The picture on the wall is chaotic

I don't want to look at it

But when I do, I cannot speak because of the confusion in my head

I am a fish and I want to swim away

But when I do, the red color comes and gets me

It is fierce and it moves slow…

From "Red is a Slow Colour" by The Gathering

"You cannot see the future with tears in your eyes" –Navajo proverb

Red and Black

The dreams worsened after that day in the bar. Jin's little threats were always frightening, but in the previous nightmares there had always been a hint of that humanity, that slight goodness among the threats, if that made any sense. I had been able to at least detect an inkling of that man I used to love alongside the demon. But now, when I saw him again in my mind's eye, crimson irises glowing and dark wings beckoning me close, there was only corruption, delirium, and the infinite darkness. The light that was Jin Kazama was now absent, and I felt a new presence in his place…why? Had he finally succumbed to the demon within?

Sometimes the fear and uncertainty was so great that I woke up unable to move, and often I forced myself to stay awake in an attempt to avoid the nightmares. It was always useless, for they would come one way or another. Sometimes, I tried in vain to recall Ya'atsos' spells, the ones that helped to shield a person from the demonic world…but then I remembered that the whole time she'd been trying to teach me, I'd been daydreaming about painting or wondering when my next sparring drill was. It was my own culture, and I'd refused to learn; it's one decision I'll forever regret. Why couldn't I have been a shaman as well as a fighter? Why couldn't I have at least taken the time to learn the basics?

With each day that passed by I seemed to be losing focus of what I was doing. I didn't know where to go, not that I even knew from the beginning. Everything was blurry; what's going to happen to me on this road? Sometimes I wondered what I was doing, why I'd been so stupid, why I hadn't just stayed home.

There were too many regrets, too many thoughts trying to fit themselves together. They spun before me, a thunderstorm of memories and forgotten images, a canvas of jumbled colors, spattered paint of blood and secrets and confusion. A montage of love and hatred and deception, a hopeless dream of redemption and tarnished tranquility, a coyote's bite and a loving caress, mother's tears and lover's kiss, the color red…

I'm not making any sense. What else is new?

Smirking slightly, I thought about the possibility of me losing my mind. Once I'd thought myself to be the most logical, practical, organized person. Now I could barely think straight. I needed release—perhaps a long conversation with my old friend Christie…or a nice canvas and paints.

My fingers left a trail of fingerprints across the glass as I stared longingly inside, forehead pressed against the display window. I suddenly felt like six-year-old Julia again at the bookstore (believe it or not, I chose books over lollipops) and I was reminded of that innocence I used to have. What I'd give to be some ignorant little kid again, with Michelle holding my hand and the canyons free for my exploring, no worries, only another bright new day and the warm breeze on my skin.

Sighing, I willed myself to leave, for my money supply was running low, but my body remained planted in front of the art store. Paints and sketchpads, oil pastels and chalk, easels and the most delicate horse-hair brushes…

"Miss? Would you like to come in?"

Turning, I noticed the manager poking her head outside, a bright smile plastered onto her face. She was older, probably in her mid-sixties yet still attractive, and her graying hair hung in thick waves across her shoulders. Her green eyes were warm and friendly, and the white, paint-spattered gypsy skirt she wore jangled from the little bells sewn at the bottom. Bohemian was a nice change from strictly leather, tattoo bearing Biker and, smiling back, I nodded and followed her in.

"Anything in particular you're looking for?" she asked politely, and I shook my head.

"No, just browsing thanks," I replied, heading immediately for the oil pants and brushes.

Inhaling deeply, I relished the smell of the paints and new canvases, and gently ran my fingers over the soft ends of the brushes. God I missed painting. What's it been, five, six years now since I've picked up a brush? Yeah, just about.

Thinking back, I recalled my last piece, the one of the red-eyed boy…I wondered what I would paint now if I tried? Would I paint Jin's image—or something else?

The painting showed me my future once…would it again?

Sighing, I smoothed my fingers lightly over the taut canvases, wondering.

"You doing ok Miss?"

The manager was by my side again, and a look of concern crossed her face. Smiling, I nodded.

"I'm fine. It's just that I haven't painted in such a long time," I murmured, fingering the art supplies again, "and I'm…"

Trailing off, I simply shrugged and looked away. "I don't know what," I whispered.

"Afraid?" she finished for me, and my eyes met hers, widening a little.

"Well…" I sighed, knowing she'd guessed right.

"I was like that too once: so afraid of failure, so afraid of what it might show me. But don't worry; we all get like that at times. It's all there somewhere and always will be. All you have to do is stop thinking and just…" she said softly, "…let it all go."

Well, I'd been trying to "let it all go" for a long time now, and it was easier said than done. She made painting sound so simple.

Selecting a brush, the manager handed it to me. The handle was thick, and the freshly sanded wood smelled sweet and fresh, the long bristles coarse on my fingertips.

"Follow me," she said simply, and I did, seeing how I had nothing else to do.

The woman led me to the back room and shut the door behind us. The walls were covered in murals, from the bottom up to the ceiling. Paint spattered the door, the furniture, and a few of the murals were just random whirlwinds of color instead of definite shapes. There were suns and moons, vast landscapes and laughing, bright-eyed children, smiling lovers and yellow blossoms; it was one of the most amazing things I'd seen. Her art was so full of light and joy, of innocence and love. She portrayed no negativity, no darkness nor sorrow, and although I was more of a serious painter and wasn't into the whole happy-go-lucky theme, I decided that I liked her style.

"Did you do all this?" I asked in awe, craning my neck up in an effort to see every little detail.

"Yep, sure did. Oh, except for," she said, then pointed to a wall behind me, "that one there. You see I'm a retired art teacher from Scotland, but for four years I taught in Japan. Real nice country, little hectic, but nice. A former Japanese student of mine returned to see me and painted that on my wall. She was very talented, but this piece…I hadn't expected this one."

Turning, I looked at the painting she spoke of. This particular mural was a harsh contrast to the store manager's light, gentle-hued pieces, for it was done all in black, gray, and white, save for a few areas of red here and there. It depicted a raven-haired woman wearing a white dress with her eyes closed, face serene yet filled with sorrow, and clutched against her breast was a blood-red rose, the thorns piercing her hands. Little lines of blood trickled down her wrists and forearms, and this image caused unwanted memories of the coyote to return. My eyes traveling southward, I then noticed grinning demons pulling at her clothes, horned shadows clutching at her hair, and little flames of black and gray licking at her heels.

I looked away quickly, heartbeat suddenly racing, and turned to the manager.

"Why would someone paint something like this?" I asked quietly.

There had to be a reason. Sure there was a possibility that the artist behind the mural was just some Goth drama queen looking to rebel against the normal sunshine-and-rainbows ordeal that the manager seemed to be obsessed with. But from the expression on the woman's face, from the way the jagged shadows seemed to dance and come to life, I doubted that was the case. For after looking at that picture, I felt something deeper than awe and curiosity. What had happened to this painter before she'd laid her brush against that wall?

"I don't know," the manager sighed, answering my previous question, yet at the same time seeming to read my mind.

Pulling out a large, blank canvas, she set it down gently upon a nearby easel, then removed a cardboard box from a shelf. Opening the box, she removed several large tubes of paint and squeezed each color, blues and greens, fiery reds and pale, smooth yellows, onto a simple plastic palette.

"It's been so many years, I already forgot her name! But I still remember her face; she was a beautiful young woman, very bright, happy girl. She loved to paint nature, loved the light…but then, as you can see from this painting, she'd suddenly developed a liking for the dark hues."

The manager shrugged, pulling out some more paints. "Styles change all the time, I guess. But I asked her that same question once she'd finished that painting, and all she said was, 'Sensei, I met a man—but he's not a man. I am afraid, but he needs my help.' And then she left without explaining herself. Now, is that just weird or what?"

Feeling my heart breaking, I realized now who this artist was. And why was it that of all stores, of all places, I'd just happened to stop by this particular one?

"Was her name Jun Kazama?" I whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Why yes! That's it, now I remember," the manager smiled suddenly, resting her hands on her plump hips, "How'd you know that?"

Squeezing back the tears, I whispered, "My God; what are the chances?"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," I uttered, looking again at the mural.

That poor, poor woman. She had not fled like I had, but instead faced Kazuya—and paid with her life. But did that mean that, unlike Jun, I was a coward for running? No, I don't think so; I simply did not want history to repeat itself. I would carve my own path; Michelle's spirit lived within me after all, not Jun Kazama's.

Sadly, fortunately, my love for her son just hadn't been strong enough like hers had been for Kazuya Mishima. I'll save my heart for someone else, thanks…if I do end up finding someone that is. And hopefully, if all of this chaos did somehow come to an end, if Jin did somehow find a cure, I wished with my whole heart that he would find that life-saving love someday. He just wouldn't find it in me.

Handing the palette to me, Jun's former art teacher gestured towards the blank canvas.

"Well here you go, all yours! But let me ask you: did you know Jun?" she asked me curiously

"No. But her son was…a friend of mine," I murmured, taking the palette from her hands as I felt a lump rise to my throat.

"She has a son now? How nice. Jun settled down to start a family with that man she met. I always knew she was that type."

"Sure was," I sighed impatiently.

"Well, when you see her son again, tell him to say hi to his mother for me, will you? She was such a talented student."

"I will," I said through clenched teeth, wishing this woman would just shut up and leave me alone. She had no idea how much it hurt to hear her words.

"…Anyway, I'll be up front if you need me," she smiled, then left the room, to my relief.

She shut the door gently behind her, and I could still smell the heady scent of her perfume. I must have sat there for a good five minutes straight just staring at that canvas, paints in hand, brush in the other, unsure of where to start. My eyes kept flicking back up to Jun's painting, and I forced my gaze away.

Thankfully, Jun's morbid mural soon escaped my mind, and for some reason the color red was all I could think about. It was there in front of my eyes, on my lips, the word and the color floating around in my mind…but the brush remained motionless within my hand.

Red…red…red…

Unable to stand it any longer, I dipped the brush into the clump of deep scarlet paint, and, with a trembling hand, smeared it across the bleached spaces. The fiery color was a shocking, sudden contrast to the stark whiteness of the canvas, like blood on snow—or like a red rose clutched against a white breast. My hand lowered, and I stared at the single red slash against the pale canvas; though simple, it was strangely still very lovely all by itself. However, another ten minutes passed and the solitary red mark remained.

Dipping my brush into the black this time, I attempted to continue, but found that I could not. Again I tried, and a second time, but the single scarlet streak remained and nothing more.

It was still there, all of those thoughts, those unanswered questions and fears; I couldn't paint. If that red streak was my future, like that painting of Jin had been, then I had no idea what lied in store for me. Damn it, why I had even come here? I'd only been wasting my time. Cursing under my breath some more, I knew it was useless.

Gently setting down the brush and palette, I rose and left the room, heading for the manager.

"Well that was quick," she stated once I'd reached her.

I shook my head. "A red stripe of nothing, that's all. What does it mean, do you know?"

"Can't say I do, Miss. It depends on how you see it. There's never a real definite answer when it comes to these things."

Sighing in frustration, I said, "No, it's simple. Every color has a meaning behind it! You're an artist; please, just give me an answer."

Jun's red rose fluttered before my mind's eye, the blood running down her wrists…and then there was Paul's red-haired man…then the blood on my hands as the coyote's fangs came down…Jin's crimson eyes…

The manager merely smiled at me, though there was a strange expression on her face as if she believed me to be crazy. Which I probably was.

"If it was simple, then you wouldn't even be here now, would you? You'll find the answer soon enough," was her vague reply.

Damn her. What she didn't understand was that I needed to know the answer right now, because if I didn't have at least some idea of what was going to happen to me…well, who knows. But as of now I was still walking blindly forward. I hated this journey, hated trying to guess what might happen next, hated fearing the possibilities, hated the night's loneliness and the haunted dreams; I had grown sick and tired of this aimless wandering everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

And I didn't want Jun's fate. I didn't want to paint that kind of picture in the end.

Another nightmare...

"Remember that dream six years ago? The boy with the sad mouth and the sad eyes, the one that inspired your painting?"

Eyes widening, I stared back at him, silent horror leaking across my face. How did he know about that?

The demon merely smiled. "Yes, of course you remember."

"It was you. I've known it for a long time," I whispered, and the scarlet irises flashed with amusement.

"Yes, Julia, it was me. I was fifteen then, only fifteen when Jun was taken from me. And ever since my mother's death, I have been calling out to you."

"Coincidence," I insisted, taking a step backward.

Jin laughed harshly, claws unsheathing. "After all of this time you still think this is all some sort of coincidence? Hardly, Julia, hardly. You see, from the beginning you and I were meant for one another. It is fate."

Closing my eyes, I forced his smile away.

"I don't believe in fate…"

Dream of the wolf...

Surprisingly, this particular motel room was actually decent. I found no rats or cockroaches, no grime or graffiti, and the sheets for once smelled fresh instead of moldy. They even had down pillows and a little TV.

Setting my backpack down onto the bed, I took in my surroundings carefully: the salmon-pink walls and yellow bedspread, teal carpet and lime green loveseat in the corner, and the random black and white photographs of landscapes hanging precariously from the walls. It was basically painful to the eyes, what with all the clashing colors and horrible furniture, but, shrugging, I knew I'd have to deal with it. Besides, I wouldn't be here long, so it didn't matter anyway.

Feeling in need of some relaxation, I removed from my bag a stubby scented candle I'd taken from a restaurant I'd visited. After lighting it, I set it on the floor across from me, the tiny white flame flickering slightly, and slowly closed my eyes. Setting my hands onto my knees, I inhaled and exhaled deeply, then repeated the breathing technique until I could feel my body beginning to relax. Meditation had been one of the only things I'd liked of Ya'atsos' teachings, and Michelle had often practiced it with me, especially after intense training sessions.

Pretty soon the motel room disappeared, and so did the bed and the carpet beneath me. The candle vanished, then my body, and for a few moments all I felt was the cool, peaceful tendrils of calm surrounding me. For once my mind was clear, void of all worries and jumbled thoughts, emptied of all fears and of the color red…

Unfortunately, I must have fallen asleep, because in the next moment I found myself in the middle of a vast forest. A full moon hung in the sky, her silver light cloaking me in a ghostly pallor. Creeping in silently, swiftly, the cold enfolded me close within her grasp, making my breath come out in frosty wisps of air; I could almost hear the chaotic beating of my heart within my chest. The forest was strangely quiet and serene, and it sent a chill of fear up my back; what was out there? This was no ordinary forest, for had I been anywhere else I would have embraced the wildlife, but here I felt as if a shadow moved beyond those woods, that an unknown foe watched me from the veil of the tree branches.

The old paranoia returning, I felt for certain that Jin was among the trees, somewhere in the darkness, watching and waiting for me to flee so he could hunt me down. I could smell the damp, earthy scent of the moss and the slight aroma of pine needles, felt the cold kiss my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck, and I could even feel the soft grass beneath my bare feet. It was all so frighteningly vivid. Where was the motel room with its salmon walls and shabby furniture? Where was the candle, the bed…where was I?

A soft rustling to my right caught my attention, and I found that I could not run. I was trapped, stuck in this dream world; had Jin finally decided to kill me this time? The fear welled up in my gut, and the cold refused to leave my body…

In the shadows in front of me, I could see a pair of golden eyes glaring back.

Unable to move or look away, I watched and waited with my fists clenching, my body aching to flee.

But instead of the expected red-eyed gray coyote, a black wolf emerged from the forest. Silver moonlight fell on the sleek ebony pelt, and the golden eyes seemed to peer straight through me. He moved as if a shadow, as if he had been born from the night itself, a beautiful, haunting creature, and I suddenly found myself approaching the predator.

Wolves traveled in packs, yet I had before me a lone wolf. Meeting his gaze, I wondered what had happened in his life to result in his solitude.

As my hand made contact with the dark fur, I was filled with a sense of safety, a feeling of peace. There was no hesitation like there'd been with the coyote, no doubt, no fear… The wolf remained motionless, and as I began to stroke his pelt he merely closed his eyes slightly as he sat at my feet. He licked my fingers once but otherwise remained calm and silent, the golden irises never leaving mine. Closing my eyes, I slowly lay down beside the creature.

And as I drifted off to sleep, I knew the wolf would remain with me throughout the night to protect my slumber, keeping the nightmares and the coyote at bay.

The following morning I found myself on the bed instead of the floor, tucked snuggly underneath the blanket and sheets. The candle had gone out, and little drops of sunlight pushed their way through the curtained windows in the corner. Was it already the next morning?

Rubbing my eyes, I recalled that strange dream I'd had. It had all seemed so vivid, so real, as if the wolf had truly appeared before me. The unexplainable thing was that my shirt and hair smelled heavily of pine needles and damp earth, not to mention that this was the first night since I'd left Mexico that a nightmare had not plagued my sleep.

Slipping on a T-shirt, I thought again about the wolf. Why had he come to me? And why had I not experienced a nightmare while in his presence? Why had I not been afraid?

Removing my brush from my backpack, I ran the soft bristles through my tangled hair, swiftly braided the brown locks, had another red apple for breakfast, and then checked out of the motel. To my surprise, it was already nearing noon; this was also the first time I'd ever slept in while on this journey. I actually felt well rested for once and maybe even a little…relaxed? Well there's something new.

Digging into my pocket, I realized that I had just enough money to stash up on more food, and immediately headed for the little gas station I saw ten minutes later. For the past week I'd been living on only fruits, bread, and the occasional soggy sandwich, but that was it. Starving artist much? Ha.

As I scanned the shelves for food, glancing at the endless bags of chips and tempting boxes of doughnuts, at the little packages of beef jerky and hard candy, there was a commotion up at the checkout counter. It seemed like the cashiers were occupied, and for an instant, just for a fleeting moment, I considered grabbing that pack of beef jerky and jamming it into my sweater pocket. Thankfully, the temptation passed as quickly as it'd come. Instead, I picked out what I wanted like an honest customer, sorted out the amount of money needed, and headed for the register.

What I discovered wasn't just any regular commotion; it was a full-blown robbery. There were three masked men, all carried pistols, and the smallest one had his pointed at the two helpless cashiers.

"If you cooperate, nobody has to die. Put the money in the bag. Now!" he screamed as the other two hurriedly began to stuff food into black garbage bags.

It wasn't until the beef jerky had slipped from my grasp did any of them notice me. The plastic clattered against the ground, and the two thieves taking food looked up.

"Hey! On the floor now, bitch! Do you wanna die?" one cried, and I ducked just in time to avoid two bullets meant for my head.

"Jake you moron! I said not to hurt anyone!" the smallest gunmen shouted.

"Fuck off," the gunman named Jake said, and proceeded to fire several rounds into the ceiling.

Well, Wyoming just kept getting better and better. First a sleazy biker pub, Jun's eerie painting, and now armed robbery.

Screams echoed throughout the store as more shots were fired, and I stayed motionless, hoping that the attackers would just take what they wanted and leave. I'd been taught to defend myself against armed opponents, particularly ones with firearms, and I would have attacked them had it not been for the other people in the store with me. It would have been better if there'd only been one gunman, but under the current circumstances, I didn't want to risk the lives of these innocent people. It was best to wait and hope.

However, one woman was willing to risk it.

She was blonde, tall, slender and athletic, and as she suddenly seized one thief by the collar of his shirt and flung him effortlessly over her shoulder, I knew she was a martial artist. No woman could take out a burly, full-grown man like that without knowing the right technique. Blonde hair flying and with a face like it'd been carved from ice, she took on both thieves at the same time—and failed to notice the third gunman behind her. Worried about his doomed buddies, his focus had now fallen on the blonde fighter, and, knowing she might just save all of our lives today, I rushed the third man.

"Argh!" he grunted as I tackled him from behind, sending the pistol flying in the opposite direction.

Lifting him from off the ground, I sent a vicious jab to his nose then an uppercut to the gut, my elbows and fists pummeling him mercilessly in a flurry of adrenaline. Taking him by the shirt collar, I then slammed him into a nearby chip rack and sent him sprawling to the ground. Blood flowed from his nose and mouth as he searched frantically for his weapon. Enraged when he realized that it was nowhere to be found, he charged at me in desperation, eyes wild and breath ragged. Bracing myself, I then seized both of his forearms once he came within range, twisted them viciously until he cried out, then threw him over my shoulder. There was the satisfying sound of bones breaking, and a second later my attacker landed with a heavy thud, then lay motionless.

Meanwhile, the blonde woman had already taken care of her two thieves, and both of them lay unconscious on the floor with their wrists bound behind their backs. She merely stared at me from across the room with those steely eyes of hers.

"Impressive," she commented, but I ignored her.

"Are you crazy? You could have gotten someone killed!" I exclaimed.

"You're welcome," she responded flatly, and kneeled down to tie my gunmen's wrists together.

"Who knows what they could have done to these people," I continued.

"These people are safe now."

"You could've at least called the police first!"

"Oh please; gimme a break. The cops don't do shit here in America," she sneered, crossing her arms, "except eat donuts and pretend to look busy."

"That was still reckless."

"I knew what I was doing. We saved these people and did the police's dirty work for them, so why are you complaining?"

I still thought she was crazy.

"They had guns. They could have easily killed a person or taken somebody hostage while you were trying to fend off those two," I tried again, refusing to let her be in the right.

With green eyes narrowing, a small smile twisted her lips. "Well, that didn't happen; you saw to that. You should just trust me when I say that I know what I'm doing. These guys were nothing compared to what I face everyday. I've done worse."

"And what exactly do you do everyday?" I snarled, picking up my beef jerky from the ground. There was something off, something mysterious and frightening about this woman. She certainly wasn't your average martial artist or Good Samaritan.

The people around us slowly began to rise from their hiding places, and I noticed several tear-stained faces and shocked expressions. Thankfully no lives had been taken, though these poor people might be traumatized for a bit. Helping an elderly woman to her feet, I continued to glare at the blonde woman, who proceeded to pay for her items, then turned to the cashiers.

"They're tied up and won't be able to escape. Call the cops, and everything should be fine. But if they do give you trouble," she said, then handed the three guns to the cashiers, "use these."

Turning, she walked out without another word.

People stared, wanted to shake our hands, thanked us profusely, but I barely noticed. Pushing past them all, I struggled to catch up to the blonde woman.

"Hey!" I called out, and she stopped in her tracks.

"I kill people for a living; does that answer your question? Now would you please go away?" she snarled, the icy gaze returning to her eyes.

An assassin? Well, I sure as hell hadn't been expecting that. For a moment I found myself speechless, and she smirked in amusement.

"I love it. It's the same expression every single time, no fail," she murmured, emerald eyes meeting mine, "I usually don't tell strangers like you, but hey, it's amusing."

"Well if you're truly a killer," I began, recovering from my initial shock, "then why did you let those thieves live?"

She merely shrugged, beginning to walk again. "Too many people around. However…"

The blonde assassin glanced at me quickly. "If I'd had that knife hidden in your pocket, I wouldn't have hesitated to cause damage."

My hand went instantly to my right jeans pocket and flashed her a wary look.

Her mouth shifted into that cold smile once more; there was something seriously wrong with this woman. "I'm Nina. So if you ever get the urge to have somebody killed, just call me."

Nina laughed slightly as if it was all some big joke, and proceeded to walk away again. However, I kept up with her and continued on with my interrogation. I didn't know exactly what it was, perhaps just some sick fascination, but I had a strange desire to get to know what lay behind Nina's icy exterior. I'd never known anyone like her before after all. This beautiful, seemingly normal blonde woman turned lethal killer must have a good explanation to why she'd chosen such an awful profession.

"Why an assassin?" I asked casually, glancing up at her again.

"Why not? It's easy and pays well. And didn't I tell you earlier to leave? I don't even know who you are," she said once she'd reached her car.

"You're lying…someone hurt you. Something happened to you, didn't it?" I asked boldly. I might as well have just asked for her to kill me.

Suddenly, the little buffalo knife from my pocket disappeared, and now lay clenched within the blonde woman's grasp. She'd been so fast I hadn't even realized it was gone until the silver tip was only a few millimeters from my nose.

"I don't talk about the past. Now you can either take my advice and leave, or you can go home with a new face," she threatened, cold eyes boring into mine.

"I'll leave," I relented, holding up my hands. After a moment, Nina reluctantly lowered the knife and returned it to me. We stood there looking at each other for a second, until Nina spoke, her voice low.

"Something happened to you too," she said quietly, and for an instant I thought I saw her eyes soften. Then again, it might have just been a trick of the light.

We were silent again, just watching one another, knowing that though we were strangers, there was now a connection between us. Two lost souls on the road, both of us trying to find some kind of answer, some explanation to why we had changed so much.

"I'm Jul—" I began, but she held up her hand, halting my tongue.

Shaking her head, the assassin dug out her car keys. "Don't bother with your name; I'll just forget it. I've been forgetting many things these days."

With green irises staring into mine, Nina murmured, "But you always do remember some things no matter how hard your mind tries to forget. And one day there won't be anywhere left to run from the memories."

I thought about Nina a long time after she drove away. As soon as she'd threatened me with my own knife, I knew instantly that the cold exterior was nothing but a charade, a mask for the true story that lay behind the hard glare. Nobody's born that hard-hearted and hostile like Nina after all; we just aren't. Something had to happen first to cause that terrible shift, and whatever that had been, Nina had been willing to hurt me to keep it hidden.

And no matter how crazy she seemed to be, I was actually glad I'd met this dangerous woman, for on that day I saw in Nina's eyes what I could have easily become: a cold-hearted wreck with nothing but vengeance and bitterness flowing in my veins. Something in her past had caused her to morph into this terrible being, and I did not want to follow suit. I didn't want to be like her any more than I wanted to be Jun, because, regardless of the fear and the danger in my life right now, there's simply much more to live for than just revenge. Hatred, vengeance, whatever—it consumes you. Nina proved that correct. And did I really want to be like that? It was difficult, but I was trying hard not to take the easy route and throw myself into a life of bitterness and regret, for there's simply too much beauty, too much hope.

Glancing up at the sky, which was quickly turning a vibrant vermilion with the oncoming sunset, I adjusted the backpack straps on my shoulders and continued onward, the black asphalt road stretching endlessly forward.