A/N: Thanks for being so patient, guys! All of my borderline grades went in my favor and now that finals are over I should be able to get back to updating frequently :)

It becomes apparent within the first five minutes of my next lunch period that it may take longer than two days to start my journey out of Los Angeles. Spencer doesn't sit across from me, and when I do find where she's sitting, she won't make eye contact with me. Clearly she's jumped off the Team Ashley bus and has joined Team Douche, judging by the look of the guy sitting across from her. He doesn't look happy to have her there and I wonder why, briefly, as I take the two of them in. Mostly Spencer.

It's different, looking at her like this with the knowledge that I have now. Or that I think I have. There's always a chance that I just used to know Spencer the way I also used to know Aiden, but still, odds point to her being the girl from my dreams, and that's what I'll assume until I find any reason to think otherwise. It's an odd feeling, though, knowing what I know about our pasts and trying to make sense of it now. She's pretty, really pretty, and from what I've discovered about her personality, I think I can see why we got along before the wipe, even if we aren't exactly gung-ho about each other now.

I watch her as she takes a small bite of her food, clearly uncomfortable, and for the first time, I really feel something beyond a thirst for an answer. I sought her out in an effort to try and recover as much of my past as possible, but now I find myself simply wanting to remember what it was like to be with her, to have her as such a huge part of my life. I want to know everything about her, and I want to understand why I loved her and how I came to love her, and what made her feel the same. All are questions I can't answer until we both have our memories back. And the only way to do that is to take her with me. Can I really wait around to try and convince her, with my mom's life on the line and with no indication of how long this window of escape will be open?

I need to talk to her, and as soon as possible. Even if it just means getting her birthday for now, maybe that'll open the door to convincing her to leave with me. I know that must've been the conversation my dad hoped for when he set this up the way he did. He wants her to come with me, and wants me to convince her. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I can't let him down, even if it does mean waiting to leave. His orders might have a purpose that I don't understand, and leaving Spencer behind could be the equivalent of ignoring the compass, for all I know. I need to do everything as instructed.

I grab a napkin from the stack on my table and reach into my backpack, rummaging around until I find a pen. I scribble a small message onto the napkin: "Same meeting time and place today. PLEASE." It's the best I can do on short notice; lunch will end soon and it's the only time I see her.

I stand up carefully, backpack slung over my shoulder, and pretend I need to go throw my tray away. I can pass Spencer on the way back from the trashcan and give her the napkin currently crumpled in my fist.

I dump my tray a moment later and turn, taking the alternative route back to my seat that will lead me past Spencer. Her back is to me and that'll make this more difficult, especially with the scowling boy sitting across from her. I'll have to leave it in her lap. Beyond that, there's not much I can do but wait by the quad after school today and hope she shows up. If she doesn't, I'll try again to convince her tomorrow.

I'm halfway to Spencer when a hand grabs my arm, stopping me, and I turn to see Sloan staring down at me, his beady eyes looking particularly beadier today. I hastily shove the napkin into my pocket. "Come with me," is all he says, gruffly, and I feel his grip tighten to the point of pain. Two more guards stand nearby, and slowly, everyone in the cafeteria notices Sloan and me. The room falls silent and I glance toward Spencer, the reason for this dawning on me as try to hide my horror. She didn't. She wouldn't have ratted me out to him, would she?

She makes eye contact with me and her lips part like she wants to say something, but then she closes her mouth and just stares back at me. She looks scared for me but beyond that I can't read her expression, and a moment later our eye contact is broken as Sloan pulls me along and leads me out of the room. It's at least the fourth time in the more recent months of my life that I've been convinced I'm going to die. At least I'm getting used to it by now.

The other two guards don't follow us out of the cafeteria, to my surprise, and so Sloan and I are alone as he leads me down the hallway. I briefly consider trying to overpower him, but remember the gun on his hip. Not a good idea.

He takes me to his office and then releases me, clearing his throat and gesturing for me to sit in the chair across from his desk. Uncomfortable and confused, I follow orders, my eyes darting around to look for all possible means of escape. Even the windows are blocked by the same filing cabinets I've seen before in here, all filled with the same sort of papers I have hidden under my bed. The only way I can get out is through the door Sloan is locking right now.

He sits down behind his desk when he's done, across from me. Then he puts his elbows on his desk and rests his chin on his folded hands, casually. "Sorry. Had to keep up appearances," he tells me, conversationally. I'm beyond confused now. It must show. He clears his throat. "I thought you might like an update on the information you gave me. Patrol likes to reward its… allies… even if it took you a while to talk. We treat people well when they cooperate."

I'm even more confused. The stuff I gave him was bullshit. I actually probably should've taken that into account when deciding how long I should stay here; it was only a matter of time before they realized I was lying and came after me. But now he's trying to tell me I actually helped?

"There were, indeed, smugglers, as you said," he informs me. "We performed house checks across the city and caught dozens of hidden escapees we thought had been dead or long gone for a while. They and their hosts have been properly taken care of."

Dread fills me at his words and they send an unpleasant chill down my spine. What have I done?

"So…" he continues as I try to keep my feelings masked. "I understand that your mother has a medical condition that has continued to worsen over the past few months. There is medicine that can cure her, but it's very rare. My commander sent out a request for it, to repay you for your services." He leans over and opens one of his desk drawers, and I stare at him blankly, a whirlwind of emotions internally as I continue to try not to show any of this externally.

A moment later, he retrieves a small pill bottle and places it on the desk. Less than a month ago, he was choking me, beating Aiden, and threatening my friends and me with death, and now he's handing me the key to my mom's life in exchange for the dozens of lives I've no doubt helped him snuff out. I feel sick. This wasn't the right way to save her. This isn't the right way to save her. "Here," he says, sliding the bottle toward me. "This will help stop her lungs from weakening. Once she's taken them long enough, they'll start to reverse the damage as well. She'll be cured within a few months. There are thirty pills in there and as long as you continue to… please us… you'll get thirty more when those run out."

I raise my eyes to meet his, taking in what he's proposing. He thinks I know more, and he wants me to be his mole. He wants me to help him kill people who are just like me, who just want a way out.

I lick my dry lips as he watches me. "Go on, then. Take it. Your mother can start taking them tonight. You should notice an improvement within the week."

I glance down to the pills and think of my mother, lying on the couch tiredly every afternoon when I come home. Constantly popping pills for her headaches. I think of the way I can hear the strain in her body with every breath she takes, and the way I used to wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of her coughing from down the hallway back before she learned to keep herself quiet. Most of all, I think of how tired she looked this morning when I bid her goodbye. I hate myself for what I'm about to do, but I think I'd hate myself more if I didn't do it.

"I don't want them," I say, very quietly. It takes him a moment to respond. I think he's not sure if he heard me right.

"Excuse me?" he finally asks, a strange mixture of surprised and indignant.

I shake my head. "I'm not taking them. Keep them."

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. "You'll let your mother die to save strangers?"

That's exactly what I'm doing, isn't it? It sounds strange to my ears when said aloud. It makes me sound like I'm something I'm not. I'm no hero; I'm not noble. I have no more information to give him, and the guilt would eat me alive if I accepted medicine I got by ending innocent lives. My mother will understand, and I'll get her the medicine she needs my way.

"Are we done here?" I ask him, ignoring his question. His nostrils flare. He's back to the Sloan I know, and he's furious.

"I suppose we are," he retorts, and then practically throws me out of his office.

I land ass-first in the hallway, and he stalks off after he's locked it behind him. I let myself sit here in silence, eventually lying down on my back and staring up at the ceiling above my head. I know I did the right thing.

"I'm sorry," I whisper aloud, not sure whether I'm apologizing to my mother, or to those nameless people whose lives were taken away as a result of me trying to save my own. "I'm sorry."