothing I've done since the day I met you has been with intention of destroying your life. In fact, I've been struggling to find a way to keep you safe."

"Then why does every word that’s coming from your mouth sound like a lie?" I say, sounding like I’m growling at him.

His fingertips caress my cheek in a way that makes my heart fight against my chest. He's doing this on purpose—working me like a machine. "Because the truth would destroy your life. Can you take that as an answer?" he asks.

Everett returns before I can consider his question, and a bag of ice is placed gently on my head as arms loop through mine, lifting me up to help me over to my seat. Everett sits back down in his seat, and Axel holds the ice steady on my forehead. "Who am I in danger with?" I ask.

I've been hiding in fear of being hunted down for the copious amount of research that was stolen from Mason's lab. He warned me there would be people after me. I didn’t do anything, and I’m sick of running. Do either of you understand this at all?

One day, everything was where it should be, and the next, it looked like the lab never existed. Mason’s research partners were blamed, being the only ones who knew there was research there to be stolen. Mason told me to hide out until things settled down, and then he was arrested. The two other research assistants turned up dead within a month.

"You’re in danger with us," Everett lashes out.

As if the wooziness wasn't enough to deal with, my throat goes dry, and my tongue becomes sticky. There are pains in my stomach and in my chest. There's no way. He's just angry. I'm smarter than this. I don't walk into traps—I'm the creator of traps.

I’ve questioned it a million times in the past week.

I knew desperation was stronger than commitment.

They know what they’re doing and they’re playing me.

"I—I'm in danger with you?" I ask Everett specifically, first.

"When someone has feelings for you, how do they look at you?" he asks.

I try to look over at Axel, but the ice is holding my head in place, and I can't move far or see beyond the ice pack. "What does that have to do with anything?" There is a definitive drop in confidence from my question.

"Do you know what the look is?" Everett asks.

"Yes," I say, breathlessly.

"Describe it."

I don't want to comply with the mind games, but I also don't want to continue thinking my life is in grave danger while flying at six hundred miles per hour. "There's a softened look within his eyes. There's a blushing change to his skin tone, lips perk in the corners, even when the person isn't smiling. Body language changes—normally a part of the body will be angled toward the object of attention, and there's a nervousness or a change in demeanor when levels of a relationship are changing." This isn't advanced knowledge. It's common sense. It's human nature to detect when another person has an attraction for you. Animals have the same intuition.

"Has Axel shown these signs to you?"

"You're such a dickhead," Axel tells him.

"Actually, yes," I answer truthfully.

"Would you be able to fake those emotions and behaviors?" Everett asks me. I think about it for a moment. I suppose a person could fake an attraction, but there are also scientific studies that prove certain bodily reactions wouldn't work unless there was a trueness behind the behavior. Would Axel fight an erection when kissing me? No. Would a man who doesn't smile suddenly fight against his lips curling into the corners of his mouth? Yes. Would he be so worked up about keeping me safe that he couldn't keep his hands off me? No.

Everett is wrong.

"Not all of them," I tell him. "If you're going to kill me, just do it."

"Isabelle," Axel says.

"Seriously, open the exit door and just go on and kick. I'm sick of running anyway. You'll be doing me a favor, trust me."

"We're not going to hurt you," Axel says.

"You already have my SD card, so what other use do you have for me?"

"Why were you hiding that?" Everett asks.

"It's my research. I own it," I tell them.

"Who asked you to research it?" Everett continues.

"Mason Phillips," I answer.

"Who asked Phillips to conduct the research you were working on with him?"

"No one?" Why would someone tell Phillips to do the research he had always been working on? It seems like these two have been given the wrong information.

"Darkest Perception," Axel says.

The name twists my stomach into a tighter knot. All that research was stolen. Whatever wasn't stolen resides in my head and on that SD card, neither of which can be used if not used together. "What do you know about that?" I ask. "Never mind. You’re just like the everyone else pretending they know what it is. You don’t know shit, and you should stop pretending like you do.”

"That music is dangerous," Everett says.

"It's catastrophic, actually," I tell him. "Yet, you have no clue how catastrophic.”

Three Years Ago

I thought an apprenticeship would include life experience, working in a clinic or a hospital with patients needing psychiatric care. It's what Professor Phillips made this opportunity sound like. Instead, there are three graduates and Dr. Phillips sitting in a small lab with blacked-out windows. There are rows of filing cabinets and a corner filled with servers and computers. This is nothing like what I was expecting.

"What are we going to be doing throughout this internship?" Leigh-Ann asks. She's one of the other two apprentices.

"Yeah, I thought we'd be taking part in clinics," Gregg, the second intern pipes in.

Dr. Phillips smiles sinisterly, proudly even. "What you're going to be doing is far more important than clinics. You are going to become inventors with the science you have immersed yourself in over the past few years."

This doesn't sound interesting or like what I want to be doing. I want to help people, save lives, and develop cures. "You made it sound like this was something different," I tell Dr. Phillips.

He releases a hearty laugh as if what I just said was the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Isabelle Hammel, you are about to make history. You are about to develop a cure and save lives. We are going to be doing all of that through the development of our methodology. I have chosen the three of you based on your drive, GPA, and willingness to be open-minded."

"So then, what is it we're doing?" I ask, still not impressed. I want to hear what this is about—what we'll be achieving.

"Darkest Perception," he says, as if it were a name we should have heard before. I never missed a lecture, page in a book, or a presentation Dr. Phillips had given our classes, and by the look on Gregg and Leigh-Ann's faces, they haven't heard of Darkest Perception either.

"What is Darkest Perception?" I ask, obviously giving Dr. Phillips the lead-in he was hoping for.

Another look of pride pulls at his mouth. "Darkest Perception is an undeveloped method of permanently undoing damage to the amygdala ventromedial prefrontal cortex and the hippocampus." I'm staring intently at Dr. Phillips as he piques my interest. "Isabelle, tell me what the amygdala is responsible for?"

As if it were an auto-response, I tell him, "It's the region of the brain that controls emotions and fear."

"Very good," he agrees. "Studies have proven that brain scans have shown above average activity in the amygdala when PTSD sufferers experience a bout of anxiety or fear."

"And the ventromedial prefrontal cortex shows sluggish activity with PTSD sufferers, right?" I question Dr. Phillips.

"Correct. The overactive hippocampus and the underachieving ventromedial react like hot and cold, causing fog—or anxiety—at different levels in these cases. Therefore, we are going to find a way to re-balance each level, as well as flip the levels entirely."

"Wouldn't that erase all sense of normal fear a person should have?" Gregg asks.

"Yes," Dr. Phillips responds.

"Why would we want to develop that type of research?" I ask.

"Eliminating fear will allow the human mind to go further, accomplish more, and adapt to changes seamlessly." I've never doubted Dr. Phillips, nor the personal scientific goals he has been working toward, but I'm not sure I understand the full purpose of this research. Though, I can assume there is more logic than what he's explaining.

"So, how are we going to conduct this research?" Leigh-Ann asks.

"Case studies," Dr. Phillips answers simply. A little more excitement fires through me. I prefer case studies over clinics. Real life is easier to learn from. "Music is going to be the basis of this methodology since it's one of the strongest forms of brain manipulation. Isabelle, you minored in music theory, correct?"

"Yes,” I answer. Dr. Phillips co-taught a class last year with a science music theorist to teach the effects of certain tones, beats, rhythms, volumes, and notes to evoke certain emotions, though the depth of the information taught was never more than basic knowledge.

"Isabelle has what we need to make the perfect research and development team,” he says.

"I don’t know if I have enough—”

"Give yourself some credit,” he tells me. "You have what we need.”

"Uh—”

"Anyway, before we begin, I must have each of you sign a non-disclosure agreement as well as some other paperwork, since this method is to be used for medical purposes only. It's a lot of fine print, really, but we must protect ourselves, right?" Dr. Phillips asks with a kind of laughter that isn't returned by the three of us.

"Why us?" I ask, knowing he gave simple answers for his decision to choose us for this study, but this isn't just a case for learning, this is more.

"I have my reasons," he says. "With that said, if any of this makes you uncomfortable, you are welcome to back out now."