"Let go," I warned him under my breath.

"Are you admitting I'm right?" he replied calmly, his hand still locked around my wrist.

"If you don't let go of me, I'll prove you right, now let go of me."

Yves scanned my expression, then slowly released my wrist and leant back, shifting his chair a little closer to mine. If any of the other students or Mr Masey had noticed our conversation had suddenly become a lot more dangerous, none of them showed it. There was still a girl with messy, almost fluorescent ginger hair on the other side of the room glowering at me, but that was probably because Yves was now sat close enough that his arm was pressed into my side in warning.

"So," he started. "What is an English Savant doing in Wrickenridge?"

"Attending high school last I checked," I muttered back sourly, flicking my eyes toward the clock. I was torn between wanting this lesson to be over immediately, or wanting to stay here a little longer. The thought of having this conversation made my stomach turn, but if I walked out of here and Yves told anyone . . .

"How old are you?" he suddenly asked me.

I cast a glance in his direction, snorting darkly. "Too young for you."

"I know that," he dismissed with a shrug, but his cheeks flushed slightly. "But my younger brother, Zed-"

"Stop," I interrupted with a wince, my chest tightening. "Please, stop."

Yves cut off immediately, staring at me in a mixture of confusion and pity. I knew he was just trying to figure out if I was a threat to him or his family, but if he tried matching me off with his little brother, they'd end up in more danger than they could have ever imagined. I refused point blank to let anyone else get involved in this, soulfinder or not.

"Why are you here?" he asked quietly after a moments silence.

I shifted awkwardly. "It's complicated."

"I'm fairly intelligent," he told me confidently. "I think I can keep up."

"I'm not denying you could," I frowned at him. "But I don't owe you an explanation." He looked like he wanted to argue, but he pursed his lips together tightly. I chewed the inside of my cheek thoughtfully for a moment. "I just want a peaceful life, okay?"

"And you couldn't get that in England?" he guessed.

I rolled my eyes sarcastically. "Yes actually I could, but I thought I'd much prefer explaining myself to a total stranger in some one-horse town in Colorado."

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise, staring at me in silence for a minute. "You definitely need to meet Zed."

"No," I scowled. "Don't even think about it."

"What?" he gawped, stunned. Luckily, Mr Masey chose that moment to check our work, and he shook himself quickly, straightening out on the spot. The two of us waited somewhat impatiently for Mr Masey to walk away again, before Yves turned back to me with a tight frown. Though my muscles tensed irritably, I had to hand it to the guy, he was persistent. "When's your birthday?"

"None of your business."

"I can't believe this," he breathed, eyes wide. "What is wrong with you?"

"Several things," I replied dryly. "None of which can be solved by anyone other than a professional."

"Zed's going to go mad when I-"

"No!" I hissed quickly, spinning around so fast my hair momentarily obstructed my view. "You cannot tell him about me."

He scowled at me. "Why not? You might be the person he's been waiting for his whole life."

"You don't know that," I snapped back. "And besides, even if that were true . . ." I trailed off, gulping hard when a shiver ran down my spine.

For a moment, Yves just stared at me like I was insane. Then, mumbling a curse under his breath, he straightened out and nodded once, as if it hurt his head to move. "Fine, have it your way," he said. "I won't tell anyone, not even Zed, that you're a Savant. But you have to explain why, and it had better be good if you're asking me to keep my own brother away from a girl who could potentially save his life."

The look on Yves's face made it look like he wanted to throw up. I knew that no matter how good my story was, he was never going to keep this from his brother long term. Eventually, something would snap, and he'd have to tell him, because between a stranger and his brother, it was only natural that his loyalties lay with his brother.

You don't know that I have anything to do with your brother, I told him telepathically.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. I know. That's the only reason I'm agreeing to this.

The last few minutes of the lesson past in complete silence again, but for the first time, I found myself wishing he'd say something. He must have hated me for putting him in this position, and while normally I managed to detach myself from everyone else's problems with relative ease, this was different. Not only did I hate myself for letting him get into this situation, including any lie I'd have to tell so that he'd keep his mouth shut, the thought that he could be right about his brother made me a little queasy. I'd always thought of having a soulfinder as an inconvenience, just someone else to worry about twenty-four seven. But the idea that he could be so close . . . I found myself wondering what he looked like, or what his voice would sound like.

Meet me outside the cafeteria at lunch, Yves instructed as the bell gave a shrill ring overhead. Grimacing at me tightly, he pushed himself to his feet and strode out of the room, ignoring anyone who tried to get his attention.

I was severely distracted for the rest of the morning, which didn't bode well for finding my lessons. When I finally turned up in my Spanish class, the teacher stood in front of me, scolding my tardiness in what I presumed was flawless Spanish. Her mood did not improve when she realised I hadn't understood a single word she'd said, nor did it help when I didn't appear the slightest bit bothered.

Her rant in Spanish over, she took a deep breath through her teeth and pulled herself to her full height, which was still a good few inches shorter than me. "Most students apologise for being late," she told me sternly.

I lifted an eyebrow casually. "In Spanish or English?"

A few of the students laughed quietly, before hastily turning their laughter into coughs when she glowered in their direction. "Take a seat, Miss Peterson," she instructed, snapping her fingers and waving me inside the classroom.

Sitting myself in a chair by the window, as close to the back as I could manage, I sank down low and kept my expression straight. I knew I should have apologised properly, but I'd been in a foul mood since I'd left Chemistry. I couldn't get Yves's stony expression out of my head, and my stomach still fluttered at the thought of my soulfinder. I told myself time and time again that it couldn't be him, and that even if it was, I shouldn't be bothered. I'd long since come to terms with the fact that girls like me were better off alone, for their own sakes as much as anyone else's.

"Hey," a girl behind me hissed, and I turned far enough to meet her gaze over my shoulder. "I'm Louisa," she told me, without a trace of a smile. "You alright? You look like you could kill someone."

"Anyone in particular?" I asked, avoiding the question entirely.

She wasn't fooled. "Just asking," she shrugged. "Some of the people here can be . . . let's say less than friendly. I know how you feel."

I refrained from snorting. "Oh?"

"I moved here last month," she replied simply.

"Miss Peterson!" Sighing heavily, I turned back to face the teacher. She looked so angry, I was surprised there wasn't steam coming from her ears. "You are not in my class to cause trouble! Now, since you don't seem to have any idea what I'm talking about, perhaps you'd like to discuss it after school in detention?"

"Not particularly," I answered honestly.

"Then it's a good job it was a rhetorical question!" she nearly shrieked. "Oh, and Miss Trent? You can join her."

Behind me, Louisa sighed. "Always a pleasure, Mrs Nickels."

Unfortunately, the end of Spanish signalled lunch hour, and I found myself rooted into my seat, scowling at the patterned knots in the wooden desk in front of me. What was the worst that could happen if I simply didn't turn up to meet Yves? For a moment, I let myself believe that it could just be as easy as ignoring the situation altogether, but then questions started to flood into my thoughts. If Yves was a Savant, then so were the rest of his family. He'd already admitted he had a brother here, and the two of them obviously had parents. Were there any other siblings? How close to the rest of the Savant community were they? I couldn't risk Yves going back to his parents, raising his concern with them, and letting the lot of them ask awkward questions. All it would take is one wrong person to hear them, and we'd all be in trouble.

I couldn't let that happen.

"You lost?" a voice came from behind me, and I lifted my gaze long enough to frown curiously at Louisa.

"How could I be lost? I haven't moved yet."

The corner of her lips tugged for a second. "I meant do you want me to show you the way to the cafeteria for lunch? I'll introduce you to some of the less irritating people here if you want."

I hesitated, but again shook the thought of running away as quickly as it had come. "Actually, I said I'd meet someone just outside there."

Louisa shrugged, shouldering her bag. "Then I'll just show you the way."

Was everyone this persistent in Wrickenridge, or did they all just presume everyone they met was a nice person? Pursing my lips, I nodded once and snatched my bag off the floor, following Louisa out of the Spanish classroom and into the busy hallway, where all the students seemed to be rushing to get to the cafeteria or outside.

"So," Louisa started with a sigh. "Who are you meeting?"

Glancing sideways at her, I figured there was no point in lying, especially if she was taking me there. "Yves Benedict."

"What?" she blurted, turning to look at me so fast she didn't see the burly senior walking straight at her. Scowling, I grabbed her arm and yanked her out of his path, pursing my lips tightly as she steadied herself again. "Yves Benedict?"

"Yes. You know him?"

"Not personally," she said, shaking herself roughly. "But everyone knows the Benedicts. The older brothers used to come here too, but there's only Yves and Zed here now."

Casting a quick look around the hallway, I risked grilling her for more information, trying to be as subtle as I could. "Older brothers?"

Something like a smile slipped over her mouth. "There's seven Benedict brothers," she told me, and my heart sank. "The youngest three still live at home in the house at the top of town, where their parents run the cable car, and the older ones are in Denver. Most of them have dead weird names, since their parents seemed to like the end of the alphabet. See, there's Trace, Uriel, Victor, Will, Xavier, Yves and Zed, and every single one is . . . how would the British say it? Handsome?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "Do all American's think the British are stuck in the nineteenth century?"

She scoffed with a small chuckle. "Sorry."

I shrugged the apology off, running through the names of the Benedicts in my head. None of them sounded familiar, but then I'd been out of the Savant loop for a long time. I only remembered a few names, and they were the ones I'd been trying to forget for years. "What do the older brothers do then?"

"Not sure," Louisa sighed. "You don't see them around here often these days. I think Trace is a cop or something, which is strange because everyone says he was always causing trouble when he was here."

That didn't surprise me. No matter how calm-minded you were, when you were a Savant and you started reaching this age, it was easy to lose sight of right and wrong. A lot of Savants put that down to it being the time when you start to question whether you'll ever meet your soulfinder, but I figured being old enough to realise life was entirely unfair didn't help matters either. On more than one occasion, I'd found myself sorely tempted to turn the clock back and make sure I got what I wanted. Up until now, I'd restrained myself, with a little difficulty, because I knew that if I let myself do it once, it would be the beginning of the end and I'd do it again.

"When did you meet Yves anyway?" Louisa questioned, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"I'm in his Chemistry class."

Her eyes widened a little. "Seriously?" I nodded at her, still distracted. "Wow, I'm impressed. You must be really good at it if they put you in his class already. Suppose it makes up for Spanish though, right?" There was a spark in her eyes that told me she thought she was being funny, so I just nodded in response as we finally rounded the last corner and came face to face with the cafeteria doors.

"There," Louisa said, nudging me and pointing through the crowd to where Yves was stood, reluctantly talking to two other guys about his age. "He doesn't look very happy."

"He's voluntarily spending his lunch hour with me," I sighed, trying to ease out the frown over my eyes. "I have that effect on people."

"That's cheerful," she snorted at me, rolling her eyes. "Good luck, Grace." Patting my arm once, she slipped into the cafeteria, leaving me alone in a crowded corridor.

Unwilling to let Yves anywhere near my mind again, I threw up as many barriers as I could and crossed the corridor to where he was stood with his friends. The moment he saw me, he cut his conversation dead and straightened out. "I'll catch up with you guys later," he told the others, stepping around them before they could argue and moving toward me. "And here was me thinking you'd bail on me," he grimaced quietly as he neared.

"I was tempted," I admitted.

"We need to talk," he insisted.

My lips pursed tightly, and I folded my arms over my chest. "Not here. Someone might hear."

Yves raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised, but nodded and dipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out a set of car keys. "Come on. I know somewhere we can talk."

He moved around me, already leading the way back down the corridor. "You expect me to get into a car with a Savant I don't know?" I questioned coolly, following him anyway.

"You're the one with something to hide," he pointed out.

"True. So why are you willing to be alone with a Savant you don't know?" He shot me a look I didn't quite understand, turning his face away from me without a word.

Students had been giving me strange looks all morning, just because I was the new kid with an English accent. Now though, they muttered and pointed in our direction, like being singled out by Yves Benedict was as shocking as claiming that I was from another planet. Still, I managed to ignore most of them, right up until we reached the car park, where my eyes immediately drifted to the group of troublemakers, now joined by my dear brother. Most of them were messing about and flirting with girls with long legs and made-up faces. Alex, however, was stood by the biker guy I'd seen earlier, both of them frowning and absorbed in a deep discussion.

"Get in," Yves instructed as he came to a halt by a reasonably expensive car. I didn't answer immediately, watching Alex's eyebrows tighten and the biker guy shift with a scowl. Seeing them like that didn't bode well, but right now, I had my own problems to deal with. "Grace?"

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I scowled at him, tearing my eyes away from Alex and yanking the car door open. On the opposite side of the car, Yves sighed heavily, mumbling to himself again as he got into the driver's seat. Eyeing my tense stance cautiously, he started the car and pulled it out of the parking space smoothly, his eyebrows tight. Risking a glance back in Alex's direction, I was relieved to notice that he was too caught up in his conversation with the biker to realise I was leaving. If he'd seen me, he would have killed me. Well, he'd have killed Yves. Then he'd have killed me.

Yves had only been driving nearly ten minutes when he pulled up outside a small café not far from my house. At quarter past twelve, it was fairly busy instead, with two waitress dressed in horrible, pale pink uniforms rushing around the counter with several plates of food and cups of coffee somehow crammed into their hands.

"This is your idea of a safe place to talk?" I questioned, lifting an eyebrow coolly.

He frowned. "No one in that café is the slightest bit interested in what we have to discuss. Besides, it looks a lot less suspicious talking in a public place."

"And why would looking suspicious bother you?"

He didn't answer, cutting the ignition and climbing out of the car gracefully. Biting down on the tip of my tongue before I could say something stupid, I followed his example, straightening out my jacket as Yves led the way into the café.

The only booth left empty was at the very back of the room, beside a very loud family of four. The parents appeared to be having a hard time getting the two small children to eat their food instead of throwing it at each other. Watching them, my nose wrinkled in disgust, but Yves smiled slightly, leading the way around them in a large arch to avoid being hit by stray baked beans.

Sitting myself opposite him with a straight back, I was hit by the sudden urge to run. Why had I agreed to come here anyway? What could I possibly say to him to convince him that he and his family were much better off if they kept their distance?

As if realising I was less than impressed by my current situation, Yves took the menu from the end of the table and slid it toward me. "You'd better eat," he instructed. "If it turns out you are who I think you could be, Zed'll kill me if I'm not careful."

I ignored the menu with a glower. "I have nothing to do with your family," I told him in a forceful tone. He didn't say anything, nudging the menu closer to me with a meaningful look. Scowling, I took it from him obediently.

It took a while for the waitress to make it to our table. She was roughly middle-aged, with greying hair and a rounded figure, and despite looking severely haggard, she put on her best smile the moment she noticed Yves. "Yves Benedict," she beamed affectionately. "I haven't seen you here in a while!"

He smiled sheepishly back at her. "I've been busy at school."

"You put far too much pressure on yourself, young man," she scolded gently, and I lifted an eyebrow when he flushed slightly. The waitress's eyes slid toward me, her smile growing a fraction. In the same second, I felt my face straighten. "And who is this young lady?"

Yves's smile faltered. "This is Grace," he told her. "She's . . . a family friend."

I managed a nod of acknowledgement in the waitress's direction, and her smile faltered. "So, have you kids decided what you want to eat?"

Yves placed his food order, shooting me another warning look and jerking his head toward the waitress when he'd done. I rolled my eyes. "Waffles, please," I told her.

The moment I'd spoken, her smile was back and her eyes were a little wider. "Oh, you're English!" she breathed, and I had to fight to keep the scowl off my face. Apparently, I didn't do a very good job because within seconds, Yves kicked out at me under the table, clearing his throat pointedly. Fortunately, the waitress hadn't noticed. "Will you be wanting tea with that?"

I couldn't tell if she was serious or not, but I shook my head. "Coffee is fine." She chuckled to herself, nodding and spinning around to take our order through to the kitchen.

"Are you this rude with everyone?" Yves scowled at me.

"Most of the time," I answered honestly, my face straight.

A sour laugh slipped his lips. "You really don't see it, do you?" he murmured, shaking his head in exasperation. I didn't ask what he meant. Quite frankly, I couldn't have cared less. All I wanted to achieve out of this was the knowledge that the Benedicts wouldn't be a problem for Alex and me.

"You brought me here for a reason," I reminded him coolly. "Get it over with."

He hesitated, scanning my expression like he wasn't sure if I was serious or not. "Fine. Why are you really here?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "Are you always this paranoid?"

"That didn't answer the question."

Sighing heavily, I took a deep breath and straightened in my chair, grasping the first lie I could think of that was remotely close to the truth. "Alex was getting in with the wrong crowd, so we were sent here."

He paused, obviously debating whether or not to believe me. Only I could be unfortunate enough to meet another Savant this smart and . . . the only word I could find was good. It was becoming rapidly clear that the Benedicts were good people. In fact, it wouldn't have surprised me if I learnt that they were part of the Savant Net. My brother and I, however, were not remotely close to that side of the Savant community. We were very much associated with the opposite end of the scale.

Before Yves could ask anything else, the waitress returned with our food and coffee, smiling widely between the two of us. Neither of us looked up as she set the plates down in front of us, and even she seemed to pick up on the tension remarkably quickly. Shooting us each one last uncertain smile, she turned and trotted away without a word.

The moment she was out of earshot, Yves leant over the table. "Who sent you?" he asked.

"Our grandmother." Technically, that wasn't a lie. If she hadn't have forcibly pushed me out of the house, I'd still be living with her. It sickened me to think I was sat here drinking coffee while she was dying alone in a city where she could be easily found by the people looking for Alex and me. Of course, I didn't tell Yves that. I was trying to calm the situation, not provoke him into getting me arrested.

"And she didn't come with you?" he guessed.

I didn't meet his gaze, sipping at the coffee I'd ordered. "Apparently not."

Groaning in frustration, he pushed his plate away so that he could lean further over the table. "Are you intentionally vague or does it just come naturally?"

"That depends who I'm talking to."

He scoffed, shaking his head in exasperation. "Unbelievable. You're being vague about being vague?" I didn't say anything, picking at the waffles in front of me with no real appetite. "Okay, let's try this. I understand that the likelihood that you are Zed's soulfinder is slim, but what I don't understand is why you don't even what to find out for sure."

There was silence for a minute while I tried to figure out how to reply. The problem was, I wasn't sure there was anything I could say to him to stop him telling his brother about me. Then again, the odds were in my favour. Even if he did, I very much doubted that Zed would ever have anything to do with me.

"I have a bad experience with soulfinders."

The words were out of my mouth before I fully realised I'd even started to talk, and the second I'd finished, I went rigid on the spot, staring at the waffles in front of me in shock. Why would I admit that? What possible reason was there for dragging my parents of all people into this?

Heart hammering, I took up my coffee again for something to distract me as Yves shifted opposite me, completely oblivious to the fact I should never have told him that. Honestly, I had no idea why I had. "How?" Yves asked me. "I've never heard of a bad situation with soulfinders before. My parents are soulfinders and they've been happy for years."

"You realise that just because your parents found each other doesn't mean you or your brothers will find your soulfinders?" I scowled at him, and his face straightened.

"Yes," he replied shortly. "I'm fully aware of how slim the chance is, especially since the only reason Dad found Mum was because he knew a soulseeker."

My scowl vanished. I'd heard of soulseekers before now, but I'd never really believed they existed. The thought that Savants could be born with an innate ability to find soulfinders, both their own and other peoples, seemed ridiculous to me. I could never decide if it sounded too good to be true, or like our own biology was playing a cruel practical joke on the rest of us that were most likely doomed to live our lives separated.

Yves's expression softened a fraction, but not much. Apparently, he hadn't liked the reminder that he was as doomed as I was. "How bad is bad?" he persisted.

Chest tightening, I glowered at him again and picked off another tiny bite of my waffles. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"The whole point of coming here was to talk, Grace," he pointed out sourly.

"Yes, and I'll answer the rest of your questions," I scowled. "But not that one."

"Okay, where are your parents?"

My stomach went hollow. Suddenly, it felt like the temperature around me had dropped ten degrees. "Not here," I said through gritted teeth.

"They were the soulfinders you were talking about then," Yves continued, and my muscles tightened, my fists clenching at the sides of my plate. His eyes darted down, scanning my stance in a mixture of concern and irritation. "Do you still see them?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In a cemetery."

His face fell, and I took a grim satisfaction from watching him pale a few shades and shuffle anxiously, even if my statement had technically only been fifty per cent true. "I . . . I'm sorry, I shouldn't have . . ."

"No, you shouldn't," I agreed darkly, forcing my fists to unclench.

Still, when he eventually plucked up the courage to talk again, it was still about my parents. "They can't have died because they were soulfinders," he muttered.

I frowned across the table at him, now so distracted all I could do was push my food around it's plate. "Why not?"

"Soulfinders can't hurt each other."

"Yes, they can."

"No," Yves scowled, shaking his head. "That would be like hurting yourself, surely? Your soulfinder is almost literally the other half of you. It would be nearly physically impossible to hurt them."

"Nearly," I nodded quietly, dropping my gaze again.

Yves paused a moment. "I'm not sure I believe you," he told me carefully.

"Not my problem."

"But you think that all this means I'll keep Zed away from you?"

"No," I admitted, flicking my eyes up to meet his intensely. "Nothing I say can make you do that, can it?"

He shuffled slightly under the scrutiny, but didn't argue. "Zed's at breaking point," he told me softly. "He's the seventh kid, so he's stronger than the rest of us. It's like he can channel every aspect of our abilities, and that's a lot to take on top of all the premonitions he has."

I lifted an eyebrow, mildly intrigued. "He sees the future?"

"Some of it," Yves nodded with a small shrug. "He says most of it is just five minute dreams here or there, and he won't tell us much of it in case he changes things and makes it worse. He just gives us half-veiled warnings every now and then."

"Helpful," I shrugged, wondering for a moment how much easier my life would have been if I could see trouble before it happened.

"The fact is, he's breaking under the pressure," he insisted, leaning closer to lower his voice. "Dad won't say anything to him, but I know he's worried. So is Mum. In fact, all of us are. Do you know how many times we've called Trace to come and talk him down?"

I tried not to look as empathetic as I suddenly felt. I knew that feeling, all too well. I'd tried the same with Alex on several occasions, and when that didn't work, I'd found myself talking to him through cell bars.

"I can't help him," I warned Yves quietly, hoping he understood that it was the most honest thing I'd ever told anyone, let alone just him. Even if I was Zed's soulfinder and I was everything he'd been looking for, all I'd manage to do is bring more trouble into his life.

"You don't know that," he insisted. "Please, Grace, all I'm asking you to do is talk to him."

"But it isn't, is it?" I frowned. "You're asking me to potentially change his life, and knowing little to nothing about me, you have no idea how badly that could turn out. Yves, I'm not avoiding him to be cruel. Whatever you think about me, however I act, you have to believe that."

He fixed his gaze on mine, nodding once. "I do. But you have to understand that if Zed realises you're a Savant, I can't lie to him. I'm not even sure I'll be able to go home and stop myself from telling him you're here."

Sighing heavily, I drained the rest of my coffee and pushed myself to my feet. "Fine. Just be warned, Yves. Getting his hopes up about something like this isn't a good idea. In all likelihood, I'll just be another Savant girl to him, nothing more, and when he realises that, how badly do you think he'll break then?"

Without waiting for him to answer, I dropped the money to pay for my lunch on the counter and marched out of the café, hoping and praying that my little speech had sounded as convincing as it had felt.