My phone buzzes a low thrum, jerking me into awareness. Light shines into the room through a tiny square window, white and blinding. It lights up the bare mattress, which contains one thin blue sheet and all 120 pounds of me.

What time is it?

Ignoring my phone, my eyes drift to the ceiling. A crack has slowly been making its way across the ceiling. It is long and winding, just barely grazing the edge of the fan, which has unfortunately been broken since I rented this rickety place. A deep shout sounds from the apartment above me, and then a thump that rattles the beaten old fan and sends a shower of white paint and ceiling onto my cheek. The crumbles of ceiling patter into my skin, feeling grainy and nasty. I wrinkle my nose in distaste.

I close my eyes, telling myself that I'll get up and throw on some clothes in five minutes…Just five more minutes….

…And then it buzzes again. I try to rationalize why on earth I bought that stupid prepaid phone to begin with. Then my mind drifts to Christian, reminding me exactly why I had to buy the phone. Reaching my hand out, my fingers search the mattress for the phone, finally grasping and pulling it to me. Two texts from christian.

Where are you? I'm in Rome, meeting with the council members. Didn't want to wake you, so I left without you, sorry.

Be careful by yourself if you leave apartment. DON'T jump.

Christian won't relent in his stubborn overbearing behavior. He hasn't always been that way growing up. He was so care free and happy. Now he's serious, so serious. And protective to the point of insanity. When we were little I remember he would take me into the mountains with him. We lived in Vermont. He didn't have a care or a worry in the world. He would drag me into the mountain with him, sometimes literally dragging me.

"Have some fun, Elaine! Live a little, lil' sis!" Christian was twelve at the time, four years older than me. I remember the foggy morning chill, the mountain life just barely awakening as the sun rose and we ventured into the depths of the mountain, Christian complaining the entire time how I was in desperate need of fresh air. We hiked, we climbed trees, splashed in streams. It was actually quite fun. He was quite fun. And he taught me how to be so still that the animals would come out. Rabbits would patter over our chests as we lay on the soft earth, and I would just turn my eyes and catch that glint of a smirk in his. See, this isn't so bad, Lane-y? His eyes would say.

Ten years later, Christian is the total opposite of the care-free boy he once was.

I roll my eyes. Don't jump? Honestly! What does he expect me to do - Stay in this stuffy apartment the entire day until he gets back? The air is hot. Without the fan, there is no circulation of air and the room becomes unbearable. I jerk to my knees. The mattress groans in protest and sends a sheen of dust into the air, the rays of sun highlighting it. With a heavy shove, I throw the window open, popping my head out and breathing in fresh air. The sweat on my face cools, a welcome relief.

My stomach growls, twisting and turning emptiness inside me. I go to the cream-colored fridge, open it. Nothing. I purse my lips. Christian said not to jump, but he didn't say anything about walking. Walking to grab some breakfast won't drawl too much attention to myself, would it?

I decide that I'm relatively safe, and climb swiftly out of my sweats and Christian's shirt, which is two sizes too big on my small frame. I throw on a black racor back and jean shorts, climb into my sandals, and brush my teeth swiftly. Grabbing my keys from a peg in the wall, I turn the knob on the door and step out into the world.

Christian hurtles the door open, banging it against the wall.

"Get your stuff, Elaine," he says. "We're relocating."

I just finished painting my toenails. Bright, burning, seductive red. A little edgy, but not too trashy. I gingerly step across the wood floor to where he sits on the couch. "Relocating? To where? I thought we were doing okay here, in New York." My brow furrows, wondering why the council would want to relocate us. "We've been doing fine here, Christian."

We've been here for one month, no more no less. Our targets have been stationary, so we've been sitting ducks waiting for our sign to move in and take them out. But we've been doing fine as sitting ducks. No Paladins have noticed our presence….

"I don't get it. I felt like we were about to make our move, why are we relocating?"

Christian's lip tightens. He stands and makes his way around the apartment, throwing things into bags hastily. But he doesn't answer me.

"Christian?"

He pauses. "They spotted us. I don't know what set them off, but those Paladins found us. Council got the tip last night. The targets have already been terminated. Council wants us to move out now. We have one hour to get our asses out of here." He continues to pack, or what he calls packing. He shoves clothes into bags on top of all of the other crap that we own. Not much, might I add.

I blink. The targets terminated. Just like that. The council sure knows how to land hits quick. I know this is twisted, but I feel sort of bad sometimes. I mean, I know I shouldn't. Paladins are heartless monsters who will kill innocent people in less than a heartbeat.

Christian reaches under the mattress and pulls out two guns. Hand guns. He stashes them in one bag, then cleans out the rest of our apartment for weapons.

They don't even care who gets in the way. Last year, a Paladin murdered two people who were in the way of a Jumper at a convenience store. By killing the two women, the Paladin took out the Jumper. Just like that. Didn't even hesitate. Two pops of a trigger, and they were gone. Just like that.

Things like that should make me hate them. And I do, trust me I do. But sometimes, just after I have taken out my own target, I get this sinking in my chest, which leads to my stomach. It sinks, deep down inside me, and then it twists and turns my stomach into knots and I start thinking about it. But I try not to. I try to clear my mind of all thoughts.

But then my conscious eats away at my soul.

They're people too. They think, they breathe, they eat. Maybe, they love.

And then, despite my efforts to keep my mind blissfully blank, those words wind their way back into my head. Those three words.

Is this right?

Am I becoming like one of them?

I'm a killer. I'm horrible and wrong. But it's my duty to my people. I'm supposed to stop them from hurting us, to kill them before they kill us. Paladins have been murdering us for centuries. "Us" meaning Jumpers. They will do everything in their power to see every one of us dead - Men, women, and children.

Shouldn't that justify my actions? Christian's famous words pop into my head. "It's either us or them Elaine. Us or them."

I choose us.

I kill them, murder them. I was even trained to do so, by the council.

"So where are we being relocated to?"

Christian grins. "Forks, Washington."