"Are you sure you're alright, Gracie?"

I didn't bother turning to look at Alex, my eyes drifting between the small cottage houses that lined each side of the street Cassandra was driving down. To most people, they'd probably all look the same – two storeys, white-washed, bright green gardens, small white picket fences. To me, each of them seemed to scream individuality. Like the rose bushes beneath the windows of Number Four, or the swing set in Number Ten's garden, or the wooden bench and apple tree outside Number Twelve. They looked too far apart, too recognisable.

I was being paranoid. What did it matter if there were little kids who liked playing on swings living at Number Ten? So what if Number Four was fond of roses? What did any of that matter to me? The truth was, I was a city girl. I was born in London, I'd lived there for the most part of my childhood and when we had to run the first time, I'd naturally headed to a different city, somewhere I could merge into the crowd. First it had been Manchester, then Glasgow, and Edinburgh, and now . . . Wrickenridge. A tiny town that sat outside Denver in the state of Colorado. Just looking at all the space around me made me feel exposed, like I was screaming out loud for everyone to hear.

For him to hear.

Alex might not have been as paranoid as I was, but I knew he'd hate it here just as much. What trouble could he find here? There were hardly likely to be any gangs of hardened criminals lurking around each corner, which is exactly why we were here in the first place. After all, Alex couldn't mix with the wrong sort if they didn't exist here. Back in the cities, I was forever trying to keep out of his way, keep my head down and deny all knowledge when the police came calling. Until I got a call saying he was in trouble, of course, then it was my job to swallow my fear and rush after him before someone killed him. Luckily, he was usually smart enough to stay away from other Savants. Unfortunately, he still attracted enough attention for our past to finally catch up with us.

Now, we'd been exiled from the United Kingdom, and the only family we had left – a grandmother battling terminal cancer – had begged us not to come back under any circumstances. It had broken my heart to leave her alone. Just thinking about her stirred a piercing pain in my chest and my eyes burned with unfamiliar, hot tears. How could we have been so selfish? How could Alex?

But I didn't ask. For all his flaws, Alex never once abandoned family, not completely. I knew that somewhere along his rocky past he'd managed to collect a few favours from very select, unsavoury characters. No one would be bothering our grandmother, and he'd fight to the bitter end to keep me safe if he had to. He'd even protect Cassandra with everything he had, and the two of them hated each other.

Finally, the car drew to a halt outside a cottage that sat half-way down the street on the right hand side. Just like the others, it was white-washed with a dark oak front door and window frames and black iron fastenings. In the small front garden, small, delicate flowerbeds lined the sides and circular stones were lined into a path to the front door. Alex scoffed in disgust at the sight, but he said nothing.

Cassandra cut the ignition and clamped the steering wheel beneath her hands, her shoulders tense. "Most of your things are already inside," she told us sharply, and a spike of irritation made my jaw lock. "Take whatever you brought with you and-"

Neither of us waited for her to finish. Shoving the doors open, Alex and I climbed out and slammed the doors shut again, cutting off Cassandra's rant before she could even start. I could see her scowling and muttering darkly to herself, but I didn't care. As far as I was concerned, she was the woman our grandmother had hired to care for us, an over-paid baby-sitter I'd long since grown out of needing.

"Are you even going to look at me?" Alex frowned quietly as I threw my bag over my shoulder and started up the path.

"Why wouldn't I?" I managed to reply without looking up.

He scoffed sourly, his shoulders sagging wryly. "I know you blame me for us being here."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because I blame myself." I flicked my eyes toward him quickly and noticed he was completely serious, but dropped my gaze again and pushed the front door open without a word.

The house wasn't nearly as impressive as the one we'd stayed in with Gran. Since she and Granddad had been a little more than pretty well off, the house had been huge and we never went without anything. When we'd found ourselves in more trouble, Gran had barely blinked before giving Cassandra enough money to buy this place and the small stables that sat outside the town.

"A source of steady income," she'd answered when I asked her why she'd bought the stables, but I knew she was lying. Gran had hated being anywhere near horses since Mum had died, but I loved it. Being there reminded me of all the lessons she used to give me as a kid. While I was riding, I wasn't scared, or paranoid, or in danger. I was happy, and I knew that was the only reason she'd ever have even consider buying a stable.

Of course, even if it had been Gran that had bought it all, Cassandra strolled straight in like she owned the place. She was tall and skinny, with thin lips, a constant scowl and curled bleach blonde hair. How Gran had ended up relying on her at all was a mystery to me. Not only was she generally a horrible person, but she wasn't even a Savant. Don't get me wrong, I had no problem with regular people. In fact, more often than not I envied them. But if something went wrong, she'd just be another person for Alex and me to protect, and we had a hard enough time protecting ourselves.

"One of you is going to have to run out for some food from a takeout," Cassandra barked as she stepped through to the kitchen, and I followed her out of the hallway that ran across the left hand side of the house with a frown. She had her back to me as she adjusted her hair in the mirror sat on the windowsill, but I could see her distant, uninterested expression reflected back over her shoulder.

"I take it you're too busy?" I commented sarcastically.

She whirled around to glower at me quickly. "You're living under my roof and you'll do as I tell you," she snapped.

"Technically," Alex's wince came over my shoulder. "This is actually our house. Or our legal guardian's house, at least. You're just being paid to babysit."

"Then you're under my care," she retorted simply.

"And I feel very cared for," he replied, his voice dripping in more sarcasm. "How about you, Gracie?"

I didn't bother correcting my name, and despite everything that had recently come between my brother and I, I couldn't help straightening a little beside him, united at least for a moment or two. "I might go as far as to say pampered," I sighed exaggeratedly.

"That's enough!" Cassandra scowled as Alex snorted in amusement beside me. "Grace, go and unpack the car. Alex, you can find a take-out."

"Oh, thank you, your Majesty," he murmured under his breath, shooting me a dark look and turning back around to study the living room. Cassandra's face was growing red in anger, but I knew that despite the fact she was almost double our age, there was only so far she'd push us. She knew better than most that getting on the wrong side of troubled Savant children was severely risky business.

Still, I didn't like the thought of Alex wandering around the small town alone. He had a habit of finding trouble incredibly quickly, as though he was a magnet pulling it toward him. Having been here in Wrickenridge for all of half an hour, the thought of him ruining our new set up this soon did not sound entirely appealing to me. "Maybe I should find the take-out," I suggested with a small frown. Behind me, Cassandra mumbled something under her breath, but I wasn't paying enough attention to hear any of it. Instead, my eyes were fixed on Alex, who had immediately cottoned on to my train of thought and shot an exasperated look in my direction before peering out of the window.

"I've got to be allowed out sooner or later," he pointed out quickly.

"Oh, I know," I assured him sourly. "It worries me to think how dangerous you can actually make going to school. But at least then you're never that far away and if something goes wrong, I'll be one of the first people to know. Wandering around the town aimlessly, however . . ."

Alex scoffed, smirking slightly. "Maybe I could ask her?"

Eyebrows tightening, I moved forward to see the girl he was looking at and felt a groan slip through my lips wryly. Stood on the other side of the road, a tall, slim teenager with thick blonde curls was plugged in to her iPod earphones, scowling at her phone's screen with a dim, vacant expression. Honestly, she looked like most of Alex's ex-girlfriends – clingy and needy with an IQ that matched her shoe-sizes. Since his fourteenth birthday, Alex had had just about every girl's attention without the slightest effort. Standing at over six foot with broad shoulder and a lean body, very few people argued with him either. His blonde hair was chopped short at the sides and spiked up messily at the top, and his rebellious facial features often earned him a bad reputation before he'd even opened his mouth.

"Honestly," I sighed with a roll of my eyes. "Why don't you just hit her over the head with your shovel and drag her back to your cave?"

"I think that's illegal these days," he replied simply.

I frowned. "Just go and get the food. Without getting distracted, please?"

Stepping away from the window, he gasped dramatically and clamped a hand over his heart. "My baby sister just said please!" he smiled. My jaw locked irritably. "Miracles do happen!" I had to purse my lips together tightly to stop myself snapping back at him as he chuckled to himself, collecting the money Cassandra was waving through the air and letting himself out of the car with a deliberate wink.

"A miracle would be if I wasn't an only child by the end of the month," I muttered after him darkly, ignoring Cassandra's half-veiled, mumbled insults from the kitchen and heading out to unpack the car.

Fortunately, it didn't take long to retrieve what little Alex and I had managed to bring with us. And when Alex showed up half an hour later, food in hand without a single scratch on him, I almost felt lucky for a split second. Make the most of it now, Grace, I sighed to myself mentally. Because come tomorrow, all that goes out of the window.

At the time, I had no idea just how quickly things were going to take a turn for the worst.

That night, I couldn't shut everything out long enough to get a decent night's sleep. Instead, my mind whirled and kept me staring at the ceiling until well after midnight, rehearsing ridiculous scenarios in my head to showcase just how many things could go wrong. When I finally did get to sleep, little noises outside like the sound of a dog barking, or a car door slamming made my eyes snap open and my muscles tighten anxiously. None of this made sense to me. I'd been raised in the city. Noiseless nights weren't possible, and I'd slept through much worse than a barking dog before now.

Putting it down to my ever- growing paranoia, I rooted through my luggage – still unpacked – until I found my iPod, plugging the earphones into my ears and scrolling through the artist names until I found something I thought might be soothing enough to sleep to.

By the time my alarm sounded for school the next morning, I'd had what might have totalled as two hours sleep, maximum.

"Christ, what happened to you?" Alex snorted wryly as I slumped into the stool at the breakfast bar the next morning. Shooting him a withering look, I propped my chin up on the palm of my hand and frowned, wrinkling my nose in disgust at the smell of burning bacon. "You alright, Gracie?"

I lifted my eyes to my twin brother carefully. He was stood on the opposite side of the bar, a tight frown settled over his brilliant green eyes. Looking at him now, it was hard to imagine he could cause so much trouble. He was stood in worn jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a spatula in hand and bacon burning on the cooker behind him. For the first time ever, he was cooking breakfast, and I had a funny feeling it wouldn't be edible when he'd finished.

"Fine," I finally answered in monotone. "Just tired."

"Are you sure?" From the look on his face, he was obviously sure something was bothering me. He was right, of course, but there was nothing he could do about it. This entire town bothered me.

"I'm sure," I replied with a small shrug.

After eating as much of the bacon as I could – which was now so crispy it actually hurt my teeth to bite into – I stood up and left Alex to eat the rest of it, with a half-hearted thank you in his direction on my way out.

The tiny cottage house we now lived in wasn't much to look at. Downstairs, everything was open-plan, with the kitchen at the back of the house and the living area at the front. The stairs stood to the right hand side of the house, and at the top, there were four doors leading to relatively small rooms. My bedroom was just big enough for a small double bed, a wardrobe, a desk and a TV stand which held a fifteen inch TV screen and a small iPod docking station beside a large stack of CDs ranging from Bring Me the Horizon to Kelly Clarkson.

I had to push myself to get ready for school, shoving the question of whether or not it was worth it to the back of my mind. Though I didn't often agree with Cassandra, I knew she was right to enrol us at the high school. It was the best way to fit in with the rest of the crowd, even if it did mean meeting more people. I wasn't the most sociable of people, and other than Cassandra and Alex, I had next to no social skills. It wasn't that I didn't know how I was supposed to act, it was that I didn't want to. The more people I got close to, the harder it would be to leave, and that wasn't something I was going to put up with a second time.

Rummaging through my wardrobe, I pulled out a pair of battered and pale skinny jeans and a soft, black sleeveless blouse. For a long time, I scowled at my own reflection in the mirror, feeling the familiar irritation that I couldn't just be a normal teenage kid. No running, no distant expression and half-veiled insults to keep people at arms-length, and certainly no Savant stuff.

Being a Savant meant I could do things normal people couldn't. I had no idea how it worked, or why some of us were born with this ability and others weren't. All I knew is that I would gladly give it all up for a chance at a peaceful life. Telekinesis and telepathy might have seemed cool when I was three, but it had long since grown old.

Of course, that wasn't all I could do. Each Savant had an individual ability, something that separated them from most others. Sure, you'd occasionally find two Savants who could do the same thing, but the likelihood you'd ever meet them was slim. Take me, for instance. Along with the standard Savant stuff, I could turn time back roughly ten seconds. Or at least, that was the simple way to explain it. Technically, it wasn't turning time back at all, but that's what it would feel like for the person I was using it on. Really, all I was doing was slowing down their perception of time and turning back their individual actions, giving me enough time to manipulate what would happen when I let go. It had come in handy on numerous occasions, particularly when I was being shot at.

Still, it wasn't something I showed off very often. Using it wore me out too much, especially when the subject was at a distance. Plus, the concentration it took was easily broken if I wasn't careful, and if I let go too soon, the subject generally got annoyed.

Alex was a different matter altogether. While my ability gave me the chance to slip away quietly, his was much more confrontational. Though he couldn't control it for long, his ability gave him control of other Savant's abilities. If the Savant was weak or inexperienced enough, he could literally break in and use their ability in any way he wanted. Most of the time though, all he could manage was randomly setting it off, distracting them long enough for him to attack. Sometimes, I wondered if the abrupt, aggressive nature of his ability was why he was so unstable on occasion. But then, he was always much more obsessed with the soulfinder business than I was.

Soulfinders were another reason I wasn't particularly thrilled at being a Savant. Being a Savant meant that you were born as one-half of a whole, and that somewhere out there, someone else who was born with days of you had the other half. Most of the time, it meant that you spent your life never feeling complete, and wondering where and who your soulfinder was. On the odd occasion a Savant actually met their soulfinder, I'm told it creates an immediate link, one that you couldn't ignore, and as I've already mentioned, I wasn't a big fan of people.

Alex told me time and time again that it would be different if I was ever actually fortunate enough to meet the boy unlucky enough to be my other half, but I was never sure. To me, a soulfinder was a weakness, someone that would naturally have to be protected from my past, and we were struggling to protect ourselves. As far as I was concerned, the boy, whoever he was, was much better off without me, and I'd told Alex as much on more than one occasion.

What I hadn't told me was that every time I said it aloud, it felt like someone had driven a knife through my chest. And I knew what that felt like. I had the scars to prove it.

"Hey Gracie!" Alex's shout came, pulling me out of my thoughts with a small jump. "Cassie's waiting to take us to school. You ready yet?"

"Just a minute!" I called back, hurriedly shoving my dark red hair into a messy bun and yanking a tatty pair of black combat boots on. Snatching up my school bag and my favourite leather jacket, I slipped back out of my room and rushed downstairs and out of the door.

Cassandra was waiting by the Ford Kuga she'd bought in Denver a few weeks before we'd arrived, her arms folded and her eyebrows tight. "Finally," she groaned at me as I locked the front door behind me and jogged down the garden path. "You do realise I have a business to run, don't you?"

"You know, I'd forgotten," Alex sighed sarcastically, but she was already climbing back into the car, ignoring him entirely. Shooting me an irritated look, he pulled himself into the passenger seat, leaving me to climb into the back.

"The two of you had better be good this year," she lectured, before she'd even managed to pull the car away from the front of the house. I could see Alex tensing in his place, but I didn't say anything, moulding my expression into the same uninterested look I always wore. "Your grandmother has told me all about your little adventures back in Edinburgh."

"Little adventures?" Alex repeated in disgust. "We aren't children, Cass."

"If you want to be treated as adults, act like it," she retorted coolly, and his jaw locked tight. Fortunately, Alex had the sense to turn the radio on and ignore Cassandra for the rest of the drive. He'd naturally picked the rock channel, which I didn't mind. Being on the run with nothing but him and his iPod to listen to had limited my choices, and there was only so many times a girl could listen to a lecture on how to stay safe.

Luckily, Wrickenridge High School sat less than fifteen minutes away from our house by car. Compared to the American high schools you see on TV shows, it was quite small, and the number of students hanging around outside was far less intimidating. It looked like most of them were starting to head into the building for their first lesson, though a few of them were still hanging back, either rushing to finish a conversation with their friends or ignoring the school day entirely.

"Now, behave," Cassandra snapped at the two of us and Alex's eyes flashed. "That means you, young man. I won't put up with the same rubbish your grandmother took from you."

"Cassandra, you're a paid babysitter," I found myself snapping at her before Alex could do something stupid. "You're as stuck with us as we are with you." She glowered at me in the rear-view mirror, but I barely noticed, pushing the door open and climbing out of the car. Alex followed suit, scowling through the windows at her as he slammed the door shut behind her.

"She's really asking for it that one," he snarled through his teeth.

"No she isn't, calm down," was my immediate response, shooting him a warning look.

"She's talking to us like we're kids!" he complained, shouldering his bag irritably.

"And we'll sort it without resorting to your incredibly subtle methods of violence," I replied sourly. He clamped his mouth shut, obviously not trusting himself to continue the conversation.

All over the car park, students were milling around trying to find excuses not to go to their lessons. Apart from one group, of course, who all seemed to wear identical sneers. There were five guys, all of them dressed in varying shades of black and gathered around an impressive car and a motorbike. I'd met guys like that before, the ones that screamed trouble the moment you set eyes on them. Lucky me, I was even related to one, which usually meant he attracted more. It wouldn't have surprised me if I found them all raiding our kitchen in the next few days.

Today though, my usual attempt to ignore them and keep out of trouble failed. As if drawn by magnets I couldn't see, my eyes automatically drifted to the boy leaning on the saddle of his bike, his arms folded and his eyes shielded by a pair of expensive looking sunglasses. He wore worn jeans and a black, baggy t-shirt beneath a black biker jacket, and despite the fact his clothes weren't remotely tight, I could still see rippling muscles under his shirt, even at this distance. For some reason, the thought made my mouth run a little dry, and I snapped my gaze away from him quickly, a small frown settling over my eyes.

What was wrong with me? I never ever get involved with more people like that. They were much more trouble than they were worth, and having been roped in by Alex's friends before, I was speaking from experience. Shaking my head, I forced myself to keep my eyes on the school doors and block out the biker entirely.

"Hey, I'll catch up with you later, okay?" Alex said quietly, hanging back a few steps. I knew he shouldn't be left to his own devices, especially not near those guys, but I didn't trust myself to look in their direction again.

"Just be careful," I murmured back, feigning completely disinterest. "And absolutely no Savant stuff? Okay?"

He held his hand out in surrender, smirking at me. "I've already promised that a thousand times, Gracie."

"Well forgive me, but I've heard it all before."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, sis," he scoffed, shaking his head at me. I shrugged a shoulder dismissively, turning and heading for the building. My eyes slid too far to the left, and I caught the biker staring in our direction, lifting his finger lazily to push his sunglasses out of his way for a second. I couldn't see what colour his eyes were from here, but my stomach squirmed awkwardly when I realised they were locked on me.

Suddenly noticing I was staring, I snapped my eyes away, gulping hard as panic started to swell in my chest. As good as I might have been acting calm and disinterested, they didn't exactly come naturally to me. Still, I didn't understand what it was about that boy that unsettled me so much, and yet . . .

I had to blink a few more times than necessary to stop myself looking back at him, striding past the other students and shouldering the office door open with a few deep breaths before I could freak myself out anymore.

The front reception was sickly welcoming. The lights were shining brightly overhead, and a friendly looking receptionist was sat behind her desk, with tight black curls falling around her shoulders and shining hazel eyes. At the sound of the door opening, she glanced up at me and smiled, oblivious to the less than impressed look on my face.

"Good morning," she greeted politely. "Can I help you?"

My eyes flicking over the rest of the empty reception, I stepped closer to the desk with pursed lips. "I'm just starting here today," I told her in a measured tone, the closest I could actually get to any form of enthusiasm for my new school.

"Oh, well welcome to Wrickenridge High School," she smiled at me, and I refrained from gagging with a tight grimace. "You must be Grace Peterson." Chewing the inside of my cheek, I nodded at her. Technically, Peterson wasn't my last name, but she didn't need to know that. Rummaging through the large stacks of paperwork on her desk, she finally found a few with my name written across the top in capital letters. "Here we are. There's your timetable and a map of the school. If you wait here a moment, as soon as your brother arrives I'll show you to your first lessons. Do you known how long he'll be?"

I shot her a withering look before I could help it, jerking my head to the window where I could see Alex laughing loudly with the biker and his friends. "He's making friends," I told her sourly.

"Oh," she replied, for the first time without a smile. "That's . . . nice." I didn't answer.

Eventually, Alex decided to grace us with his presence. The rest of his new friends left in the opposite direction, either to go to their first lessons or more likely to find something more interesting to do until lunch. The biker mumbled something at him as they left, his eyes hovering in my direction for a moment, but Alex just smirked and pushed the door open, slipping inside with his usual arrogant, self-assured composure.

"Oh, come on, Gracie!" he chuckled when I scowled at him. "I was only talking to them! It's not like we're plotting to mug little old ladies on their way back from bingo!"

"I couldn't care less what you're plotting," I frowned back. "Just keep them away from the house. Cassandra will have a heart attack."

"And since when did you care what Cassandra thought?" he scoffed, smiling brightly at the receptionist who was determined not to flush bright red. She failed. Miserably.

"Since we've had to put up with her every day," I replied easily.

Alex sighed, taking the papers the receptionist handed him without looking at them. "Relax, Grace. I'll be good, I promise." I didn't believe him, but I didn't push it. The more I complained, the more annoyed he'd get and the more likely he'd be to step out of line again.

So I kept my mouth shut, watching the receptionist step around her desk uncertainly and lead the way to our first classes. Alex was taken to his American History lesson first, where unbelievably, he immediately had the attention of a tall, lanky blonde girl wearing far too much makeup and far too few clothes.

Fortunately, I was in a different class altogether. After starting an advanced Chemistry class at my sixth form college back in the UK, I'd been put into the higher class here, where most if not all of the students were at least a year older than me.

"Mr Masey?" the receptionist called, pushing the door open for me and leading me through like a five year old child. The teacher – an elderly gentleman with a bald patch, a thick cardigan and rounded glasses – glanced in my direction and lifted his eyebrows. "This is Grace Peterson. She's just started here today."

"Ah, Miss Peterson," he repeated unnecessarily. "I was told to expect you here today. Please, come in and take a seat beside Mr Benedict there at the back."

Nodding mutely, I stepped around the desks, ignoring the students staring at me and took the only free space by the Benedict boy. He was tall, with the sort of chiselled, model look about his facial features and ink black hair. A stylish pair of square glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, hiding his curious gaze as he watched me slump into the chair.

"Hey," he started, almost smiling, as if he couldn't be sure whether he should be being nice. I got that a lot. Most people took one look at my expression and decided being nice was more trouble than it was worth. "I'm Yves Benedict." He held his hand out for me to shake and I held back a wry sigh.

"Grace Peterson," I told him in monotone, taking his hand reluctantly. A few of the girls around us were already starting to scowl, and I found myself holding back a smile. Despite the fact I had little to no interest in Yves, it was nice to know they still thought enough of me to view me as a threat.

"You're English," he blinked.

"That's usually what you call a girl from England."

"Sorry," he said with a sheepish smile. "I just didn't expect to see an English girl in Wrickenridge. What brings you here?"

The question made my mouth run dry. No one else here decided my nationality made me suspicious, so why would he? Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to take an advanced placement class. He was obviously too intelligent for his own good. "Cassandra, the woman who looks after us, likes it here. She owns the stables on the outskirts of town."

It was a flimsy excuse, and if he ever met Cassandra, he'd know I was lying. She hated it here, even more than I did.

"My family run the ski-slopes," he told me, and I found myself glancing at the teacher, Mr Masey. Was he ever going to start the lesson and get this guy to shut up? "So which part of England are you from?"

My eyes were back on Yves, my fingertips drumming anxiously on my thigh under the desk. "Manchester," I lied.

"That's up north, right?" he frowned curiously.

"Yes."

"Don't they have different accents in the north?"

"Sure," I shrugged. "Depends which city you're from. I moved around a lot as a kid, so my accent isn't really strong."

He hesitated, like he wasn't sure whether or not to believe me. Taking a breath, he leaned forward a fraction and my eyes narrowed. But before he could say anything, Mr Masey pushed himself up from his desk and clapped his hands together loudly to start the lesson.

Unfortunately, the task he had planned for the lesson involved working with a partner, and of course, I was stuck with Yves. Several of the other girls in the class had immediately volunteered to take my place, but Mr Masey was adamant.

"If anyone can catch Miss Peterson here up on the work we've been doing it's Mr Benedict," he said. Obviously, Yves was his favourite student, which likely meant I'd be stuck with him for the rest of the year. Great.

"Can I be honest with you?" Yves asked suddenly, breaking almost forty minutes of complete silence. The rest of the class had been talking animatedly around us, but the quiet relaxed me, and Yves seemed to be concentrating so hard it would have felt almost rude to interrupt.

"Is my only other option for you to lie to me?" I questioned blandly without looking up from my task.

He laughed casually. "I suppose."

"Okay then."

"You're different from the other students here."

I risked a glance in his direction. "I'm English," I pointed out dryly. "Sorry if that's putting you off."

"No, you misunderstand me," he insisted, shaking his head. "It has nothing to do with you being English. I mean . . ." He trailed off, obviously trying to determine whether I knew what he was talking about or not. I did, of course. He meant that I was a Savant, or at least, that's what my paranoia warned me. But there was no way he could possibly know that I was a Savant unless . . .

My thoughts broke off when something sharp seemed to stab through my mind, and I gasped in surprise, immediately shutting it down and imagining the most impenetrable wall I could think of.

But it was too late. Beside me, Yves's eyes had gone wide and a flicker of a grin spread across his lips. "You're a Savant," he breathed quietly, ignoring the students who'd turned to look in our direction.

I composed myself quickly, fighting to keep my breath steady as my heart pounded. "A what?"

Yves barely blinked. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"On the contrary, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Snorting under his breath, Yves grabbed my wrist in a vice-like clamp, and my eyes flicked toward him in a mixture of anger and panic. "You're a Savant, Grace, and I want to know why you're here."