"Dad...I'm not really comfortable doing this."

"It will help them Olivia," he told me, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. "The experiments aren't meant to be painful, but they can be. You'll be erasing the memory of pain, and that's the least we can do can't we?"

I shrugged, swallowing my words. I didn't like delving into people's minds—memories were intricate and personal, and in a lot of cases best left alone. Plus, it turned my body into a stone and made me exhausted for days afterward. Sometimes people's memories would blur into my own, giving me horrific nightmares.

"What are these experiments?" I asked, rubbing my temples as he swiveled in his desk chair.

"Olivia...it's complicated." He pushed aside the almost falling stack of books on his desk to look into my eyes. "They're trying to cure diseases, I know that much. But they're very secretive here. Even I don't know the full extent of what they do."

"Then why should I help them?"

He sighed—we'd had this conversation before. His eyes looked tired under his small round glasses.

"Please, honey, I feel we're making a difference. Do it for me."

And then, I always woke up. With his words ringing in my ears—Do it for me. Well I had, and it hadn't gotten me anywhere. And it certainly didn't help him in the end.

The dream had been the only stable thing about my life these days. No matter where I was, there it was, reminding me of the awful things I'd been a part of. Had let happen. Because I should have pushed to know what my father was involved in—but instead I'd let him talk me out of my doubts. Let him use me.

I flipped my legs over the side of the bed and let them dangle for a moment above the hideously green carpet. It looked like it was going to sprout legs and run to haunt my closet at any minute, but I put my feet down anyway and made my way toward my suitcase.

I'd already been here three days—a new personal record, but I'd been running low on money and this was a cheap place to stay. I was soon going to have to give up hotels all together and maybe buy an old car to get around in.

To think, my first cross-country road trip and I was alone and on the run. I had been planning a trip like this, except it involved more people and a little less fear and anxiety. Some, but less.

I grabbed a shirt and headed for the bathroom. After cleaning out the soap and shampoo, I would be on my way to my next destination. Even I didn't know where that would be.

My feet stuck to the cold white tiles and I looked up into the mirror. There were bulbs surrounding the sides, but I couldn't feel like less of a movie star. My hair was short and messy, as usual, but it was my eyes that always unnerved me. They were the same as his.

Do it for me.

I could picture his gaze, feel it on me as if he were standing just a few feet away. I saw the same blue in every wave and every piece of sky I was under.

But why couldn't he ever do anything for me?

"Beachside Inn. Terribly appropriate but horribly unoriginal," Tony remarked, cracking his knuckles as they made their way to the back entrance.

"Do you have to comment on everything?" Steve asked, feeling vulnerable without his shield. Fury told them this girl, Olivia, would be hard to convince, but she wasn't a fighter. They didn't want to overwhelm her with their suits and shields.

"I think I just got bed bugs from looking at this place. Natasha, would you care to check?"

She glared at him, before moving to the front of the group. Clint and Bruce had stayed behind, so just him and Tony followed her through the door, looking around corners as they went. One worker gave them a suspicious look, but carried on with his business. Steve rolled his eyes at the care for security.

"Now I have a headache so my vote is to knock her out and carry her there," Tony suggested with a smirk.

Steve rolled his eyes, following Natasha around the corner.

"We're talking to her. She's not a trained fighter," Steve said sternly.

"Has anybody updated you on the modern phrase of having a stick stuck up your—"

"Shut up, Tony. We're entering the lobby. Her room is on the seventh floor. I think we're better off taking the stairs," Natasha told them, smoothing out her clothes. Steve had rarely seen her in anything but uniform and couldn't help but think that she still stood out in normal attire.

"Alright," he sighed. "Let's get on with it, if you two are gonna be like this."

"It'll be no big deal. In and out," Steve said, following Natasha through an outdated black and white lobby. There was a table but no chairs and the man at the counter had his eyes glued to his magazine. Steve could hear Tony sigh as they pushed open the creaking door to the stairs.

"That's what they always say."

I'd only had one foot out the door when I felt something was wrong. It was too quiet up here—and since I knew teenagers were having Spring Break just a floor down, my senses were on high alert.

I clutched my suitcase to myself, looking around. The walls were the color the sand, and the doorways bright green. There were no crevices or tables in the hall for anybody to hide under, so maybe I was going crazy.

I took quick steps toward the elevator, looking around as I went. Maybe it was later than I thought, and everyone had gone to the beach.

I pushed the button and the elevator came almost immediately. I looked up in surprise at the man in the elevator—a tall, looming guy with big muscles and almost black hair. He looked a little too old to be on Spring Break.

"Good morning," he greeted, nodding at me with a smile.

I stared at him for a second, pressing the button for the lobby.

"Or...not so good?" he asked with a chuckle, shaking his head.

"Oh sorry," I said, rusty with polite chatter. "Just woke up. Good morning."

He looked like a movie star, but I doubted he was if he was staying here. There was something oddly familiar about his face.

"Have you been staying here long?"

"Just a few days," I said, smiling tentatively up at him.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked curiously.

"Yeah, time to move on."

"What are you running from?"

I felt tingling up my arms as my senses heightened.

"Excuse me?"

And then it hit me—he wasn't famous, but I had seen him before. He was a worker at my father's company. I wasn't used to seeing him without a crisp black uniform and a door to guard.

"We've been looking for you, Miss Hawthorne."

He smiled then, and I felt the familiar pain in my chest that accompanied my heart skipping a beat. I quickly pushed the next floor button—but he was faster. He grabbed my wrist and jerked it back, causing me to cry out as splinters of pain shot from my fingers to my elbow.

Before I could do anything, he'd pushed the large red emergency button and covered my mouth with a large, warm hand.

Thanks so much to those who read and reviewed! More alerts than anything, but I'll take it. Although it would be lovely to hear what you think!