A/N: Forgot to mention this: I have not read Hawk. Actually, I didn't even know it was a thing until you all mentioned it. Googled the synopsis, and I am not interested at all. Yikes. I still don't know how JP managed to create characters I love while tangling a plot with so many holes…

Anyways. Please leave me some feedback on this chapter. Last update for a while, so I can get a few chapters ahead. I love hearing from you. The more I hear from you the more I want to write.

Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info.

M

There's something so easy about deciding to make a change. Reaching that moment of, Yes, I can do this. That internal feeling of pride and accomplishment, feeling as if you are entering a new chapter of life. It's easy to say yes, especially to that feeling.

It is, apparently, surprisingly hard to just leave Fang behind in his new "home" all alone.

Surprisingly difficult. For me.

Something very physical is telling me to not let this happen. For some reason, I feel compelled to completely back out of this entire arrangement at the idea of leaving him, now that we've helped him unpack his few belongings and set up the internet. It feels so unbelievably wrong to do this that I wonder if Fang and I could break up if we tried. There's something very…wrong with this picture.

He stands in the middle of the apartment. We all barely fit in the small space together, especially with wings out. He looks around at us, looking unsure.

"What now?" Angel asks.

"We should get going," I say, watching Fang as I speak. We'd been here with him for hours, finding ways to stick around. We'd stocked his fridge and pantry thanks to the grocery store on the corner. We'd even ordered a couple pizzas and tested the security alarms multiple times, as well as the motion sensors that Iggy and Gazzy had rigged, with Nudge's help, to chime once each time someone walked down towards Fang's apartment at the end of the breezeway.

As far as the apartment, I am content enough with the layout. Not that it feels extremely secure, but the entry is external, not to a hallway like a dorm would be. He has a small standing balcony at the back end of the apartment and multiple large windows that he can easily use as an exit if needed.

It's a small studio apartment, with the kitchen tucked into the back corner. There's a two-seat breakfast counter with barstools and a small living room area where we'd put his larger computer monitor in lieu of another TV. For the most part, Fang is always on that laptop of his, anyways. Across from the living space was a full bed and a door on either side—one to a small bathroom, one to a small closet.

"Yeah, head home before it gets dark," he says. "Let me know when you're there. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Can you video call?" Nudge implores softly, edging up next to him. Fang reaches out and pulls her in, closing her in a bear hug. She hugs him back hard, squeezing her eyes shut. "What if we forget what you look like?"

Fang rolls his eyes. She steps back, grinning slightly as she steps away from him, looking like her goodbyes were done and over with too soon. Angel is next, and she gives him an energetic hug, her facial expression radiating positivity. "This will be so good for you, Fang! We're gonna miss you."

I almost can't stand watching this. That's how wrong it feels. I step into the small bathroom, unnoticed as the kids pile on for goodbyes. I take a deep breath, one and then another, staring at myself in the mirror.

So much I want to tell him already. So many questions that I never stop dissecting in my head. I seem to eat, sleep and breathe this case, and I wonder if he is the only thing keeping me sane.

You have got to calm down, there is no backing out now. I think it hard, forceful, looking at myself meanly in the mirror. No backing out of the case, no backing out of Fang's internship. My fingers tap absently on the sink, erratic and uncontrollable. I curl those fingers into a fist and straighten my arm by my side, willing myself to be still. Be calm.

When I open the door a moment later, I see the kids gathered outside through the window. Fang is standing by the closed front door, watching me expectantly. His face seems to convey the question Are you having a panic attack?

"I can't believe we're doing this," I mutter, nervously wringing my hands. Fang wraps his arms around me, this time, and buries his face in my hair. I cling to him, hating how much I desperately need this hug.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he says.

I don't.

"Regrets?" he murmurs.

I shake my head no, still unable to respond without faltering.

He just stares at me a moment, seeing through me.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I prompt finally.

He watches me for one more moment before letting a grin flash over his face. His eyes flicker over toward his bed and back at me.

"You, me and that bed," he says very lowly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "As soon as possible."

I look up at him with wide eyes. I'm almost ashamed I hadn't thought of it already. He lives alone now. We haven't been that alone since the first time we ever slept together. I glance at his bed, too, blushing. Maybe this isn't so bad.

Now I'm even more excited that he has a place of his own.

Gazzy knocks on the window, peering at us impatiently.

And I'm back to hating this plan and cursing myself for agreeing to it.

"Kiss me, I'm leaving," I say against my will, forcing myself to be strong through yet another torture session. He smiles at me, looking torn. "This sucks. I'm going to expect calls daily."

"Yep," he says. "It's going to fly by, Max."

"It better," I groan.

"Remember," he says lowly, opening the door. "As soon as possible."

I grin at him, dazzled by his calmness and his tantalizing smile. I force myself to trust him and trust the universe not to fuck this up. We can do this.

We have to.

And we will.

"Love you," I say softly, because the door is open and I don't need to be teased the whole way home for my farewell, lover moment. "Please be careful."

"You, too," he says, cupping my chin. "I'm here if you need me. I'll see you Friday night."

"Good luck," I say. I reluctantly step outside, joining the others. This moment feels so unspecial, so unbelievably anti-climactic. I turn and shuffle the kids down the stairs, refusing to stand there and watch him close the door. Everything about this feels so foreign and wrong.

I just hope it isn't a mistake.

Back home, we decompress for a moment over refreshments after our flight. Iggy had made a pitcher of iced tea in the morning and began pouring glasses the moment he'd shucked his coat off by the door. One by one, the kids drift away to do their own things.

I check the security system and the overall surveillance for the third time since arriving home, simultaneously fingering my phone to see if it had buzzed recently. I'd alerted Fang the moment we got home, and he had responded immediately. Now all is quiet, normal, even, and I can't seem to chill.

"Need a hit?" Iggy offers, sensing my anxiety.

"No," I say fervently, feeling uneasy. "I do not want to get any more paranoid right now," I say. "Doesn't work the same way on me."

Iggy shrugs. "So, are we headed back to work, or?"

I glance around. Nudge was on the phone, lounging on the armchair in the living room, giggling about something. Gazzy was probably upstairs, gaming—hopefully that, and not something more dangerous or mischievous. Angel was right behind me, attentively waiting for the go ahead to get back into the lair.

Just as I'm about to answer, my phone buzzes in my pocket urgently, taking me by surprise. I hurry to check it, only to see Alana's number flashing as an incoming call.

"Hold on," I say, stepping away and clicking the Answer button. "Alana?"

Iggy and Angel both perk up at the sound of that, and with a glance in each other's direction, both start heading towards the office. I follow them, feeling my stomach turn as it has been.

"Hi, Max. I wanted to check in."

"Hi, all good here so far," I say warily, shutting the door. "Anything new?"

"A few things," she says. "We've sent you a new batch of logged evidence, it's in the secure email we set up."

"Okay," I say, glancing between Iggy and Angel's expectant gazes while chewing my lip mercilessly. "Anything on my request?"

She sighs. "We just haven't found a document pertaining to that particular procedure," she says with a tinge of sympathy. "We're still looking, and still have quite a bit of ground to cover. Hang in there. We'll get the answers."

"Okay, thank you," I say, not knowing what else to say. "Call me if you have anything new."

"There's something else," she says quickly. "Met with Carter, we've reached an agreement and he'll be sending you a final contract soon. I've secured the approval for you to see Batchelder outside of the trial. It's contingent on a few things, but they're reasonable agreements. Carter will review the details with you."

I wince, knowing Iggy just heard all of that. He shakes his head, but I ignore him.

"Great, appreciate it," I say, trying to maintain a polite voice while inside I feel like I'm crumbling. Each and every moment there is a new layer to the puzzle. It's impossible, at this point, to not feel like I'm drowning.

"Alright. Max, call me if you need anything. Seriously, I'll be here all night." She pauses, letting that hang in the silence. Finally, she adds, "I'll be in touch."

With that, she disconnects the call.

I pocket my phone, looking up at the two of them. "She sent along new evidence," I say solidly, trying to compartmentalize all the things happening in my brain. "And I wanted to recap with you about what I covered last night."

Angel looks at me, very pointedly. I frown, glancing back at Iggy.

"And this other thing…the procedure Alana mentioned."

Iggy's eyebrows crease, and he eases himself into the chair he had been sleeping in the night before.

"What? Is it the one mentioned in my case?"

I lower myself into the chair next to him, watching Angel hop onto the corner of the large, sturdy desk. She shuffles a few piles of papers around, turning to watch me boot up the computer.

"No," I say, pulling up the file. "Mine."

Iggy continues to look confused, leaning back in the armchair. "But I don't remember reading anything about a procedure on you yet."

Angel watches me, her face blatant with the same disappointment as earlier. She doesn't tell him, but I know she expects me to.

"Ig, I found this on Wednesday," I offer, pulling up the document. "It freaked me out. It doesn't say much. I just didn't know how to bring it up."

Iggy waits, not jumping to crucify me—but not jumping to console me, yet, either. "What is it?"

I sigh, and read for him the hurried note, scanned as a PDF for us to read. We could see that the original document was just a scrap of notebook paper, with Jeb's handwriting on it. An unofficial document.

I read the note verbatim to him, then explain what the document itself looks like. Iggy leans back in his chair, shaking his head.

"Read it again."

I huff, looking over at Angel and back to him. "Really?"

He waves a hand at me absently, ignoring my reluctance. "Max."

I read it again. "Due to procedure X30067M, Max has lost all reproductive functions. Unfortunate, but unavoidable given the circumstances. Check the reference for samples 12-15; possible viability." The next two lines are lower, separate from the first part, written messily at a diagonal. "The procedure did not execute correctly. Precautions listed in section 20C are being followed."

I look up to Iggy. The room is silent. I can hear Nudge, down the hall, behind the shut door, still chuckling on the phone. Angel is tapping her fingers on the desk lightly, squinting at the screen and re-reading the words over and over. Her lips are barely moving.

"What?" Iggy says finally, rubbing his forehead. "Sounds like he fucked up. What's the procedure?"

"That's what Alana is looking for. Says she hasn't found it yet," I say, shrugging although he can't see the helpless gesture. "Whatever it was, you're right—it doesn't sound like it went well."

Iggy frowns deeply, looking unsettled. "'The procedure did not execute as expected'…why such strange language? Was it a medical procedure?"

In my head, I'm screaming, I don't know! Can't you all understand that I don't know! It's infuriating that I don't understand my own history—my own medical history. I don't know what's happened to me, and I don't know how it will impact my future. Or how it will impact me tomorrow, for that matter. I swallow all this panic down, though, and muster up a simple, "What else would it be?"

Iggy shrugs this time, his blind gaze falling just left of my eyes. "It's just weird how he wrote it," he says. "And this is just a note page?"

I nod, and then add verbally, "Yeah, he just scribbled this here, like an afterthought." I wrap my arms around myself, feeling….something. "Hopefully Alana finds it soon. I told her to keep an eye out for the procedure mentioned in your files, too," I add, patting Ig's arm gently as I spoke about him. He nodded, still looking awfully troubled.

"Do you think it's true?" Iggy asks.

I look at him, surprised that he would even ask that. I hadn't questioned much of the documents here because why would Jeb leave a trail of inaccurate data, in this capacity? I mean, rooms full of evidence. If it were a distraction, it was a ridiculously large-scale one.

"Why would you ask that?"

Iggy rolls his thumb over the edge of the armrest, over and over. It's like he doesn't notice he's doing it, but there's a direct path of worn fabric beneath his thumb, as if he's sat in this chair enough and done the same nervous tick enough times to leave an imprint.

"We don't have the full picture," he says slowly, working through his words before he speaks. "Jeb's been known to purposely mislead us before, who's to say he wouldn't go so far as to document fake information just to throw us off?" He shrugs, finally letting his lips lift a bit. "Plus, you're so damn hormonal, an absolute Mama Bear—"

I roll my eyes, wishing his light jokes could lift the heaviness of this unknown. Angel chuckles, opening the second laptop and logging on.

Iggy taps my hand where it rests between us on my armrest.

"Who knows, okay? We just don't have all the answers yet."

"I know," I mutter, barely audible. I blink, not allowing another moment of pity partying or sulking. "Got the headphones? We can get back into the surveillance videos if you want."

Iggy raises his eyebrows, sarcastic glee lighting up his face for only a moment. "Oh, don't I!"

With that, we leap back into the search for answers, the room falling silent as we listen, read and take notes to recap in an hour once we come up for air, snacks, and in Iggy's case, a smoke.

It's going to be a long night.

Long as the night is, I find myself lying wide awake in my bed around two in the morning, willing the sun to rise. My bed feels humongous and empty, and my body feels alive and untired. My mind is racing. Has been racing.

Constantly. Since we started.

Desperate, I crawl out of bed and down the hall, creeping silently into Fang's room. Because I'm cliché as hell, I dig in Fang's drawer and find a black hoodie of his that smells exactly as he does. I flop onto his bed and curl onto my side, hoping that I can finally catch some rest. My eyes, still wide open, glance around the room at Fang's things.

I hear Gazzy snoring next door. I smile at the sound. As jealous as I am, it does bring me some comfort to know that someone is getting a good night's rest. We've been able to maintain a level of normalcy that feels manageable, at least for some of us.

I don't know what my deal is. I've done this before, read through twisted details of my even more twisted childhood. I guess I was always able to separate myself from talk of DNA-splicing and gene-engineering, because it felt so far from who I am now. But certain things, like procedures I don't even remember taking place…

The whole thing feels wrong. Something is deeply, fundamentally wrong. Perhaps it's Jeb, and none of this will be pleasant simply because he is so fucked up.

Perhaps it's not Jeb, though. Maybe there's something fundamentally wrong with me. With all of us, maybe, in our own way. I mean, were we even created to live to a normal human life expectancy? Is our DNA stronger or more fragile due to the School's tampering?

If Jeb had been the leader of Itex the entire time, and therefore clearly the head honcho at the School, why work so hard to make it seem otherwise?

Unless his goal was simply to gain our trust.

Fang's bed is clearly not the solution. I get up, glancing at the clock yearningly. If it were any earlier, I'd be on my way to Fang's already. We all know my self-restraint varies between steel-tight and paper-thin, but when it comes to Fang…it's only paper-thin. Nothing sounds better than curling up by his side right now.

I sound like all the TV and book protagonists that I loathe, but damn, there's just something about him.

I'd show up at his door, shivering and flushed from the wind. He would open it and look at me, surprised, and I'd say, "Too soon?"

But it would be almost four o'clock in the morning by the time I got to him, even if I poured on the super speed. He has a breakfast with his boss and the other interns in the morning, so I doubt he would appreciate an unannounced booty call. At four in the morning.

No, instead I need to find a way to get through the night without crawling the walls. I head downstairs after careful consideration, padding over to the kitchen in my fluffy socks that I'd pulled on earlier before attempting to go to bed—the first time.

I pull open the drawer I'd seen Fang go into days ago, retrieving a perfect, skinny joint in a plastic baggie under the potholders. I grab one of Iggy's lighters, lying by an incense holder on the kitchen island. After considering disarming the security system at this time of night, I make my way back up to Fang's room. I unlock and pull open his window, climbing out and making my way up to the roof. I settle there, leaning against the chimney, pulling the tightly rolled piece to my lips and flicking the lighter. I take the slowest pull, hold it deep, and immediately move to put the joint out—I'm not an idiot.

I breathe out through my nose. I look around, noticing the night completely still around me. I can hear a few insects, crickets and the occasional hoo of an unseen owl. I lean my head back against the bricks and close my eyes.

Only at the sound of a car coming slowly down the drive do I shoot up into a crouch, unable to prevent my overreaction for obvious reasons. My brain is suddenly in overdrive, and I look hard towards the only entrance for vehicles from the street—a long drive down a winding road covered in trees.

The vehicle that's approaching has it's lights off, which makes my skin prick. I'm seconds away from running inside and waking my family, preparing them for our first attack in years. By some grace of God, the vehicle's windows are rolled down. The only thing that stops me from hurrying inside in a doped up panic is the sound of Nudge's laughter. I freeze, trying to make out the people in the vehicle.

Finally, my brain catches up and makes the connection. This is the same car I'd seen last week, dropping Nudge off from the movies. I can't believe she had the nerve to sneak out of the house—

I realize that I'd been holed up in the office all evening, unbeknownst to anything Nudge had planned. She didn't have to sneak if no one was paying any attention.

Shitty parenting on my end, frankly.

I let myself fall back into a sitting position against the chimney, happy at the very least that there was no impending threat on our home. I watch the car pull to a stop a few yards from the house, lights still off. The engine cuts off, and I hear soft conversation. I can't see them from where I am, and I'm not trying to be nosy.

Soon enough, the conversation eases into the absence of any discernable noises. But no one gets out of the car.

Here I am, stoned, sitting on the roof and accidentally, I think, spying on Nudge's evening make out session with contestant number who knows. It isn't lost on me, during all this, that I still don't even know the dude's name. Not only am I letting my Mom duties fall to the side, I'm magically always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I curse myself for my impeccable timing, thinking sarcastically to myself, Another one of Max's superpowers: horrendous timing!

I finally hear, of all things, giggling. Nudge's voice drifts to me, saying in a hushed tone that she had fun tonight. I check my phone, hearing a car door finally open. It's nearly three o'clock.

I click my phone off, sliding it back into my pocket. The moment the car turns to head back down the drive, I see Nudge instantly unfurl her wings and shoot up to the roof, landing beside me.

"If I ever doubted your awareness, I'm sorry," I squeak, staring up at her.

"I saw your phone light up when I was down there," she says, dropping her bag and sitting down beside me. "Way to creep on me."

"Honestly, Nudge, I thought you were asleep in your room until five minutes ago," I say, watching his taillights disappear through the trees. "What's his name?"

"Dean," she says quietly, kicking her feet out in front of her. "Sorry I'm home so late."

"Sorry I didn't even notice you were gone."

I realize I am missing a gigantic parenting opportunity, where I lecture her about curfews and safety and asking for permission before leaving without any notice.

But sometimes, you don't have the energy to do that kind of parenting. Instead, I go for, "Be careful with him."

She shoots a look at me, not mean but guarded. "You don't even know him, Max."

"I know," I say quickly. "I just worry. Sometimes people use us."

Nudge rolls her eyes, stretching her wings back and looking up at the sky. "Everybody uses somebody."

I make a face, but not to her. I just don't think that's true.

"Why'd he turn his headlights off?"

She shrugs, grinning. "I made him. He thought I was crazy. In case someone was awake, I didn't want to cause panic," she says. "I had to tell him we react a little…differently to unexpected visitors. You and Iggy were both busy when I decided to go."

I nod, taking that in.

"Do you like him?"

She shrugs again, still noncommittal and overall quiet. "I guess. He's fun. He makes me feel good. He makes me feel important."

Again, in my head only (to avoid an argument) I urge her. Be careful. Letting in regular people is always hard. It rarely ended well in the past—either with traitors or victims. And now, it just meant really knowing who your friends were. Some people cared about us, and others cared about what they could get from us.

I know she doesn't want any of that advice from me, though. It is obvious that my relationship with Fang is hard for Nudge, only because she feels she'll never find someone for her like that. I wondered, too often, if any of them would. I couldn't imagine trying to find a normal person to bring into my crazy.

I don't say that, though. I don't say anything, for a while, until I finally say, "Show me a picture."

She smiles, shuffling in her bag for her phone. I know immediately that that's saved the situation. She flips through a few pictures, chattering quietly about his eyes and his laugh. My anxieties aside, it's nice to see her like this. Talking at Nudge-speed, excited and carefree. I watch her, grinning, and eventually she pauses enough to see me.

She blushes and pockets her phone. "Well. It's cold. Are you coming inside?"

I sigh, looking out at the night. "I can't sleep," I admit resentfully. "Imagine that."

Nudge grins, standing up. "Come on," she presses, nudging me with the tip of her boots. "I'll stay up with you awhile."

With that, I let her pull me to my feet. When we're inside, Nudge silently brings the dining room lights halfway up, heading into the darkened kitchen. She pulls out two glasses and reaches for the half-full corked bottle of wine on the counter.

"It's three," I hiss at her.

"It'll help you sleep," she says, pouring two hefty glasses.

"Jeez, Nudge, that's a lot!"

She smirks. "I'm not Fang, I don't do the half pour."

"It's a full pour for us," I insist, taking the offered drink she holds out to me. She grins wider. Takes a sip, still watching me. I take one, too, sinking into a chair at the dining room table. She joins me, sitting in the chair beside me. She pulls her boots off and tucks her legs up onto her chair, folded underneath her.

"You can't stand this."

All of it, I think. I know she's referring to Fang, though. "It's torture."

She chuckles, taking another drink. "The distance will spice it up," she says offhandedly, smiling at me. "You guys could use some excitement."

I choke out a laugh, but it sounds not at all amused, and I focus on taking another drink. Never the one to opt for silence, Nudge starts telling me about her date as I steadily work on draining my glass. She's right that it may help me sleep, considering I'm starting to feel a little dizzy. Suddenly I remember the herb in my pocket, and that I have just broken my own personal rule of mixing substances. I set the glass down, nearly empty, and see that Nudge's is, too.

"Well, I'm going to bed," she says finally. "You, too?"

I know I should. Instead I find my gaze drifting toward the hall, leading to the office. Nudge sighs, sounding disturbed.

"You've got to come up for air, Max. Eventually." She shrugs and turns to go up the stairs. "Goodnight."

"Yeah, good night."

I hear her, I really do.

But.

I stare down the hallway a moment longer from my seat at the table, weighing my options. They're simple, really.

Lie awake in my bed until morning or get to work.

After a moment, I get up and place the glasses we'd used in the dishwasher, closing it quietly. I turn down the dark hallway, pushing my way into the office and closing the door fully before turning on a light. I find the lamp on the desk and tug the chain, illuminating the small room into a soft yellow glow.

I hesitate. We'd technically made this rule: no one could look at the files alone. There always had to be at least two people, in case something important or terrifying came up. For the sake of saving myself another lecture moment with Angel, I move the laptop off the desk surface and place it on the credenza. I focus my attention on the files we had already explored, piled and hastily clipped or stapled together. Three heaps of files that we'd discussed and tossed aside, leaving the puzzle-piecing to be done later.

My body is buzzing top to toe, presumably from my alcohol intake. I notice how fast my heart feels, how quickly and robotically I seem to be moving and thinking.

Now seems like later.

I start sifting through the pages, forcing myself to slow down and actually digest what I am reading.

I start sorting the files into smaller piles based on topic—experiments and tests, surveillance, surgeries or other unknown "procedures," as Jeb dubbed them. I also made a stack for the many files I found that Angel had marked with a big yellow highlighter star. These were the ones that were less incriminating of Jeb…more important because of the personal, individual details on each of us. Documents that, on our end, gave us insights into Jeb's plans and goals for each of us, along from what he learned from studying us. And they were also documents that we figured probably piqued the FBI's interest.

The yellow star stack was small, but within it held hours- and hours-worth of surveillance, research, and analysis of the six of us. As individuals, and as our "role" within the Flock. Our structure as a Flock, both familial and hierarchical, was very important to Jeb. He noted the integrity of creating an unbreakable bond. Incredibly enough, he'd documented my bond with Fang quite closely. We'd only found a few files so far mentioning it, but it seemed Jeb was disturbingly intrigued at our bond.

Cue all the teasing you would expect. That had been a hard Monday.

This is what made it hard for me to accept the Jeb was crazy, there was no point conspiracy that the others so firmly believed. Jeb delicately cultivated our relationships, our family dynamic. Our skills specifically play into what role we play within the Flock, both the ones we actually have and the ones Jeb had hoped we would develop.

I sift through the yellow files, looking for the summary of our abilities that Jeb had submitted to the lab the year we moved to the E house. He notes specifically that all the powers listed, though not present currently, were already programmed into our DNA as children. He had mapped a timeline of what he called "Introductory Testing" for each of these skills. Specific dates on which he would have one of our Experiment Codes listed alongside a power or skill.

Angel had looked through the timeline when we first found it, reading out skills and when they had been scheduled. We have no idea how he'd planned to implement the powers on a seemingly quarterly schedule. Was there a surgery? A special cocktail, to kick the mutation in motion? Some kind of brainwashing or stress-testing?

I turn with the document, looking at the timeline on the wall. Some skills, like Angel's mind-reading, had been "implemented" during our time at the School. According to Jeb's timeline, it landed around when she was two.

Others, including Fang's skill to dematerialize and teleport, had been scheduled during the years we were living at the house. His invisibility power is recorded the year we turned eleven, our first year at the house. Jeb was still around.

Teleportation. A power none of us have ever seen Fang display. He's never mentioned it, he's never used it—at least not in front of me or the others. We'd assumed it was another one that never was implemented. It had been scheduled for our last year in that house before the Erasers came for Angel.

Unsurprisingly, Angel had been scheduled for testing for a new power the day after she was kidnapped. Jeb had even noted beneath this scheduled testing that it would be at the School on his original timeline.

It was all part of the plan.

I look further down the timeline, searching for my Experiment Code wildly. I remember one specific "power" that had been mentioned in my file and look for it specifically—passing up PREMONITIONS and WARP SPEED. I roll my eyes as I pass that last one.

Finally, I find it. Scheduled for right before my eleventh birthday. DUPLICATION. Am I supposed to be able to clone myself? Maybe be in two places at once, or multiply in battle?

There are no details of what the powers are or the specifics of how they work. The main document is clearly established, somewhere, and we just haven't uncovered it yet. Besides notes or comments from Jeb, most of the powers are only a word on a list until we find more information about them.

As far as I can figure, Jeb would've had the time to do this scheduled experiment, whatever it may be. Perhaps it was related to the file I'd found about ability to reproduce.

I sigh, leaning back against the desk. I remember none of this. As hard as I've tried to conjure any memories from the lab at the house in Colorado, I've never come up with anything. I remember what I've always remembered about the house.

I know that I have real memories, because Fang and the others have always, as far as I could remember, corroborated my recollections as real. I tried to think, really hard, about anything that may have happened around my eleventh birthday.

I remember that it was my first birthday at the house—on the day of my choice—and Jeb had made a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. Happy Birthday, Max! was written in red icing. I remember flying off with Fang and playing in the canyon until dusk, where he gave me an old coin he'd found as my present. We'd gotten home just as it was getting dark, and Jeb had scolded us for going so far away. Once Jeb had gone to bed, we'd all fallen asleep in a heap in the living room, watching cartoons.

I'm startled by how crystal clear it is, this memory. I don't remember many other birthdays at the house. After Jeb disappeared, I never felt like a kid again. I never felt dazzled by birthdays again. Perhaps that's why I can only remember this one birthday with such clarity.

I pick up a blue marker and make a dash on the timeline, scribbling Max - DUPLICATION. It's right next to another dash on the timeline which says Max – Procedure X30067M? I cap the marker and back away, staring at the timeline in its entirety.

Something holds me there for a long time, minutes. I scan it over and over, comparing the timeline on the wall with the far-more detailed one in my hands. Finally, I drop the document and just examine the wall, again and again, searching for something that will make it make sense. It's infuriating that we many just not have seen it yet.

Something is missing.

Certain pieces, important pieces of this puzzle. We're so far deep in this already, and yet there is so much more to go. I close my eyes, pulling in a breath, finally feeling the arms of sleep reaching out to me. It's finally time to call it a night. I don't even look at the time, I just reach over and click the lamp off, letting the room go dark around me.

This puzzle is solvable.

I am going to figure it out, even if it kills me.