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advanced with some caution, brows lowered suspiciously as he looked about the room. On her own familiar territory, Dawn found herself acutely aware of him. He was lean in a smooth, muscled way, and tall—at least six three, she guessed. She was five nine and she noticed things like that. Dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, he appeared pale and haunted, but disconcertingly attractive.
    Having found out he was a budding psychopath and spent the night locked in his room, Dawn was concerned that her attraction to him hadn’t fizzled. It had begun innocently enough, something between two strangers in a bar, but now her feelings betrayed her rational mind. She glanced away from him, chin held high, determined to ignore them.
    “Get your shit,” he said.
    Dawn went back to her room, where her crystals were purifying in small bowls of sea salt set atop her dresser. She thought about taking them out, but she could feel Tristan watching her from the door, silent and unknowable. Quickly she began to gather some things in a backpack she hadn’t used since her ill-fated first and only semester of college. Her wardrobe wasn’t creative and complicated like Leila’s. Very little thinking required.
    When she was done, she wasn’t even sure what she’d packed. Holding the backpack in front of her, she walked cautiously back to the door. Tristan didn’t move out of the way.
    Slowly, so slowly she didn’t even notice him moving at all, he closed the space between them and lifted a hand, reaching for her. She watched him with wide eyes, frozen by some dark spell. He is going to touch my cheek. He is going to lean in to kiss me. She held her breath, dreading and eagerly awaiting.
    He plucked something out of her hair and held it between his first two fingers. A tiny oleander flower. He looked at it without moving his head, then back at her. “You know this is poisonous?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well,” he said in a low, confiding tone, “so am I.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    In answer, he crushed the already wilting flower between his fingers. Then he put it on his tongue and swallowed it.
    His voice was like gravel. “It means don’t try to fuck with me on this fucking trip. Or ever.”
    Dawn felt ill. “I … I won’t.”
    They left the apartment and he took her keys back. They folded themselves into the Nova and he found his way to the 15. He went north. They left the city in a blue-gray haze behind them.
    Images of her possible future haunted Dawn. She leaned against the door and shivered even though it was hot and Tristan hadn’t turned on the air conditioning. She fell into a restless sleep that seemed like no time at all. When she woke the car was stopped and Tristan stood outside it, pumping gas. It was past noon now.
    “Where are we?” she asked when he got back in the car. She rubbed the sleep from her gritty eyes.
    “Alamo.”
    There used to be a swimming hole somewhere around there, she remembered idly. Her dad had taken her and her sister once or twice. It was private now.
    “I’m hungry,” she said.
    He glanced at her, eyebrows slightly knit. “Oh. Right.”
    The convenience store had a pitiful selection. Dawn grabbed some chips, a chocolate bar, and a couple bottles of water. Tristan handed her some cash and she stood in line to pay, wondering if she could covertly alert the clerk to her situation. But Tristan was waiting by the magazines, his eyes never leaving her. She kept her eyes down as she paid and took the change with shaking hands. Pe nnies and dimes dropped to the floor. Tristan picked them up and pocketed them.
    “Careful,” he warned, and led her out of the store.
    “I need to make a call,” she said, spying a payphone.
    “No.”
    “I just want to tell my boss I won’t be coming in to work. He might worry if I don’t. He might even call the police.”
    “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said, handing her some change. He seemed vaguely annoyed.
    She knew the number of