Thank you so much to Bamberlee for editing so quickly.

And leaving work to edit lol.

Thanks to everyone reviewing! I know some people were concerned about the pace, or the lack of Eric, but it'll pick up very soon. I have to set a whole bunch of stuff in motion, including annoying little kids and parents and Landon, so hang in there. If we jumped right to Eric and Everly together, there would be no story to read. I totally understand the impatience, especially if you've read The Training or The Initiation, but this story is being written so anyone can read it, not just those who know the background of the characters.

Plus! there are some new twists and info if you read carefully. But if you aren't one for slow burns or don't want to wait, I would advise reading something else. I'm only writing this for fun, and I've already noted it might not be what everyone imagined.

This is the last chapter for a few days, but I'll back soon with this and Eva. Stay safe!đź’š

"What's the oldest age you would date someone?"

I ask Sophia this in a conspiratorial whisper, and her head jerks toward mine.

"How old is he? Thirty? Thirty-five? Forty? Omg, is it Landon's dad? I mean, Jerry's kind of hot but uh, that might be weird at family dinners." Her stare holds both horror and admiration, and she shrugs. "But hey, they say age is nothing but a number."

"Oh my God, no! Not him!" I whisper back furiously, leaning against the wooden stall. We'd chosen to hide out here while the kids took a nap, and for once, every single one of them had fallen asleep. "No, just…I was thinking, if someone were six years older than you… would that be too much?"

She glances over at me again, out of the corner of her eye, and she reclines back. She shuts her eyes, grateful for this rare break, and shakes her head.

"Depends on the hotness of your secret lover."

I stifle down a giggle, because I had to say, Eric was sort of hot.

I'd been thinking about him for a few days now, trying to figure out what to do with the knowledge of how old he is. At first, I was surprised. I quickly counted six years between us, and I wondered if he found me way too young. Not even as someone he was interested in, just in general. But despite his aggressively cold demeanor and lack of interest in anything Amity related, he seemed pretty tolerant of me. In fact, it seemed like once he caught me, he didn't want to let go, and he had no real reason to answer when I asked his age.

"He's…really handsome." I close my own eyes, trying to remember his face.

After falling gracelessly out of the tree, I'd thought about him all night. For reasons I couldn't explain, I liked him. I didn't want him to have a girlfriend back in Dauntless, though if he did, she'd presumably be older than me, and I really didn't want him to have a wife. I liked how he looked in his uniform, and I sort of wondered what he'd look like out of it.

I had a feeling he was much larger than I imagined.

The men who worked the fields were fit, but Eric seemed invincible.

I wasn't naĂŻve enough to think this was anything more than a stupid crush. I landed on that after landing on him, and I knew it would get me nowhere. Even if Eric proved to be the love of my life, our factions were worlds apart. His faction stalked through ours searching for people doing wrong while my faction celebrated each and every person living here. The men here were safe; no one was violent or angry, and rarely did any marriages fall apart. Eric appeared to be unfriendly, and it was assumed he preferred to handle things with his fists over his words.

According to him, he had no wife or girlfriend, and little interest in having either.

Still, I liked the distraction he brought. I often wondered what he was doing while I was working. Was he sitting at his computer, typing a memo to the factions? Was he eating lunch? Did Jason and Not Jason eat with him? Would he be horrified to see me right now, hiding out in the warmest part of a barn, nodding off while our class slept?

I didn't have any of these answers.

At least I knew his age.

"I mean, if he's hot enough, I'd say go for it. Especially since you don't want to marry Landon." Sophia comments with her eyes still shut, and I open mine. She's frowning, and her head tilts in my direction. "Actually, Landon has been weird lately. He yelled at Mable for the class moving some chairs. She was horrified. He apologized, but I've never seen him so angry. I wonder if he quit taking peace serum."

"Oh maybe. Or maybe he's just mad that…" I stop, not wanting to announce he was probably mad because I didn't want to join the factionless army with him. "That I don't want to be with him. My dad thinks I should marry him."

"Don't marry him," Sophia advises, closing her eyes again. "There's something strange going on. I have the feeling he could hurt someone. I've never felt like that before, but I do now. He might even hurt you. And he's obsessed with you."

I frown, sinking back further, and I hope she's wrong.

"Are you gonna tell me who the guy is? Omg, is it Jake? Everly! Tell me!" She nudges me with her arm, and I nudge her back.

"No, he picked Dauntless, remember? He left the first second he could."

I sound wistful, because I'd been oddly jealous when I realized one of our friends wasn't coming home. I hadn't wanted to pick Dauntless or anywhere else, but I was envious that he was brave enough to try something new.

"I don't think you know him."

"Try me," she answers dryly, snickering as someone loudly whispers for everyone to be quiet. "Okay, try me after this nap. I'm exhausted."

"Me too."

I sink into the silence of the barn, warm and quiet and hidden away from the rest of the faction, and I give in.

I'd spent too many nights staying up late thinking about Eric, desperately trying to remember every detail of his face.

Their argument is as loud as two people who shouldn't or couldn't be arguing can be.

I wake up to the thud first, the low voices second, and the louder voices third. I gently move Zander away from me, careful not to wake him as I climb out of bed, and walk slowly to the bedroom door. He'd left it open during one of his million nightly trips to get water, letting the voices drift up, right over to me.

"Will you let this go? You promised me you wouldn't bring it up again."

My mother is the one speaking, and her tone wavers between panic and tense irritation. I haven't heard her talk like this in a while, or maybe ever. She was rarely ever worked up, mostly thanks to copious amounts of peace serum, but she must not have taken it yet. I have a feeling she's talking to my father, but his response is muffled.

"Answer what they're asking and get on with your day. Now isn't the time to be unwelcoming or to make them suspicious. You agreed to this, years ago. You promised me."

It is my father.

His answer is resigned, an unhappy fine, then her name as some sort of plea, then silence. I take the stairs two at a time, keeping on the very edge so they don't make a sound, and I don't see anyone. They must have moved into the kitchen, because there's no one down here. I reach the bottom step quickly, and I nearly shriek as someone rounds the corner and heads straight for me.

"Hello."

It's none other than Harrison. He stands before me with one hand up in surrender, in the entryway to our living room. He must have come from the kitchen, privy to witnessing whatever disagreement my parents were having, because he looks mildly stressed.

Unlike Eric, his posture is visibly tense, though he shakes it off.

"Hi."

I freeze on the bottom stairstep, unable to move, or do anything really.

He's tall.

Tall and dressed in the same uniform Eric had on last week. His hair is more combed than I saw him in person, but less combed than when I saw him on the screen in the truck. He has the same boots on, the same heavy jacket with the dark stripes, and the same gun they all carry. I hadn't really noticed it on Eric or Jason or Not Jason, but it's more apparent on him.

"I didn't mean to scare you. They uh, needed a moment." He speaks slowly, staring so intently it's like he knows me. He doesn't. In fact, he's out of place here, the uniform jarring against the red wood of our home and the numerous plants and books, but he's not completely uncomfortable.

Not like some of the soldiers.

He is uneasy because he'd witnessed an argument, an act which was practically illegal here.

"What are you doing?" I take the final step off the stairs, and he shrugs nonchalantly. "Are you…is Eric here?"

It takes him a second, but Harrison smiles in the slightest. He's not at all scary, even though I'd seen him yell at Eric and he was currently armed. I'd even say he reminds me of Zander. He gives off the air of being sort of mischievous, only halfway interested in what's going on, and longing for something more thrilling than visiting Amity.

Jason had said he didn't like coming here, so he must have drawn the short straw for who got to visit.

"He's in Erudite today. Were you expecting him?"

I shake my head no, ignoring the pang of disappointment, because really, where Eric is is not my business.

"Why are you here?" I stay a few feet away from him, but I want to step closer.

I'm not sure why.

He should be intimidating. All of them should be. There was an unspoken authority they all carried, and we were supposed to honor it. They were looking out for us. Protecting our factions. Risking their own lives to be here, so we stayed safe.

But we all knew they were dangerous. Their authority gave them a broad range of leeway. They could come and go as they pleased, arrest whoever they liked, and their word was stronger than ours in the event it made it to Candor. There was a good chance if you pissed one of them off, they'd hurt you.

Any way they could.

Harrison doesn't look like he'd hurt me, but I was quickly learning I couldn't trust the people I once thought I could.

"We're here to talk to your…to Carlen. We believe he might have unknowingly helped out some of the people we're looking for." Harrison glances around the house, his stare lingering on the bookshelf and stopping when it reaches the hallway that leads to my parent's bedroom, and he frowns. "Nothing to be scared of."

"I'm not scared," I respond quickly, hoping he doesn't think I am.

Just like with Eric, it seems important he know this.

"You don't seem to be afraid of much," he observes, and for a second, I feel like I've been caught red handed. "You're pretty brave for someone who lives in Amity."

"Because I sat in the truck?"

My answer is bold, considering he could take me along with him for confirming I had been in Eric's truck. I'm sure they had some rule about letting people into their vehicles, especially ones from Amity who weren't supposed to be touching the buttons. At the very least, my presence was a distraction while he was assigned to work here.

"Well, that and not too many people want to get close to Coulter." He stares for a second longer, but his gaze softens. "You certainly weren't afraid of him."

"I'm not," I inform him, wondering if this will get back to Eric. I mentally note his last name is Coulter, though what I could do with this information is lost on me. "I told him I'd help him if he needed it, but he didn't seem to want my help."

"I'm sure he wants something," Harrison turns when my mother comes back into the living room, and we both look surprised when she blinks. Her eyes are wet, and her shoulders slump down. "Eden?"

"He's outside. He said he'll talk with you there."

Her voice is strained, pulled so painfully thin I expect it to snap. She pulls her arms in closer, making herself practically invisible.

"He's waiting, Harrison."

When she says his name, something shifts.

The air turns tense, tenser than the tiny argument that woke me up, and wiry enough that I feel compelled to head back upstairs.

"Eden…"

"Harrison."

I take off.

I leave them standing there alone, murmuring something I desperately want to overhear but I know better than to try and eavesdrop. It's not my business, but I have the sticky feeling my mother is in trouble.

Or knows this man in our living room, sent to speak to my father.

Forrest confirms this when he nods at me walking up the stairs.

"Is that Harrison?" He leans against the bannister casually, rising up to try and peer downstairs. He can't see much, so he grunts in annoyance and frowns. "I heard him talking. Shit, I can't see anything."

"How did you know it was him?" I creep closer, wanting to know how Forrest could guess which soldier was here. "Do you know him?"

"Do I know him?" Forrest mocks, and his hair hangs down, loose and wet. "Duh. I could hear him."

"He wasn't even talking that loud," I point out, and I join him from his lookout. I rise up on my toes to get a better vantage point, and all I catch is the quickest glimpse of the black fabric. "But yes, it's him. He's here to talk to dad."

"That'll go over well." Forrest's remark is loud enough that Harrison looks up, and we both freeze. He tilts his head, but his eyes stay on us, looking down at him, and there's a moment of something I wish I understood. His gaze isn't unfriendly or annoyed, but sort of wistful or hopeful.

I wonder if he has kids.

"What are you looking at?" My mother says this sharply, and Forrest and I immediately jump back.

"Shit, go!"

"What are you two doing? Forrest, you aren't supposed to swear," Wesley yells, and he leans against the doorframe of his bedroom. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

We both answer at the same time, in silent understanding that we needed to keep this quiet so no one panicked. Things had been weird, but a Dauntless soldier in our living room, asking to speak to our father, was certainly the worst thing imaginable.

"Seriously, nothing. Go back to bed."

"Okay, well why are you swearing then?" Wesley yawns, and his hair falls in his eyes. "Mom is going to be mad. Is someone here?"

"Oh barnacles, sorry. I hope I didn't offend your innocent little ears," Forrest leaves his post, sauntering by and smacking Wesley in the head. "Go back to bed. No one's here. She's helping dad with something."

"Is that true Everly?" Wesley looks over at me, and I look at Forrest. He nods several times, and his stare is pointed.

When I stay quiet, he jerks his head, silently telling me to back him up.

"Yeah, they said they'll be done soon. You can go back to sleep if you want. Sorry we woke you up," I answer with as much conviction as I can, and Forrest nods again.

He salutes me, then heads down the hallway toward his own room.

"You two are weird." Wesley rolls his eyes, but he retreats back into his room and slams the door shut.

I stay there for just a minute, unable to get Forrest's words out of my mind.

They bother me.

He rarely, and I mean rarely, lied.

Forrest liked to tell the truth, no matter how brutal it was. He felt like it helped keep him honest, though he learned that sometimes there were better ways of delivering the blow so everyone didn't hate him. There was something about the way he casually announced our mother was helping dad with something, when she very clearly wasn't, that bugged me.

Our father was outside, waiting for Harrison.

Our mother was inside with Harrison.

Not my father.

Or maybe Forrest meant she was helping our father by talking to Harrison.

I don't think about this very long.

I decide to peek back over the bannister, and when I do, I catch a glimpse of my mother, very unwillingly sliding her hands away from Harrison's, and her expression is one of total despair.

The next few days pass by slowly.

I am sucked down to a level of sheer agony I never knew existed. I spend my mornings surrounded by total terrors. The sudden turn to cold mornings makes them wild, wilder than one would imagine, and insatiable for fresh air and lukewarm sunshine. Mable tries to keep everyone happy, but there's a lot of grumbling for jackets and mittens, children showing up in unnecessary snow boots, and one bunny smuggled in for show and tell that leaves my head hurting.

I spend my evenings with Zander, building a tower so tall Forrest has to finish the top, and watching my parents.

I try to pass off my observation as casual, but Forrest notices immediately.

"Is there a reason you're like, one foot away from them? Are you afraid they're going to disappear?"

He kicked me while we ate dinner, and I glared in response.

So far, things were continuing to be tensely awkward. Still in their odd disagreement over something, my mother had thrown herself into cooking everything she could find. Forrest, Wesley, and Leif were in their glory. Zander demanded toast and only toast. I ate some salad and noodles and soup. Paisley and Holly ate their normal amount but looked confused as to why there was so much food.

My father looked annoyed.

It was becoming more and more noticeable. His mood changed the minute he got home. He'd hug whoever was near him hello, kiss my mother's head, then his shoulders would rise up and he'd be quiet for the evening. My mother was even more quiet.

This left us with Zander, chattering away about every single thing he'd ever seen.

By the time he got to the cloud he swore was shaped like a bat fighting a frog, I was falling asleep out of sheer boredom.

It continued all week.

One morning, I came downstairs to them talking, civilly, and I assumed their argument was over. It was pretty much impossible to fight when you were taking peace serum. Anger and resentment seemed to dissolve away once you downed it, or so I'd been told.

My mother was seemingly not taking any.

It was almost as though she liked being mad, and the feeling was so vibrant she wasn't willing to give it up.

By the time I pulled my cereal down from the pantry, she wordlessly handed my father his lunch, and turned to start making Zander pancakes.

They didn't speak at all that night.

Even now, they sit apart on the couch. My father keeps looking over at her, dutifully mending something on his work shirt and still not speaking, but she never looks at him. At least not that he sees. She does look over once, her eyes taking him in slowly, and she immediately looks back down and her hands shake.

She doesn't say a word.

The next morning, things are back to normal when she greets me, warm and happy and loopy, higher than ever on a serum meant to make everything feel good again. She hugs me goodbye, longer than necessary, and I nearly break my neck when I trip over Zander's knocked over tower.

It had sat here all week. But now the pieces are everywhere, even in the furthest corners of the room, like someone kicked them there in a fit of rage.

"You're sure you don't want to go?"

My mother's expression is hopeful, but I'd rather die than attend another bonfire this week.

To offset the stress of the soldiers being here, Johanna was hosting nightly activities. Every night had been a bonfire. A scavenger hunt. Storytelling. Star gazing. A night of games, which had been entertaining to watch but less fun to participate in. Tonight's activity was a bonfire with a band playing, and there was nothing in the world I'd rather not attend than a concert hosted by my brother.

Plus, there was the odd chance I'd run into Landon, after successfully avoiding him all week.

"I'm really tired. I was thinking I'd take a shower and go to bed. Is Zander staying home?" I hope she doesn't ask to leave Zander with me. There was nothing he loved more than being outside, potentially being in danger, or being outside at night, while it was dangerous. He lived to wander near the edge of the woods, he thrived when the sky darkened and it made his games of hide and seek harder, and he excelled at standing way too close to the fire and throwing things in it.

If she left him here, I'd never hear the end of him whining to go.

"No, your father is getting him dressed right now. There's no way he's staying behind," she answers me quietly, examining my leg while she sits on my bed. "What happened to your knee?"

"I hit it on a tree branch," I look up at her, upside down, from where I had been reading a book. It was one I'd found crammed on the bookshelf, shoved way in the back, and it was mildly entertaining. "I fell out of a tree."

"When?" My mother frowns, shoving my skirt out of the way to look at the bruise. "Everly, that looks painful! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just…slipped when the branch started to break." I leave out the part where I fell from the tree, right into Eric. I'd been trying to forget about him, actually. Despite his sudden appearance in my life, I hadn't seen him here in a week. Harrison was the last soldier I saw who I sort of knew. The rest were nameless, silently marching down the dirt path, and occasionally stopping to talk to one of the workers. "It'll go away soon."

I'm not just talking about the bruise, either.

It seemed that Eric had chosen to disappear from my life just as quickly as he'd arrived, and I had no choice but to accept this.

"How did you fall out of a tree?" My mother sounds suspicious, and she should be.

I didn't exactly spend my free time scaling them.

"I was playing hide and seek with Zander. I guess my hiding spot was too good and I fell getting down," I play this off casually, though her expression tells me she's not entirely convinced. "What um, what happened with…that guy who was here?"

"What guy?" She looks at me, and her peace serum has worn off for the day. I can tell, because her eyes are bright.

"Harrison," I say his name firmly, and she blinks. It's more of a wince, but she does her best to pretend his name doesn't evoke a reaction from her. "The one who was in our living room."

"He was here to ask a few questions. Nothing really." Her answer is firm, but it's not convincing to either of us. "Why? Did he say something to you?"

"He just said hello," I offer, and her fingers touch the bruise on my knee. "Okay, that hurts."

"I'll get you something for it," she answers, but she's distracted. I regret bringing him up, because her gaze is now far away, and I dislike how she stiffens. "They're looking for someone and they thought this person had maybe come through here. Or was hanging around the greenhouse. That's all."

I notice she's very careful not to say he was looking for my father, so I don't bring it up.

"Well, have fun at the bonfire. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed."

My mother smiles, but it's not at me.

She's suddenly off in la la land, lost in some dream world, without any help at all from the peace serum.

The silence is more than welcome.

I relish it, brushing out my damp hair and lounging around in a nightgown meant for someone twice as tall. Once I'm sure I won't wake up to matted hair, I recline back on the couch in the living room and look around.

Everyone had left an hour ago.

Once they did, I took a shower, combed my hair, and figured I'd read the book I'd found. Our bookshelf was always crammed with stories to read, but rarely did any interest me. They were mostly traded or gifted from our neighbors, and they ranged from boring –agriculture and farming references, to soppy love stories or fairytales meant for younger children.

I'd found this one hidden in the furthest corner, shoved in place beside a worn leather notebook. I'd picked out the notebook as well, figuring there might be something interesting in it. I took them both with me, carefully added more firewood, and figured I had at least another two hours before anyone was back. The bonfires were running late, and the addition of a band playing music would push them well into the evening.

I feel a flash of guilt at not going, since I could have seen Sophia and Courtney, but the alone time is worth it.

I get about ten pages into the book before my attention wanders. It's not the story, but my mind keeps reminding me there's a notebook beside me, and it might be more interesting to read.

So I do.

I toss my book to the side, and I open up the leather notebook like it might bite me.

It's a huge mistake.

I pull my feet beneath me, completely sucked into whoever wrote the book, because it's a journal. The handwriting isn't familiar, nor is it anyone I know. It's clearly a man's, the letters sloppy and blocky, and the words are not elegant.

But in some way, they are.

They are heartfelt in an unsuspecting manner; they detail a chance meeting in the woods by a river, two people who cannot be together in any way, and a desperation to make it happen. I take in page after page of these meetings, sometimes planned, sometimes on accident, and my chest hurts when their plans crumble with each passing day. It's clear these two are meant to be together, but something is keeping them apart. It doesn't say what, so I can't be sure it was written any time recently, but it hints that what they feel simply can't happen.

The last page of the first section describes seeing light in the darkness, and I'm so absorbed into this, I nearly fall off the couch when someone knocks on the door.

"Shit!" I toss the journal to the side, and I sit there, frozen in place at the thought of being murdered.

It had to be Landon.

There was no one here. No one next door. Our closest neighbor was a good distance away, and even they were at the bonfire. It was at least a ten minute walk to get there, and if someone was here to murder me, I wouldn't be able to alert anyone.

They wouldn't even make it back in time.

I walk to the door slowly, and I take a chance it's our sweet old neighbor, the one who always lost her pet squirrel or came by to drop off blueberry pies.

"Hello?" I open the heavy door without looking, and there he is.

Eric Coulter.

Standing on our porch, dressed like he's come for war.

"Oh, hi." I greet him dumbly, still not sure it's really him.

Any eloquence I might have had is gone. I look up at his face, his expression smirky and smug, and he looks at me. His eyes take in the nightgown with a hint of disapproval, right down to how long it is. He then glances into the living room, and when he's satisfied no one is there, he looks back down at me.

"Hello."

He steps inside before I can ask him if he wants to come in, because it's assumed he does. He walks heavily, his boots thudding on the floor, his uniform crisp and pristine, and his hair has been cut again. It's shorter than before, except for the top.

"What are you doing here?" I shut the door behind him, feeling a sense of total finality now that he's inside. After a second, I lock the door, figuring this would buy me at least another minute if someone were to come home. "Are you here to see my father?"

"No." Eric answers dismissively. He looks around, mild curiosity all over his face, and his stare stops on the fireplace. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah, my family went to this bonfire down by the lake." I watch him examine everything in our house. I can't figure out why he's looking so intently, but after a week of not seeing him, his appearance is jarring. I'm reminded of who he is, and where he lives.

"You didn't want to go? Isn't that right up your alley?" Eric asks, and he clenches his jaw down when I don't answer him. I don't want to, because his assumption is right. It should be right up my alley. Everyone from Amity loved the bonfires, especially when there was a party. "No?"

"I didn't want to go. I was reading a book," I answer him in a tone far more defensive than is appropriate, but he seems to like my response. "It was quiet here and I wanted to stay. I can go to a bonfire any night."

"You stayed here to read a book? What book?"

He's looking at me curiously, but his stare is sharp.

I feel like he's making a list.

A list of reasons why Everly doesn't belong in Amity, and announcing I'd skipped one of our big parties to stay home and read was just another one for him to add.

"It's about a wizard. A boy who finds out he's a wizard. Have you read it?" I watch his face darken for a second, like he thought I was over here reading about brain surgery. "It's pretty interesting."

"No, I haven't." Eric answers flatly, and he pauses to check his phone. He looks at it irritably, swiping and tapping the screen and firing off a rapid response to whoever was demanding his attention. When he finally looks up, his expression is bored. "We were called to this area an hour ago. I'm here to ask if you've seen anyone unusual around. Other than the regular members of Amity."

"Funny," I try to keep a straight face, but I'm sure compared to his dangerous life in Dauntless, everyone here was unusual. "I haven't. I've been busy working."

"With the high-risk members?"

Eric raises his eyebrow at me and for half a second, my heart stops beating.

He's teasing me.

His tone is almost flirty if I listen hard enough, and his lips dare to smirk.

"You can come meet them. They show up every morning at nine. If you're brave enough…" I stop when he comes to a halt in front of me. He takes up all the free space, and his presence is larger than life. I have to look up at him to see his face, and he has to look down at me.

He reminds me of Harrison.

Both his presence and the look he's throwing me.

"I've been thinking about something, and I just can't figure it out."

"What is it?" I stare up at him, and he smiles.

In wide, sweet, faux innocence.

"You're awfully brave for someone who lives here. Are you sure you picked the right faction?" His words are slick, and there's a wave of horror at him thinking I wasn't supposed to be here. He waits patiently for my answer, and his stare never leaves mine.

"I'm not…I'm not that brave," I respond, but he has a point.

No one else in Amity would have gotten in the truck with him.

Sophia would have cried and Courtney would have fled into the woods, hoping they didn't catch her and kill her for refusing to answer them.

"Are you sure you haven't seen anyone? Or gone anywhere? Your answer could be helpful," he hints, stepping closer. He's so close he's nearly touching me, and he smells good. Really good. "You said you wanted to help me. Here's your chance."

For a single second, I contemplate telling him where Landon had taken me. It's on the tip of my tongue –the woman named Evelyn, her odd partner, the factionless milling around, the rumors of starting an army –but I can't. If I tell him this, there was a good chance he'd go after Forrest. My father. Landon, even though he was up to no good and probably deserved what was coming.

I couldn't turn in my own father.

Or my brother.

I debate giving him Landon's name, and the struggle must be all over my face.

"Everly," Eric says my name, and his fingers reach out. I wait for them to find my skin, because his eyes have moved from my face to my shoulder, to the white fabric and the sheer ruffles someone had dutifully sewn on the strap, but they don't.

He touches my hair, grasping a lone piece between his fingers and twirling it around.

"You can trust me," he lies, softly.

I shake my head.

I can't trust him.

He's here looking for people to drag back to his lair and announcing I had been taken to a meeting would only accelerate his hunt. I would be handing him who he's looking for, but a few he isn't. My brother could be a casualty, and so could my father.

Neither meant any harm.

"I haven't seen anyone," I lie right back, just as quietly.

He knows.

His eyes flash with impatience, but he recovers quickly.

"I know you don't trust me," Eric admits, and his fingers move up higher. "You shouldn't."

"I know," I don't move, instead I watch him. He's distracted by my hair, mostly dry and hanging in long wavy sections in front of my shoulder. He moves his hand up higher, nearing my collarbone, following the dark path toward my ear. "Everyone keeps telling me that."

"They're not wrong," his fingers touch my collarbone. They graze there for a moment, lightly, then move up my neck. He touches my jaw, tracing the curve to the juncture, then he slides his fingers into my hair.

He could kill me.

He could snap my neck to the side, and no one would ever know it was him.

I must look terrified, because his expression changes to surprise, and he pulls away. His hand stays there, curling slightly to hold on, then he leans back toward me.

His normal stoic sneer is gone, and I'd dare say he looks put out. Mild insult radiates from him, like he didn't want me to have a certain impression of him.

"I won't hurt you. That's not why I'm here. I wouldn't…."

"You just said not to trust you," I point out, and he swallows thickly. His eyes lock on mine, light and dark at the same time, and he nods. "How do I know you're not lying?"

He contemplates this. He thinks it over while he chews on the side of his cheek, trying to think of a way to prove he won't kill me. I'm mildly flattered that he's even trying, because really, I'm no one to him. Just some random girl in Amity he keeps running into, with absolutely nothing to offer him except the very people he's looking for.

"We could meet for lunch," I think of this brilliant idea out of nowhere, and he scoffs.

He leans back slightly to really look at me.

"You want me to meet you for lunch? Then you'll trust me?"

"I can make you something," I think fast, not even close to knowing what he ate. "We could meet in the woods, by the river. There's a clearing where people fish sometimes. It's empty now because it's getting cold."

"You want me, to come here, and eat lunch with you?" He repeats himself; his words should be insulting, but he's saying them like he needs to hear them out loud to understand them. "And then you'll trust me? Then you'll tell me what I want to hear?"

"No one is there. It's too cold to be out that way. I could leave right at twelve. That's when we take the kids to lunch," I answer quickly, not listening to him and not sure why I was even hoping he'd say yes.

Because I was.

I was desperately hoping he'd agree, because it would be something to look forward to. I would see him again, we could eat lunch together, and by then, I'd hopefully have figured out a way to tell him where I'd been without admitting I'd been there.

Or that my father and brother could be involved.

"Twelve?" he mutters, still distracted. His fingers stay in my hair, lazily touching the long strands, and the spell is broken when his phone rings.

It's shrill and sharp, and it echoes in the quiet house.

He ignores it.

For a moment.

"I have to get back. They must have found someone," he says, slowly sliding his hand away. "No one knows about this but you and me. Got it, Amity?"

I nod, defeated that this chance meeting is ending because someone is calling him, but I know he has work to do.

So does he.

He steps away reluctantly, and heads for the door. Eric glances around once more, doing his best to quickly memorize the surroundings before it becomes too noticeable. Once he's satisfied, he unlocks the front door and throws it open, but he doesn't make it all the way through.

He looks back at me, his smirk fully in place, and he hesitates for a single second.

"Don't be late."

It's not a goodbye.

It's not even spoken nicely or warmly. It's more of a threat than anything, but I smile widely.

The door shuts with a thud, and I walk over to secure it. My fingers linger on the lock, heavy and cold, and I find myself smiling.

Stupidly.

This whole situation is dangerous. So risky that I could potentially wind up in major trouble, but it's left me dizzied in a way I've never felt before.

I am determined to see him again, even if it means risking everything.