With steady eyes he shakes his head, “There are no such places. Trust me.”

We push through the kids as normally as possible. None of them pays much attention to us—rather they are just happy to be done after a long day.

“Everyone’s going to see what happened upstairs,” I whisper.

“Someone’s taking care of it.”

Finally, we exit the schoolhouse beside seventy-five children. Parked on the street several yards away, I notice several out of place silver sedans, to which Arek seems to be directing me. We hurry to them, yet I refuse to get in.

“What is happening?” I desperately ask.

“I’ll explain everything. I just need you to get in the car.”

Behind us, Kilon subtly makes his way through the children.

“Take your chances with the men inside or with us. But make your decision quick. These children will be fine if we leave now. They aren’t a part of this . . . only you.”

Kilon reaches us at that point, sweat covering his perfect skin, but he refuses to get in the car until I do. With a strong and thick hand, Kilon opens the door beside me. Both men wait uncomfortably.

Only when Japha and Navin hurry out from the opposite side of the school do I realize this won’t end until we drive away. Just as I step to the car, the same electricity jolts through my head until my eyes roll back. Kilon and Arek catch me before I fall, then shove me into the vehicle.

“Go!” Arek yells to the woman behind the wheel as he jumps in beside me and Kilon in the front. The car squeals away.

“Shut ’em,” Kilon quickly tells the woman. With her black glasses blocking any expression, she coolly presses the button under her hand that closes the windows. Inch by inch as the shaded glass rolls tightly shut providing a penetrating silence, I find relief and collapse against the seat.

“What happened?” the woman asks. “Talon, Michael, Kyler . . . I sent them in to find you.” Her strong voice matches her refined beauty.

Arek shakes his head. “Japha.”

She turns to Kilon in question.

Kilon nods, “Japha’s alive.”

Her eyelashes touch her brow bone when they widen with shock, but he continues, “They had no chance. But they did their job and distracted Japha. They gave us time.”

When there has been several minutes of silence and plenty of distance, Arek lowers his intensity. “Are you okay?”

My hesitation hangs in the air mounting the tension, yet that isn’t the objective. Rather I am just unsure of the answer, so a slight nod must suffice.

“This is Kilon,” Arek introduces me, “and his wife, Sassi.” She peers at me in the rear-view mirror behind her dark sunglasses.

When it seems no one is going to continue, my discomfort grows. “Do I get to know what’s going on?”

“We can’t take you home. You have to come with us,” Arek states.

“I’m supposed to just go with you?”

“The last thing you need is an explanation right now.”

My chin lifts with surprise, “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen every one of you for months.” They look at each other but seem to avoid me. Arek makes a noise like he is going to respond, but then thinks better of it. “Where are the others . . . the others who have been around?”

“They’re following us,” Sassi explains. I notice two silver cars ahead and two behind.

“That’s all I get?” I continue.

Finally, Arek turns to me with a look that tells me not to ask again. “For now. We will tell you only what you need to know.”

The car pulls to a stop. “We are here,” Sassi says.

The brick wall, a familiar alley, the same metal door I have been entering and exiting for years: all of these things tell me that we have arrived at my home, and I quickly try to open the door, but it is still locked.

“You may get some things, but quickly,” Arek instructs. It isn’t that he is unkind; security is the obvious tone. Finally, the locks pop and I jump out in seconds, as does he.

“I can do this alone.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Once again, this would be where you could tell me what is happening.” But he remains silent as we climb the stairs to my apartment. Only then does he place an arm in front of me and take my key from my hand.

“Wait here.”

“You think someone’s in my apartment?”

“It’s possible.”

My fingers trace the molding on the walls, as my eyes dart from the overhead lights to the staircase behind me, while I picture my bra on the bed. Within a minute, he opens the door to let me in.

“No scary people in the closet?” I walk past him into the middle of the room.

“Not today . . . you have three minutes.”

“And then what?”

“Then we leave.”

“When will I be back?”

The look on his face tells me that I shouldn’t plan on ever coming back and the tension in my shoulders travels up my neck.

“It feels like I just got back,” I whisper.

His voice softens. “Come on. Get your things.” Back in my room, without any method I throw clothes into a bag. From the bathroom, I take all the necessities—toothbrush, hairbrush, and shampoo.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” The heavy bag weighs my arm down as I walk through the hallway.