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continued to move us away from the crowd. “I guess so.”
    “Slow down,” I begged as I stumbled.
    “No.”
    I could still hear the boys behind us laughing—that damn laughing. They were calling out words I didn’t understand.
    Slut.
    Whore.
    “Ignorant,” he uttered under his breath. “They’re still looking. I need you to keep it under control.”
    Sights blurred before my eyes. I tried not to look at anything too closely, instead choosing to focus on not letting my fear completely dominate me. After an interminable distance, he stopped abruptly and forced me down onto a stone bench. Not saying anything, he began to pace frantically. Occasionally, he would mutter some curse word to himself, stop to look in my direction, and then proceed to pace again.
    “What time does your shift end?” His tone continued to sound reckless, as if he were also struggling to keep it together. But what did he have to fear?
    I had to remain focused, alert. Yet how could I focus on details? I shook my head, trying to make sense of my cluttered thoughts. “Not long. Maybe an hour.”
    The chosen one sighed, obviously frustrated. Why did he drag me from those boys? What could they have possibly wanted from me? Why did his demeanor alter so suddenly once we were away from them? The only thing I knew was that I was scared. There was something familiar about the way he looked at me; it reminded me of Henry. And I could never think of Henry without feeling weak and vulnerable in a way that made me want to crawl someplace where no one could look at me, someplace where I would never want someone to look at me.
    “I can go back, tell them I finished up early. I’m sure my supervisor will find something for me to do.”
    All I knew was what I felt: the need to escape.
    “That won’t work.” He must have sensed my confusion. “Because those boys back there will find out I wasn’t with you. Don’t let the grandeur fool you; they see everything.”
    “And that’s a problem?” I asked.
    “It’s a great problem,” he said softly. For some wild reason outside my realm of understanding, I suddenly wanted to be back in the piano room. With him. I found my eyes moving down his face, resting on his chin. The scar. I wondered where it came from. Why did he keep it?
    Why did I care?
    I closed my eyes. “I…I don’t understand.”
    “No, I guess you wouldn’t, would you?”
    I cringed. He thought I was simple-minded. And yet, he almost seemed relieved, calmed by my lack of understanding. The chosen one was staring at me. I didn’t like it one bit, yet didn’t dare tear my eyes from his. How did we possibly have so many moments like this in our short time together?
    Together.
    His eyes moved once to my shirt. I inhaled sharply and quickly re-clasped the buttons. He looked away, turning his back to me, and I thought for a moment I saw embarrassment on his face. But he owned the world. He didn’t have to make any explanations for his actions.
    “We’ll have to go somewhere.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me. I stood up, preparing to receive my orders.
    “Follow me.”
    Had I done something wrong?
    The slash mark on my neck tingled.



Chapter 5
    How was this happening? My goal, ever-constant and more important to me than the luxury of having friends or relying on loved ones, had always been to keep my feelings in check. This chosen one had already witnessed an incident where I failed, and I couldn’t help but fear the more time I spent around him, the more likely it was that I would commit another transgression. Was I a total failure?
    He didn’t say another word. The chosen ones were known for being agile, completely at ease with their bodies, their movements, but he seemed tense. I could see, almost feel, the anxiety he was holding within him. This worried me more than anything. What would a chosen one have to be nervous about?
    I followed as quickly as I could behind him as we entered the building, keeping my