"Sullivan, this is… don't… stay away from the storm… I repeat… keep inside-side…" The last words of the radio crackled into static and then silence as the small black radio sat in a growing puddle, the water seeping into its inner workings and drowning the battery.

Finley frowned as he picked up the radio, shook it as if that would somehow magically dry it out, and then clipped it back to his belt accepting that it was out of commission. He looked back in the direction that Conner had told him the masked man had run to, but there was nothing but the wall of the dorms. If there were any footprints they had been completely washed away by the rain but even if that was the case, he couldn't see how someone could disappear so quickly. Finley frowned and started walking back towards the entrance of the dorms.

Conner was sitting cross-legged in the mud, uncaring of the wet and cold of the rain. His usually shaggy hair was plastered against his pale skin and his eyes were staring straight down. Finley took notice of more than a few pair of eyes watching – from the dorm windows, from across the way at the entrance of the Rec-Zone from residents hiding from the rain. Finley himself had heard many stories about Conner but wasn't permitted any specific details when the man was admitted to Hearthome. Yet he firmly believed in what he had told Conner in the library. He was here to help, not harm.

"Let's get you somewhere dry," Finley said, reaching for Conner's shoulder. "We should talk some—"

"Get your hands off me." Conner's voice was thin and sharp. He didn't even look up at Finley. "You touch me, I'll kill you."

Finley's fingers twitched and he withdrew his hand. He didn't actually think Conner would do such a thing but… well, the orderlies often talked about Conner Shepherd and that he had a history of violence. He had been delivered by the investigators, which wasn't particularly unusual; Finley had seen the men in black come and go; but usually residents arrived at Hearthome via bus or taxi. Conner was the most recent resident to have arrived at Hearthome and the men in black had immediately taken Conner to his room without processing, carrying some belongings with them.

"You'll get ill if you stay out here," Finley said, glancing up as a lance of lightning pierced the sky, followed shortly by the heavy rumble of thunder. "I can't force you but—"

"Leave me where I belong," Conner said. He looked up at Finley through the curtains of sopping wet hair. "…Check on Robyn. Please."

"…Can you at least wait just inside the doors?"

"No."

There was no room for argument. Finley didn't understand what was going on. First, Conner had come to the library to talk about Banks but he had lied about Banks being in the Rec-Zone. Then he had suddenly darted off. Finley had followed, concerned, and saw Conner run off from the Rec-Zone to the dorms. He hadn't found Conner in his room, but instead saw him stumbling his way down the lobby towards the doors, snatching his radio and throwing it to the corner of the building. Conner had immediately told him to chase after a man in a hood before he had sunk to the position he was now sitting in.

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky and cast Conner's face into a sunken shadow. Finley had never seen the usual trouble-maker so out of sorts. If he was still outside when he came back, Finley would have to take him inside with the help of some of the other orderlies if necessary. He wasn't privy to what Conner's condition was either, so he didn't know if this was a result of whatever it was Conner was admitted to Hearthome for in the first place.

So Finley made his way back into the dorms and was immediately met with a small gaggle of residents, bug-eyed and interested in the origins of the scuffle. "Come on guys, back to your rooms. The storm's getting bad outside so it's best to stay in. Show's over." With Finley's words, the residents obeyed almost like sheep, moving their way up the stairs and into corridors. Sometimes Finley disliked the power he held as an orderly. People tended to do what he said without question and that scared him. There were only a few in Hearthome that would actively treat him like a person and not just an orderly. After all, they were all humans.

Finley found Robyn sitting with her back against the wall outside of Ollie Cox's room, staring into the screen of her camera. As Finley approached, the young woman raised a hand in greeting and smiled an exhausted smile. "Hi, it's a bit stormy out, isn't it?" Robyn chuckled but there was no heart behind the laugh. "Did you see Conner on your way in?"

"He's… okay," Finley evaded the question and went to one knee next to Robyn. "How about you? What are you doing sitting here?"

"Well… It's funny, really. I feel okay, really, it's just my legs are kinda not obeying me," another nervous chuckle. Finley looked to Robyn's legs and saw that they were quivering like leaves in an autumn breeze. "I've not been grabbed like that before in a long time and I think, well, I think I kinda might be having a panic attack? I'm not sure but I feel a little sick and I'm worried about Conner and Ollie's gone and—"

"Hey, hey, slow down," Finley put a hand out. "You were grabbed? Ollie is gone? What's going on?"

"We had a sales pitch, y'know, get you in the Rec-Zone with Penelope and Owen and we were going to try and get Banks out of Hearthome and then talk to John and work out the List and it was gonna be perfect, haha, well, it didn't quite go to plan and now…" Robyn's breath caught in her throat and she smiled weakly again. "Yeah, I feel a little dizzy."

Banks out of Hearthome? John? A List? Finley was now extremely confused but one thing he was sure of was that Robyn was likely in some kind of shock. Had she been attacked? Was it the man in the hood that Conner was chasing? That only made sense. "Robyn, I need you to breathe for me, nice and slow, okay?"

"Sure, breathing, I can do breathing, that's easy. In and out. Walk in the park. Conner's okay, right?"

"Yes, Conner is fine. I'll take you to him. But I need you to stop talking and just breathe."

"I gotta talk. I need to talk. Makes me feel better, talking is breathing, right? Yeah. Glad Conner's okay. Ollie's fine, right? He has to be. Sure." Robyn's face was growing paler as she spoke, her sentences short and sharp. Finley glanced to the door of Ollie's room and saw that the lock had been splintered as if someone had broken in. Just what was going on? He wished his radio was working so he could call for help from the other orderlies but that was a fools hope. There were only four or five orderlies working at any one time – to do with Hearthome's belief in allowing the residents to heal without being watched twenty-four-seven. There was always at least two orderlies in the Rec-Zone, and two in the administrator building, and another would occasionally check into the dorms and maybe check on some patients as requested by the doctors. Doctor Evans was always good at making sure the right patients were being tended to but after yesterday…

The image of Doctor Evans slumped in his chair was burnt into Finley's mind.

"Robyn, can I help you up? I want to get you to medical, get you checked out. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. That's fine. Fine." Robyn smiled again. "Probably a good idea… Then you can help me find Ollie and then Noah will be back today and things might be normal again and… and stop talking. Right. I can do that. Sure I can. Easy."

As Robyn muttered absently to herself, Finley tucked his arm behind her back and lifted her to her feet with ease. He had spent years hoisting backpacks full of heavy equipment in his youth, so someone as petite as Robyn was easy for him. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah. Maybe. My legs are shaky but if you help me. Teamwork makes the dream work. I really do feel woozy. Conner is definitely doing alright? He got zapped by a taser you know. He got up but he was really wobbly. I didn't though. I'm just wobbly myself, that's all."

As Robyn muttered random things about lists and visions and werewolves, Finley managed to help her down the stairs to the lobby of the dorms. He looked through the doors, almost expecting him to be gone, but Conner was still sitting in the middle of the storm like a faithful dog at their master's grave.

"Conner!" Robyn tried to pull away from Finley but Finley kept hold of her.

"Careful now. Do you think you can convince Conner to come with us to medical?"

"Sure, he listens to me. I can do that." Upon seeing Conner, a small bit of strength seemed to come back to Robyn. Together they exited the dorms into the storm. The rain was cold and seemed to sap the strength away from Finley, but nevertheless they made it to Conner's side as lightning struck close-by and thunder rumbled immediately. The storm must have been directly overhead by now.

"Conner! Did you find him? What happened? Are you okay?" Robyn's questions were rapid-fire as she pulled away from Finley firmly this time and kneeled in the mud next to him. "Why're you out here? Come inside."

"…I failed, Robyn."

"What?"

"They were right there. I should have been able to catch them."

"Conner… You were hurt, you couldn't-"

"That's no excuse!" Conner barked, his voice cracking through the storm. "I should have seen it… I should have guessed something like this would happen… Those fucking bastards…"

Robyn laughed nervously. "I'm not sure you could have predicted men in masks, Conner."

"We need to get you guys to medical, okay? Can we talk it out there?" Finley could almost feel the rain on his very bones now. He would have to take a nice and warm shower when he got back to the orderly bunks.

"He's right, you know?" Robyn said, reaching out and tentatively placing a hand on Conner's shoulder. Conner flinched but didn't shout at her as he did Finley. "I don't like trying to hear you over this storm."

Conner seemed to mull it over as if all he wanted was to sit in the mud for the rest of his days. Instead, he finally decided to stand up, mud dripping from his shoes and trousers. "Fine. We need—"

Whatever it was Conner was going to say was cut off by the brightest flash of lightning yet and the loudest rumble that seemed to shake the very skies. However this time there was another noise almost immediately as the lightning flashed the sky like a camera shutter, a sound that burst in Finley's ears like a tiger's predatory roar. Windows shattered as if a bomb had gone off.

A lightning bolt had struck the side of the dormitories.

Finley watched Conner instinctively push Robyn back down to the mud and realised that was a smart decision as the shards rained down on top of them, combining with the raindrops as one. Finley dove to the mud in front of the duo as well, feeling the wet mud splash into his face as he dived down. They rained harmlessly down onto their backs, stabbing themselves into the mud around them.

In only a few seconds, it was over.

Finley slowly got to his feet and glanced at the dormitory wall, marvelling at the black streak the lightning had carved into the side of the building. A number of windows had shattered, surprising given they weren't made of glass but rather a reinforced plastic to protect the residents. Finley made a mental note to bring that up at the next staff meeting.

"…Sullivan."

Finley turned to Conner. Are you all okay? The four words were intended to be spoken out loud but Finley found that the words failed to come out. Strange. As Finley looked at Conner's face, he was suddenly struck by just how much he looked like Private Jarnell, a good friend back in the Iraq War. Private Jarnell had often worn a hardened expression having experienced a multitude of fierce firefights. Finley always remembered Jarnell's hollowed eyes the day they were brought back home, eyes that had seen so much human death to the point that simply didn't have the mental capacity to feel anything for the dead anymore. Finley blinked, Private Jarnell's face fading away from Conner's own hollow eyes. Very strange. Why was he thinking of such an old memory?

"...Oh no…" Robyn's own voice was low over the storm. Finley barely heard it. He turned to her and opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but found only the taste of iron instead of words. Really quite strange. Another face from Finley's days of war seemed to hover over Robyn's. it was a nurse at a hospital Finley had been admitted to. The nurse was fresh-faced and it must have been her first day. Having seen the injuries of the field hospital, that nurse had broken down and had to be ushered away. Finley could remember being told that it had been the nurse's first time seeing the injuries of war. Finley blinked, the ghostly face of the nurse fading away. Definitely strange.

A lance of pain suddenly pulsed through Finley's neck like a klaxon alerting him to danger. For a crazy moment Finley thought he had been shot but realised that made no sense. There were no guns at Hearthome. He raised his left hand and placed it against his neck, feeling something strange against his hand, something smooth and jagged. Interested in just what this was, Finley grasped the object.

"Don't—" Conner's warning was yanked away with the storm as Finley pulled hard on the strange item, feeling something pull free from his neck. It almost felt relieving, like pulling on a loose tooth. Finley looked at the item in the palm of his end, intrigued.

It was a long jagged piece of reinforced plastic, dripping with his own blood. Upon realising just what he was looking at as if to confirm his realisation, Finley felt an intense flare of pain worse than anything he had felt during the war. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees, clutching at his neck with both hands. He could feel the warm pulse of blood beneath his fingertips, surging past the broken dam of his fingers. Finley looked to the eyes filled almost with pity from Conner and then to the wide frozen eyes of Robyn. He opened his mouth to ask for help but instead involuntarily coughed, spattering small drops of blood over Robyn's pale and shocked face.

Finley fell backwards, clutching at his neck, mud squelching below his back and the storm washing away the blood as soon as it emerged. The pain had disappeared as quick as it had come and Finley felt strange and air-headed, questions flitting back and forth in his head. Where was Imogen, why had she not clocked in? The blood pumped fiercely between his fingers. Why had Conner lied? Finley's left hand dropped into the mud. Why was Ollie's door broken? He barely felt his other hand drop as the blood spilled unhindered now from the jagged slice in his neck. One last question lingered in Finley's rapidly fading mind. A question that sent fear running down his spine. Am I going to die?

As if to answer his own last question, Finley Sullivan grew still with the finality that only death had to offer. Amongst the mysteries of Hearthome, the List had claimed its second victim as if to remind those who remained not to forget where to focus their attentions.