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it driving me into the ground where my head smacks the pavement with a sick thud. Everything goes black.
    “Yo, girl,” I hear. “You alive?”
    I blink slowly. No scene comes into focus. All I see is a glowing figure in front of me, a person outlined in light. He’s staring down, alternating between yelling at me and yelling into his phone.
    Despite the throbbing of my legs and the daggers in the back of my head, I sit up. My body burns, my bones pull toward the guy, toward his light. Although none of my other Needs have ever glowed like this, I know it’s him. And suddenly images flash and I can see why I’m here.
    “Francisco,” I whisper, feeling some relief as I say his name. He jumps away from me, shaking his head.
    “Do I know you?” he asks.
    There is warm liquid trickling down my cheek and I touch it. It might be blood, but when I look at my hand I can’t tell. All I can see is Francisco. And the impending shoot-out.
    I can’t distinguish his features but I can tell he’s scared as he backs away. I groan, getting to my feet, ignoring the aching. I want to help him. I have to.
    “You need to turn yourself in,” I say, brushing absently at my blood-soaked hair. “The police know where you are. They’re on their way.” And I can see what will happen if he tries to run. I know they’ll kill him.
    “Who are you?” Francisco screams at me, taking his phone from his ear. I feel a jolt of fear as he thinks of striking me, but he doesn’t. He’s too frightened. “Who are you?” he asks again, his voice cracking.
    “I’m no one,” I murmur, the words startling me. My tone is so calm, and I don’t feel like myself. All I feel is the Need.
    In my head I can see Francisco dressed in black at the curb of a big stone house on the other side of town. He’s younger than I’d thought, maybe twenty? While he waits, his fingers tap on the steering wheel as his best friend, Leo, is inside the home, robbing it.
    Leo hadn’t known the man was home. And he didn’t mean to shoot him. Or at least, that’s what Francisco tells himself. That’s what he wants to think.
    When he heard the shots, Francisco should have left, but he couldn’t run. It’s not the way. And he needed the money for his grandma. Leo had promised him 50 percent just to drive.
    Here in the street Francisco grasps the handle of his car door. “I didn’t do it,” he calls out to me, as if he can’t help but confess. “I wasn’t in the house!”
    I nod and move toward him, needing to touch him. His light is so bright as it glows with his emotions, but I can feel that he’s not listening. He’s not doing what he’s supposed to. He’s almost over.
    “Please,” I murmur, seeing his aura flicker toward me, as if reaching out to me. “It’s time. Your grandma needs you alive. She won’t survive if you go.”
    He cries out at the mention of his grandmother and runs his hands roughly through his short hair. Suddenly I can tell he’s listening.
    “Damn, girl,” he murmurs, like he doesn’t know what to do. He looks around the road, indecisively, and that’s when I reach out. Not because I’m trying to, but because I have to. The vines are back, pulling me to him.
    My hot hand touches his forearm and I feel the skin sear underneath, a surge running through both of us. He yanks back, but it’s too late. He’s been touched. He’s felt it. He believes me.
    Francisco is gasping as his aura fades from my vision. Now I can see that his hair is cropped short and there’s a ring piercing his dark eyebrow. He’s staring at me, his eyes glassy and trancelike, tears running down his cheeks. I see the fading mark of a handprint on his arm.
    “What are you?” he asks, out of breath. “What the hell are you?”
    His words hurt me, not like the hurt in my head, which is killing me right now. Not like the deep bruising I can feel in my legs as I stand here, half dazed. His words are exactly what I ask myself every night before I fall