Rushing through the woods as fast as my out-of-shape (and apparently fucking cancerous) lungs can manage, we easily beat David – along with Victoria Chase, I guess - back to the tree fort with plenty of time to spare. Enough time, at least, that I won't still be gasping for air when they arrive. Now, leaning at the base of the big tree our pirate hideaway has occupied for more than a decade, I watch Max as she nervously paces back and forth, trying to braid her own hair.

And by watch, I mean heckle. "You've seen a braid before, right?"

"Shush."

"I'm just asking. Because you look like you're having some problems there."

"Shush."

"Is it supposed to be crooked like that?"

"It isn't crooked."

"It's pretty crooked."

"Maybe this is the style in the future," she mutters, accidentally fumbling one of the strands and only catching about half of it. "You don't know."

"Is it?"

"...no." She huffs, dropping her hands into her lap. "I suppose you think you can do better?"

"Oh, I know I can." I lead her over to the truck and jump up into the bed. "Sit on the tailgate."

She does, eyeing me uncertainly.

"Oh, relax, will you? I'm not going to pull all your hair out." Repositioning the flashlight, I take a closer look at the mess she's made. "I'll try not to, at least. It's kinda tangled." Without thinking, I add, "You must get the worst sex-hair ever."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she murmurs, throwing a smoldering glance over her shoulder.

"I...uh..." Shaking my head, I begin slowly running my fingers through her still shockingly long locks, gently loosening each tangle I come across as she sighs contentedly. Eventually, after a few tangle-free sweeps, I start lightly scratching my fingernails over her head and she practically purrs.

"Like that, do you?"

"Hmmm...yes." She tilts her head back and pushes into my hands, encouraging me to scratch a little harder.

"I thought you wanted me to braid your hair?" I ask, laughing at her blissful expression.

"No braid only scritches," she mumbles.

"Uh-huh." I move on to the back of her neck and she lets out a little Happy-Max noise that makes my heart do things. Pushing the feelings down (they'll probably come back later, but that's a later problem) I go back to running my fingers through Max's stupidly soft hair. It's amazing to watch the tension flow out of her, but while I'm pretty sure I could do this for hours, we've got company coming.

"Stupid David," I murmur softly.

"Did you say something?"

"Eyes front, Mad Max." I gently turn her head back around, crack my knuckles, then begin to separate her hair into parts. "Just me shouting at the rain."

I don't try anything fancy, so it's only a minute or two before I'm finished and looping a hair tie over the end. I give in to the urge to give Max's neck one last gentle scratch, smiling at her delighted shiver, before tossing her finished braid over her shoulder. "All done."

"Wow, this looks really good." She says, grinning over her shoulder. "Where'd you learn to do this?"

I hesitate, just for a half-second. I learned from Rachel (shehadsuchbeautifulhairbutdontthinkaboutit) but I really don't want to talk about her right now. "Can't remember. I guess I just picked it up somewhere."

I think Max wants to needle me for more details, but the sound of an approaching engine reaches our ears first. "Looks like they're here."

The headlights come into view as it rolls up to the spot where Max and I have been waiting, and a moment later the douche-mobile's engine goes quiet. The two of them climb out slowly, like they're still suspicious that this is all some elaborate prank. David still looks kinda angry, but he usually looks kinda angry around me so who the fuck knows if that means anything. Victoria, on the other hand, looks like she can't decide whether to be annoyed or uncomfortable getting out of step-douche's car.

I know that feeling.

"Nice of you to stop by," I say, raising a hand to shield my eyes. "Mind killing the headlights before you fucking blind us?"

Douche-vid actually does as he's asked, for once. The small clearing goes dark, but the full moon is right overhead, and it only takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. Moving around to the front of the car, I can see him looking me over cautiously.

Yeah, asshole. I still have a gun, so you better play nice.

"Alright, you two," he drawls, crossing his arms as if he's the one in charge here. "Time to explain what all this is about."

"This Friday, just after sunrise, the entire population of Arcadia Bay is going to be killed by a freak EF5 tornado," Max says, once again showing exactly zero chill. "One thousand, four hundred, and seventy-three innocent people - all dead before breakfast."

The way she says it just fucking dominates, and David actually shuts the fuck up for once. It's kind of cool. And badass. And sexy. And I should really be paying attention.

Victoria doesn't look quite as shocked as David does, but I figure Max already told her some stuff. She'd have to if she were going to convince her royal highness to come out here in the first place.

"What makes you think..."

"I don't think anything, David," she interrupts. "This isn't a theory or a prediction; it's a fact. I saw it happen with my own eyes. It's coming, and I want to make it clear right now that it can't be stopped or avoided. Arcadia Bay is doomed, plain and simple."

"Very motivational," Victoria mutters. I don't know if Max heard her, but I still have to fight down the urge to slap her upside the head.

"Luckily, we aren't trying to save the town," Max continues. "We're trying to save the people, and I've got a plan to do exactly that. I'm going to need all three of you to make it work."

Victoria gives Max one of those fucking infuriating 'I'm-so-superior' looks. "And you just expect us to go along with that."

"Yeah, we do." I roll my eyes. "Unless you actually want everyone in town to die."

"It was a question, Price."

"It was a statement, Chase," I snap back. "And it was a fucking stupid statement."

"Will you two please knock it off?" Max groans. "I didn't travel back in time to watch you snipe at each other."

"She's right," David agrees, always happy to jump on the nearest Chloe-bashing bandwagon. "This isn't the time."

"Nobody asked for your fucking opinion, David."

Victoria snorts. "Never stopped you from wasting everyone's time with yours, Smurfette."

"Smurfette was blonde, fuckwit!"

"So are you!"

"Eat me, you anorexic bitch!"

"As if, you dirty slag!"

"That's enough!" David barks, like there's any reason for any of us to give a shit. "You two need to start exercising some self-control!"

"Fuck you, too, Madsen!" Victoria snaps back at him. "This isn't Blackwell, so you can shut your damn mout-"

"ARGHH!" Max's frustrated scream scares all three of us into silence. She's glaring at us, furious, a line of blood trickling from her nose and down to her chin. "Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, all of you! I swear, if I have to rewind you idiots away from each other's throats one more fucking time..."

"Max, I..."

"Don't," she cuts me off. "I get that you all hate each other. Fine. Whatever. After Friday you're more than welcome to hate each other for the rest of your hopefully long and healthy lives. But until then you're going to put a lid on it and keep it there."

She pauses, visibly forcing herself to calm down. "Alright. Background. I've shared some pieces already, but I've held off telling the whole thing because I only want to do it once. I've told this story too many times already, and I'd die happy if I never had to tell it again. And you're all going to keep your mouths shut until I'm done, because the next person that interrupts me with their bullshit is going to get time-warped through a fucking tree."

David blinks, startled. "Can...can you do that?"

For the rest of my life, anytime I hear the phrase 'fuck around and find out', I'm going to remember the look on Max's face right now. "Anyway, there are going to be some parts you won't believe, and other parts you won't want to believe, but I swear on my life that everything I'm going to tell you is the truth. Okay?"

The three of us glance at one another, then we each give her a nod.

"Good." She takes a deep breath, and then she lays it all out for us.

She describes the vision of a storm that led her to the bathroom, where she saved me from Nathan. The warm-weather snow, the eclipse, the beached whales, and the dying birds. (I can see one, lying in the dirt about fifteen feet away, and I'm trying not to think about it.)

She talks about Kate. How she was drugged and abducted by Nathan, just like I almost was. How Victoria filmed the whole thing. How she and her fucking cronies practically drove Kate up onto that roof. I probably would've torn into Victoria for it right there if there weren't already tears in her eyes. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so guilty.

"Hey, now. Nathan Prescott's a troubled kid, but I don't think he's capable of..."

"Don't tell me what Nathan Prescott is capable of, David. I was forced to watch him kill Chloe four times before I was able to change things." Max insists, coolly adding, "And she wouldn't have been his first victim."

That brings him up short. "What do you mean?"

"He killed Rachel Amber."

"What?!" Victoria snaps, angrily wiping her tears away. "No! That's bullshit! He'd never do that! Never!"

"He did," Max responds evenly. "And trust me when I say you don't want to get into it."

"Fuck you, Caulfield. You don't say shit like that and then clam up."

Max hesitates, looks at me again, and sighs. "Fine."

And so Max tells her. And from the way her face goes from disbelief to absolute horror, I think Victoria is going to regret asking for a long, long time.

Max won't look at me when she talks about finding Rachel's body (ohgodmaxwhywontyoutellmewheresheis) but I don't have any trouble believing her when she says I wanted to kill Nathan for what he'd done.

She talks about Victoria's precious End Of The World party like she's been there, because she actually has, and Victoria stiffens when Max apologizes for 'trying' to warn her. But then Max talks about our panicked rush back to Rachel's grave, and what happened when we got there. I swear I feel a faint tingle, right above my left eye. I really hope it's just my imagination.

"Mark Jefferson," she spits, and I actually feel myself flinch. It's still disturbing to hear so much hatred in Max's voice.

"Motherfucker," David growls. "I knew there was something off about that guy."

The way she describes the Dark Room send shivers up my spine, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. I glance at Victoria when Max talks about seeing her there; she looks like she's about to be sick. I try to follow along when she describes travelling through photographs, bouncing from one timeline to another, searching for a happy ending until my phone call pulls her back into ours.

Seeing her journal burnt, how close Jefferson came to killing her, and how it was David who (eventually) rescued her...after being killed, and killed, and killed, and killed again. Now he's the one looking queasy. For a second I think Max is going to say something more, but then she skips to her panicked drive to the Two Whales to retrieve a photo from Warren Graham, of all people.

Going back and telling me to tip off David, the two of us on the beach, and our walk to the lighthouse. I can tell there's something right after, that she's leaving something else out, but the haunted look in her eyes almost makes me glad she is.

The impossible choice she was forced to make and its consequences, both of which I'm having some trouble wrapping my head around.

Pointlessly searching for survivors before leaving the remains of Arcadia Bay behind. About how David and Victoria survived the storm, and how almost no one else did.

She actually smiles when she speaks about the months we spent trying to rebuild our lives in Seattle and I find myself smiling along with her, right until she tells us how it all came crashing down.

"Chloe...she d-died." Max's voice wavers when she says it. I think she's trying not to cry. "She got sick, but by the time she was diagnosed, it was too late. We tried everything, but she only lived another six months."

We'd decided not to go into the fine details there. There's going to be plenty of time to tell everyone later, but for now it's probably better for David and Victoria to assume that I'm still healthy.

The way Max talks about the months that followed my death, and the absolute misery she was going through, makes me want to pull her into my arms and never let go. And while I'm sure she wouldn't exactly complain if I did, I think she'd rather get all of this out.

Victoria stares, slack-jawed, through Max's entire retelling of their friendship. I'm not sure, but I think I might be doing the same thing. David looks like he's floating somewhere between stunned and horrified when she talks about the weird desert commune he ends up on.

"Victoria and I realized that if we were going to change things, we'd need David's help. And once we had that, we were able to develop the plan," she says, going on to explain how the three of them spent months developing their strategy to change the past.

Finally, she comes to the big rewind. There's a strangely methodical quality to the way she tells David and Victoria about it, like she's considering the details carefully before laying them out. They vary from incredibly detailed to annoyingly vague, and I'm pretty sure there's still a part in the middle she's leaving out. Then again, she also skips over the sexier details of her arrival in my bedroom this morning, so maybe it's for the best.

I try not to flinch when she describes the seizure, and how much pain she was in before she blacked out. My own memories are bad enough, and even David looks a little pale.

"And then I woke up in Arcadia Bay hospital," Max finishes, sounding about as tired as I feel. "Any questions?"

Questions? Is she fucking kidding right now? I have about a billion questions, and David and Victoria look like they're in the same boat. Unfortunately, I'll be goddamned if I can find the right words to ask a single one of them. Everything Max just said seems to loom over me like some unclimbable wall, making every question seem pointless and making the idea that the four of us could change any of it seem impossible.

"Yeah." Max nods, not looking very surprised. "That's what I figured."

A few more seconds of stunned silence pass, then David awkwardly holds up his phone. "I, uh, should probably check in with Joyce."

It wasn't a question, exactly, but he still waits until Max nods. "That's fine. I think we could all use a minute."

"I..." Victoria starts, looking down at a crumpled envelope in her hands. "I don't...excuse me."

Max doesn't say anything when Victoria turns and walks away, calmly watching the self-proclaimed Queen of Blackwell follow the narrow trail off into the trees. She's out of sight a moment later, and Max wearily turns to me. "Do you think you could go keep an eye on her? You know how overwhelming this stuff can be."

Overwhelming doesn't even begin to describe it, but at least I've got a little experience. Even so... "Do I have to?"

"No." She takes my hand, squeezing it gently. "But I'd really appreciate it if you did."

"Way to fight dirty, Caulfield." I grumble, squeezing back before I let go. "Fine. I'll go make sure queen bitch isn't freaking out on us."

"Thank you." She lifts up on her toes to kiss my cheek.

"S'fine." Like before, her small show of affection sends pleasant butterflies flitting around in my stomach. "How're you doing?"

"I'm okay," she murmurs, rubbing her forehead. "I've got a bit of a headache, but I've probably been pushing myself too hard."

"Thought you had mad time powers now?"

"Coming back two years took a lot out of me." She shrugs. "I just need to get some rest. I'll bounce back."

"You sure?"

"Mhm. I'll see you in a bit."

David's leaning against his douchemobile's trunk, where he once made me empty out my pockets (like a fucking criminal) about ten minutes after I'd been kicked out of school.

Fucking asshole.

He's talking on his phone, and I hear him tell someone (Mom, probably) that he's going to try driving down to Tillamook to look for my truck. It's not a bad cover story, I guess. The round trip would take him about an hour. We briefly make eye contact as I pass by, headed for the same narrow trail Victoria took off down, but the phone call saves me from actually having to talk to him.

That's probably a good thing, because for the first time ever, I actually want him to start a fight. I want him to start spouting all that shit he's always throwing at me, so I can shove every single word of it back down his throat and watch him choke on it. Just like I've always wanted to, but never have.

I've been putting up with David for four years. In all that time, the highest he's ever climbed on the likability scale was 'barely tolerable', and even that was a long time ago. Since he and Mom got hitched, it's felt like a non-stop parade of contempt for everything about me. Whether it's my attitude, or my music, or my fucking posture; he always seems to have some problem with who I am and what I'm doing.

But through all the yelling, accusations, chauvinism, and other bullshit, I never really defended myself. I usually just rolled my eyes, made some snarky remark, then headed for the nearest exit.

Even the handful of times he actually got pissed off enough to hit me, I never did anything to fight back. I always wanted to. I mean, I really fucking wanted to. I wanted to call the cops or tell Mom (not that I think she'd have believed me) or claw his beady fucking eyes out with my goddamn fingernails. But all I ever did was warn him not to do it again.

I probably should've just moved out; swallowed my pride and gotten a job somewhere. I could've found some shitty apartment in Tillamook or something. I could've left this whole shit show behind once and for all. I'm over eighteen and except for Rachel (dumpedmecheatedonmebutshesdeaddontthinkaboutit) there wasn't anything keeping me here. But I never did anything. I just rolled over and took it.

Right up until the moment he lay a hand on Max.

I hadn't thought. I hadn't hesitated. By the time I'd actually decided to draw the gun, it was already aimed right between his eyes. I'd been 100% ready to blow his fucking brains out to protect her, and what's weird is that I'm not freaking out over that as much as I probably should be. It's not like I'm totally okay with the idea of killing David, as tempting as it's sometimes been. I just know - with absolute fucking certainty - that if it ever came down to Max or him, Max would win.

If it came down to Max or literally anyone, Max would still win. Max would win every single time, because she's Max. Hell, even if it'd ever been a choice between Max and Rachel (stopredlightdefinitelydontthinkaboutTHAT)

I should hurry up and find Victoria.

I finally come across her about five minutes' walk down the trail, sitting on a fallen log and staring off into the woods. Her light sweater makes her easy to spot in the moonlight, and as I come up behind her I lightly drag my feet on the ground for a few steps, to let her know I'm there. The last thing I need is to get maced because I accidentally snuck up on her. Coming to a slow stop about ten feet away, I wait for her to acknowledge me with some barbed remark. She doesn't turn around, though, and I can't tell whether or not she actually knows I'm here.

As annoying as it is that she might just be ignoring me, I wouldn't be totally shocked if she were. I've known her for four years, since she started attending Blackwell a year behind me, and I can't think of a single pleasant conversation we've had in all that time. She probably expects me to insult her (which, I admit, would usually be my first instinct) but contrary to popular belief, I'm not that much of an asshole.

Victoria might be a bitch, but she just got a whole lot of shit dumped on her, and she really doesn't need me to start piling on.

Besides, Max already popped a literal blood vessel tonight trying to make us play nice. It's so fucking stupid that, on top of everything else, she should have to hurt herself just to keep me and Victoria from clawing each other's eyes out.

Y'know what? Fuck it. Victoria and I haven't gone to school together in three years and don't run in any of the same circles. We pretty much exist in different worlds, so why should either of us devote any energy to hating the other one? Don't we have better shit to do?

Maybe it's time to (ugh) be an adult about this and bury the damn hatchet.

"Shove over, Chase."

She jumps, startled, wiping at her eyes before turning to glare at me like I'm something she just scraped off her shoe. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Right now? I want you to shove over." I step around the fallen log and she shimmies to one side just in time to avoid getting a lapful of yours truly.

"I'm really not in the mood for your bullshit right now, Price."

"I'm not..." Don't yell at her. "Victoria, I..." God damn it. This sounded easier in my head. "Alright, I know we've got some not-so-awesome history..."

"No shit we do," she snaps.

I feel a powerful urge to call her a bitch again and walk away, but I clench my teeth and silently remind myself that she's got plenty of good reasons to hate me. Honestly, the time Rachel (stopitchloeplease) and I literally drugged her over a part in some dumbass school play would be enough all on its own.

"Then I think you'll appreciate how hard it is for me to say this." Holy shit, this almost physically hurts. "This is some heavy shit and it would have been easy for you to blow Max off, but you didn't. I really respect you for stepping up, and I want you to know I've got your back."

"I...uh..."

"Max says you're good people," I continue, before she can say something irritating. "And I trust her. So as far as I'm concerned, you're good people."

"You've called be a bitch about fifty times since I got here," she reminds me.

"Yeah, well, you are a bitch," I point out, because she is. "And you piss me off. And half the things you say make me want to slap the shit out of you. That doesn't mean you're not a good person."

"Oh, is that right?"

"I really fucking hope so. If it's not, we're both in trouble." It's a shitty joke, but it's enough to get a small laugh out of her. "Look, I'm not saying you have to be nice to me or anything. And fuck knows we don't have to be friends. But until this whole thing is done, can we at least agree to stop shitting all over each other?"

She eyes me silently, like she's trying to decide whether or not I'm fucking with her. The longer the silence stretches out, the more I expect her to tell me to fuck off. Finally, she just sighs and looks away. "Alright."

"Alright," I echo. Hesitantly, I add, "And I'm sorry about Nathan.''

"The hell you are," she growls. "He drugged you, Price. He tried to kill you."

I'd probably have snapped back at her if not for the tremor in her voice. She's angry, but for once she's not angry at me. "I meant I'm sorry you had to find out about him like this. It sucks to learn something shitty about somebody you thought you knew."

She seems to consider that, staring off into the trees while I try to think about literally anything other than the urge to light up a smoke. After about a minute, she glances at me uncertainly. "I already...I mean, Max already told me, earlier today. Sort of."

"Doesn't seem like something Max would 'sort of' tell you."

"Not directly, I mean." She holds up the crumpled envelope she's been carrying this whole time. "She gave me this."

"And what's that?"

"It's a letter from myself in the future." She shakes her head, adding. "Which is something I never thought I'd say."

"Seriously?"

Victoria nods. "I...future me, I mean...said that something's really wrong with Nathan, but she wouldn't say what. She said she didn't want me to be alone when I found out, and that Max would tell me more if I really wanted to know. I mean, I knew he'd been struggling with something, but I never would have imagined..."

"Oh." I have absolutely no idea what the right thing to say here is, so I decide to say something stupid instead. "Kinda lame that you get a letter from the future and I don't."

Victoria gives me the most incredulous look I've ever seen. "You got a girlfriend from the future, and you're pissed you didn't get mail, too?"

I almost tell her that Max isn't my girlfriend, but my brain sort of stumbles over whether or not that's actually true. "Right. Sorry."

"Whatever. You should probably take it as a compliment, anyway." She taps the letter against her knee. "I only got this because my future self thinks I'm a stubborn egotistical asshole who wouldn't listen to anyone else." She frowns. "She also spent six paragraphs calling me a spoiled, over-entitled bitch."

I try not to laugh. I am not successful. "Sounds like future Victoria's really got your number."

"Shut up."

"What? I'm agreeing with you."

"No, you're agreeing with... shut up," she huffs, taps the letter against her knee a few more times, then says, "Can I ask...never mind."

"Ask what?"

"Never mind," she repeats. "I shouldn't. It's kinda inappropriate."

"Well, shit. Now you pretty much have to ask."

"It's..." She hesitates, gesturing at me vaguely. "It's cancer, right?"

"What?"

"The other me said that was why Max came back. Because you're going to get cancer."

"Future-Vic's got a big mouth," I grumble, giving her a flat look. She cringes, probably expecting me to lash out at her. "But yeah, I have cancer."

"Shit. Tha-" she stops, her eyes snapping up to meet mine. "...have?"

God damn it. Now who's got a big mouth?

Sighing, I nod and raise my hand to lightly tap my breastbone.

"You..." She swallows, her eyes jumping between my hand and my face. "You mean now?"

"Now," I confirm, nodding again. "Lung cancer."

"Oh, fuck."

"That's what I said," I comment, trying to sound casual about it and definitely failing. "Max doesn't know exactly how far along it is at this point. Hopefully just stage two, but it could be stage three."

"H-how many stages are there?"

"Four. Well, technically five, I guess. But Max says you don't come back from the last one. I'm s-still...um..."

All at once, I forget what I was going to say. My mind goes blank as one fact utterly dominates my thoughts.

I've got cancer.

I already knew it, but all of a sudden I really actually know it.

I've got fucking cancer.

It's inside me right now, eating me alive, already killing me, and I don't want to die.

I take a deep breath, hoping it'll help calm me down, but for a second I swear I feel something wet and heavy lurch inside my chest. A bolt of fear goes right through me and my hands start to shake, tears already blurring my vision.

Son of a bitch. I'm gonna cry. I already cried once today, and I'm gonna start crying again. And in front of Victoria fucking Chase, of all people. I risk a glance at her, ready for her to roll her eyes at me or get up and walk away herself, but instead she slides closer and starts gently rubbing my back.

That's...unexpected.

"It's okay, Chloe." Her hand keeps moving in slow circles. For once in her life, she actually sounds sincere. "You're okay."

"I...I..." My breath hitches everytime I try to speak.

"Just concentrate on your breathing," she murmurs. "In and out. You're safe. I'm right here."

I'd be a lot more weirded out by this if she weren't doing such a good job, and it only takes me a couple of minutes before the tears have dried up and I've gotten my little crying jag under control. Slowly drawing her hand back, Victoria slides a couple of feet away, looking about as uncomfortable as I feel.

"Are you, uh," She clears her throat. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I, uh..." I try for a laugh, but it just comes out as a chuff of air. I'm embarrassed as fuck and staring at the dirt between my boots like it owes me money. "I'm dealing with a lot."

"It's fine. I mean, of course."

This is so fucking brutal. I swear to god it'd probably be less awkward if we'd just had a quick fuck in the bushes.

Aw, shit. Now I've got that image in my head. As if this couldn't get any worse.

"How did you..."

"I have this friend. She gets anxiety attacks sometimes. I just thought it might help." She hesitantly gestures at my face. "I've, uh, got some concealer. If you want."

"Do I look like I use concealer?"

"No. You look like you've been crying. I figured you wouldn't want Max or Madsen asking why."

I shrug. "I'll just tell them you got mad and slapped me or something."

The discomfort on her face bleeds away, replaced by a much more familiar look of annoyance. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Are you telling me you can't think of at least one good reason, right now, for you to want to slap me?"

"...fine," she admits. "I still wouldn't do it."

"Whatever." Standing, I gesture back up the trail. "Ready to head back?"

"Not especially."

"Hey, it's that or stay here and talk about our feelings some more."

Victoria snorts. "Like tonight isn't fucked up enough."

"Y'know, if we hadn't agreed to try to get along and all, this would be where I'd tell you to woman up and get your bony ass in gear."

"Oh, would you now?"

"Hypothetically."

"You know how I said I wouldn't slap you?" She narrows her eyes. "I'm warming up to the idea."

"I have that effect on people," I say, smirking. "Come on. We've got a town to save."