I wanted to stay awake and help them – I wanted to contribute as much as I could to find Cammie, Bex and Grant.

But my head wouldn't stop pounding, and my brain was practically a useless lump in my skull.

So I trudged upstairs, listening to the sounds of my friends planning for the rescue below me.

Cammie's POV

I sat curled up the bed, my head pounding, my fingers stiff. There was a distant dripping that was on the constant. It was the first thing I noticed when I got here.

The second thing was the cold. My fingers were so pale that sometimes I though they were going transparent. My teeth chattered constantly and my lips were so chapped they bled. I ducked my head in my knees and felt my hair fall around me. They provided the most miniscule amount of warmth, but at least it was something.

You're doing this for Zach. You're doing this for Zach. You're doing this for Zach.

It was the only thing I could tell myself that could make me feel a little better. The thought of Zach in my position, shivering and starving, made my heart break a little.

It's been a week, and I've had water, five pieces of bread, and some things that resembled raisins. My eyes stung, but were dry. I was done crying.

I was done crying.

I needed to get out, and I needed to get out fast.

I knew that Liz and the others were trying to find Bex, Grant and I, but so far they haven't been doing any progress. None that affected me, anyway. The door was shut tight. There wasn't even a small crack at the bottom to let some light or fresh air in. I've been sitting in this freezing dark room for days.

They didn't give me anything to work with, though. Not a pillow, not a blanket, not even a bed. Everything was perfectly even and flat and completely and utterly useless.

I screamed. I screamed out my hunger and my cold and my love and my fear. It echoed around in the room and my high-pitched wail surrounded me, filling my ears.

Suddenly, the door opened with a groan.

And Mrs. Goode herself walked in.

"Cameron."

I kept my gaze ahead, refusing to look at her. She walked over to me and fisted my hair, drawing my head up sharply. I glared at her, still shivering from the cold.

"Let's just skip the petty little small talk and get down to business, shall we? The Gallagher Academy alumni disc. We want it. You're our hostage," she smiled hysterically. "And your naïve little friends will come," she leaned closer with each word. "And. Get. You. Obviously we won't let you go – and I think you know the whole hostage situation. Where the loud, heavy pulsing music plays, and everything slows down, and the lover, in which this situation would be my son, which actually makes it all the more exciting, the wretched little rebel, will look at the alumni disc in his hand, and then look at you, and back and forth and back and forth and you'll scream out to choose the disc but of course his heart chooses you, so he tosses the disc to me, I'm standing behind you, by the way, holding a gun to your head or a knife to your throat, whichever one I'm feeling that day, and then-"

"Jesus, I get it!" I shrieked out.

Mrs. Goode just shrugged. I stared at her. For a terrorist, I imagined her to be a lot more...intense. Scary. But she was barely any taller than I was, and she had the most childish grin on when she was blurting her 'vision' of the day out to me. Her wayward red curls flew all around her face as she paced back and forth in front of the door, muttering to herself. They bounced childishly, and if she weren't a terrorist, I would think she was beautiful.

I sat there on the floor shivering, glaring up at her with wide eyes. Fatigue had struck my body and spread through it like a sickness, causing my limbs to shake with any effort I put on them. My stomach acid churned, and my mouth was so dry my tongue was slightly rough.

Geez, Cammie. Get a grip. You are a freaking spy. Stop whining and try to use her presence to your advantage.

The door was still shut tight – she had closed it behind her when she entered the room. I closed my eyes and concentrated, playing back every single lesson I've ever had at Gallagher.

Pick-pocketing, Latin, brush passes, round-house kicks, how to use a gun, how to talk and dance like a lady...

Then my memory took me back to one of Mrs. Dabney's classes.

I looked at Bex, watching her was she slowly gathered her hair into a ponytail. The back of her neck was slick with sweat, yet she was still ten times prettier than I've ever been. She had her legs crossed over each other and were swinging them, the bottom of her shoes brushing the ground with each swing. Macey was twirling a piece of black, shiny hair with her right index finger, blinking her mascaraed eyes and looking around the room in boredom. Liz was vigorously taking notes, bent over her notebook and scrawling in her tiny writing, impatiently brushing her short blonde hair out of her face as she bit her lip.

"Today, girls, we will be learning the art of throwing our voices. Some may think that this is a ridiculous thing, but it would actually be quite useful later on in your lives, especially to the field agents."

I opened my eyes. That was it.

I gathered up the little spit I had in my mouth and swallowed, wetting my throat. I quietly cleared my throat, turning my head and pretending to finger-comb my hair, sweeping it all over my right shoulder and covering my face.

"Where is she? The tracker I put in her says she's somewhere around here," I imitated Liz's voice, making my normal one slightly higher and with a southern twang. I threw it so that it sounded like it was coming from right outside the door.

Mrs. Goode stopped pacing and went quiet, listening.

"I am going to kill that woman who gave birth to me for taking her...if Cammie's hurt..." I imitated Zach's voice, going deep.

I heard Mrs. Goode chuckle slightly.

"I don't think she's in here, guys. Let's turn around..." Bex's voice came, a British accent slipping onto my lips.

Mrs. Goode rolled her eyes and huffed impatiently. "Stupid kids...spies should have no hope in the next generation."

I looked up, pretending to be panicked. "Zach! Zach, I'm in here! I-"

Mrs. Goode flew over to me and smacked me across the face. I let a whimper slip out from my teeth and I slumped back, exhausted.

"The hostage game isn't as fun when they don't find you themselves, Cameron," she growled. Then she twirled around and left, shutting the door behind her.

"Damn it," I cursed. I had been expecting her to leave the door open a bit so I could quietly slip out. I looked around at the grey room again, still finding nothing. Not that I expected to. Spies never miss a detail the first time they evaluate a room.

I slowly got up but fell on my hands and knees as I tried to get off the bed. The tips of my hair touched the floor, and my breathing was already heavy. I slowly dragged myself across the room and made my way to the door.

There was a keypad, and a 10 digit password that you had to type in to slide the door open. I remember the tune that had played through the room as she had entered and exited. Each number, staring at one, slowly got two pitches higher. I stared at the screen, straining through the darkness to see the numbers. It went from one to nine, and a small zero at the bottom. I hesitantly put my fingers at the five, seeing which pitch held that number.

I pressed it, and recognized it. It was in the password, the fourth one. I cleared the keypad. The first one was extremely high, so I pressed the zero. Then a low-ish one, so I pressed two. Then eight, and then five. I kept going until I had pressed 10 digits.

Wrong password.

"Damn," I breathed.

I tried again, replacing some of the numbers.

Wrong password.

I tried again.

Wrong password.

I wanted to scream in frustration, but I didn't had the energy or the time. Mrs. Goode would be coming back any time, and I needed to get out of here.

I breathed slowly and concentrated, squinting my eyes even harder and gnawing on my bottom lip.

Password accepted.

I laughed in relief, determination now flowing through me at my first accomplishment. I quickly but quietly leaned against the wall and tried to get myself out without fainting or falling over. My vision blurred and if I had food in my stomach I would have thrown up.

I gagged and dry heaved and tears squeezed out of my eyes. My legs were shaking from the exhaustion of holding my body up, but I gritted my teeth and shuffled forward. But suddenly I heard footsteps and I froze. I quickly got down, a relief for my legs, and curled up into the tightest ball I could manage, hiding in the shadows. My eyes were wide, darting around wildly through the dark to see who was there.

Zach's face flashed before my eyes, and I prayed for it to be him. Or Lizzie. Or Jonas.

Or someone here to help me. Because as much as the spy pride inside of me hated to admit it, I didn't think I could do this on my own.

But it wasn't Zach. Nor was it Mrs. Goode.

It was Grant.

Grant and Bex, the bones in their faces a little too angular and bruises and cuts running down their bodies. But they were alive, and on their feet.

Determination glinted in there eyes, and Bex smiled crookedly.

"Given up so soon, love?"

So sorry for the wait, guys! ]:

This story is going to be ending soon. D:

I seriously really do appreciate all of your reviews that you guys have given me, it inspires me and makes my day.[:

Quote for this chapter: Trying to forget someone you loved is like trying to remember someone you've never met.