E

  ***

  The snow holds us prisoner for days. Tension builds on itself. We're all on a short fuse. Soon, we don't talk to each other much at all. Talking takes energy, anyway, and we don't have a lot of that to spare. Our water pump is frozen so we melt snow to drink. There's nothing to eat. Not a bite. By the time the snow starts to melt away, I've gotten used to being without food. The hunger that demanded attention has faded to something of unimportance. I just feel weak, spacey, and dizzy. Like I'm walking in a dream.

  Sometimes, I really am dreaming. My sleep feels drugged, full of nightmares I'm incapable of waking from. Full of other things that pull at me. I can't remember them when I wake. Then one day, the sun comes out and the sky is a crisp blue. The piles of snow fade into waterlogged concrete. I step outside, pulling my jacket around me, and start walking. My thoughts are scattered, disorganized. Mostly, I'm concerned about Oscar. I've been thinking about what the bomb means for him. If Matt's men are being targeted, Matt is being targeted. Oscar is staying with Matt. This is about as far as I can take the train of thought before it tangents into some other distraction. Always, I return to it though. I know it's important, but I can't seem to focus. I'm thinking about it for the thousandth time, wandering down a quiet street, when I look up, and see the white tower in front of me.

  I stop. Stop in the middle of the street. Gazing. My mouth is open. I blink, and the tower's gone. I blink again. There's nothing. It's just a street. I'm going crazy. Jonas is right. Starvation is making me crazy. So now, I'm thinking about rats. About finding rats. I stumble down alley after alley, and find none. Maybe they don't come out in the cold, or maybe I'm a poor rat hunter. Maybe Fate has decided she hates me. Whatever it is, there are no rats to be found. All I find is misery. People who are worse off than me. Bundles of rags, shivering. Moaning. So close to death. One bundle doesn't move when I walk by. Not the slightest bit. I can't look. I just keep moving. About a block ahead of me, I see the pig trot across the intersection from an adjoining alleyway. Frowning, I wander toward the place where it disappeared.

  This is how I end up in the alleyway where, far ahead of me, I see Jonas. He's with some other men, and they're stepping into a doorway. They disappear. I walk toward the place they disappeared from.

  Before I reach the doorway, there's a window. I can hear voices, so I crouch down beneath it and listen. I recognize Jonas' voice, but I can't make out the words. I'm straining to decipher them when my head, quite suddenly, jolts through with pain. I blink, or try to blink, but all I can see is black.

  The voices swirl around me, nearer, but still muffled and indecipherable. I can't make sense of them for a long time. I can't make sense of the darkness. Then I feel myself resolving, like someone is turning a lens to bring me into focus. I become aware of my body. I know to open my eyes. It's dark inside, wherever we are, but any light at all hurts my brain. I shut my eyes tight against the throbbing.

  By my ear, something shifts. Something cold, and wet. I pry my eyes open a sliver, and squint at the person next to me.

  "You're OK." It's Jonas' voice, though his face has not quite swum into resolution. "Just a little knock to the head. That's all."

  "Psh," I manage weakly. "Is that all?"

  He presses the rag against my head, scooting nearer. He's sitting on a stool or something, looking down on me. I'm lying on a bed, or cot, or something like that. It's lumpy, and I'm cold, and the freezing rag is not making me feel any better. I turn my head away from it and sit up all at once, which obviously isn't the brightest idea since it makes me feel like I'm going to hurl.

  "Easy," Jonas says, steadying me by my wrists. When he's satisfied I won't fall over, he rubs his hand soothingly up and down my arm.

  I swallow down the nausea and manage to get my eyes open and focused on him. "What the hell is going on?"

  He laughs softly without smiling, and looks away. I wait. He's going to tell me. I won't let him not.

  Finally, he turns back to me, his eyes moving over my face. He must see how angry I am, how stubborn, because a somberness sinks into his demeanor. He swallows. "I'm putting together a force that's loyal to Grey." He waits for my reaction.

  There are so many things I want to say, most of them in a very loud voice. But I take a deep breath and say very calmly, "The same Grey who makes Matt look like a virgin princess?"

  He purses his lips, then licks them. "Yes."

  My fists are pounding against his chest before I even realize what I'm doing. "What are you thinking?" I'm shrieking at him. "Oscar's with Matt! He'll kill him if he finds out what you're doing!"

  Footsteps move quickly toward us from across the room, and I realize for the first time that we're not alone. Jonas waves the men off, catching my hands and stopping me easily. "Listen," he says patiently, holding me by the wrists, "Oscar will be fine. I'm looking after that. I didn't forget about him. And anyway, Matt's not going to find out."

  I laugh at him. I mean really laugh. Tipping my head back, not falling onto the bed only because he still has my wrists. I sound crazy. Maybe I am. When I'm able to speak, I manage, "You think Matt won't know? Matt knows everything."

  "Not everything." He releases me, tentatively, like he's not sure I won't start beating him again. "Eden," he says quietly, "we have no choice. If we want to survive, this is the only way. Grey's going to win this thing, and when he does, we need to be on his side. We need to position ourselves there now."

  Shoulders slumped, I shake my head at him. I want to rebut what he's said, but I lose the words before they form. I lose his words, too, until I'm left with just the feeling that I disagree and that it's important. But I blink at him, and don't say anything.

  He takes me by the shoulders and leans in, talking to me softly. "I need you with me on this," he says. "We're family, right?" His hand moves from my shoulder to my face, brushing back my hair. His green eyes insist that he's right. "You're with me."

  If I wasn't so tired, I think I would be crying. I move slowly to get up. His hands fall away from me. He stays sitting, while I stand. "I'm with Oscar," I tell him. "And so help me, you better be, too."

  I walk to the door, and no one tries to stop me.