A pebble of hope forms in my chest. Could the running be over? Could this be the moment when I hear that I no longer have to hide? Urgency builds inside of me, and I stand, unlocking my door. Shoving it open, I flip on the lights, using my foot to scoot the box over the threshold of my tiny apartment. Stepping inside, I lock the door behind me, and for a moment I absorb the blow of a living area with a simple navy blue sleeper couch and matching chair, a wooden coffee table, and a closet-sized kitchen to the left being all I have in my sanctuary and hiding place.

My lips curl over my teeth as I fight the burn in my eyes. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want to open the package. I’m afraid to. I’m always afraid, and I hate that this is who I’ve become. But still I take my time and loop my purse on the hook above my head on the door before taking off my coat. Running my hands down my black skirt, I bend down and carry the box to the living room, where I set it on the coffee table. And stare at it. When it doesn’t open itself—imagine that?—my gaze lifts to the four-foot-tall artificial tree that I’d bought two years ago and I stand, crossing the few steps needed to turn it on, staring at the twinkling multicolored lights and the plain green, blue, and red ornaments, remembering the glorious ceiling-high fir trees my family used to decorate. The laughter and the joy. The gifts we’d picked out with such care.

Forcing myself back to the couch, I sit down and see that the box is taped tightly. I grab a pen on the table and jab at the tape, steadying my trembling hand and willing away my weakness. “Stop it,” I hiss at myself. “You’re stronger than this.” I pant out several angry breaths, angry at my “guardian angel” for leaving me so alone and in the dark. How can anyone live like this? How?

I stab the tape again and again, ripping at it until the stupid lid is free, then I tear the box open—and gasp as I stare down at stacks of money. Shocked and disappointed, though I can’t quite analyze why yet, I reach for the blank envelope sitting on top of the cash and open it. A typed message inside reads: If you spend it too fast or deposit it in the bank, it will bring attention to you that you can’t afford. Use it as you need it, but do it discreetly.

Tears pool in my eyes, a thunderstorm of emotions rushing over me. I have money now, but this is so far from being over. I’m being watched. I’m in danger. At any moment, someone could hurt me like they did my family and I have no idea why. Yet there is relief in knowing someone is looking out for me. The years of silence since my guardian angel, my handler, last made contact made me wonder. I’m not completely alone. I’m not . . . alone. I lie down on the couch and everything goes black again.

Now it’s years later and I’m standing in the bathroom in the museum where I work, exiting a stall to find a note on the mirror. And I know without reading it that my world has shattered once again. I’d tried to start a new life, a new job, with friends, and happiness. I’ve gotten stronger, beaten my fear.

My head swims in blackness and I’m transported to the airport, on the run again. I’ve just been told by the attendant at the counter that I might not make my standby flight, and I turn away, feeling more alone and scared than ever. I’ve never felt as alone as in that moment, when my eyes collide with a stranger’s penetrating stare, and I shockingly feel no fear. I feel a connection. The room disappears, the unease fades if only for moments, and he and I exist together. I am not alone. And then Liam fades away, like some kind of camera trick, and it’s as if he was never there. Like everyone else I’ve ever loved.

I jerk awake and sit up, gasping for air, my fingers curling around the blankets as my gaze rips around the dark room, reality coming back to me in a welcome flood of information. I’m in the bedroom, back in the city, with the faint hue of moonlight just beyond the wall of curtains before me. I reach for Liam but find him missing and I flash back to the moment in the nightmare when he faded away. A tingling sensation starts in my head, a familiar prelude to the blackouts that have haunted me for six years, when I haven’t had one in months. No. No. No. I can’t black out.

Inhaling deeply, I will myself to calm down. Breathe, Amy, I tell myself, repeating the words in my mind several times, relieved when I blink the room back into view. And I see Liam standing in the parted curtains I’d scanned moments before without truly seeing what was before me. Dressed in only pajama pants, he’s unmoving, like the stone that is his name. I glance at the clock, seeing that it’s four in the morning. I’m now officially concerned. Never in all of the months that I’ve slept with him have I found him awake like this.

Throwing off the blankets, I climb out of the bed, tugging at the hem of my T-shirt as I soundlessly pad toward him, the heated wood floor warming my bare feet, though fear chills my body. Always fear. I cannot escape it no matter how Liam tries to make me feel safe, because that nightmare says it all. It’s not about me. It’s about the danger that he and Chad will forever be in because of the cylinder.

The instant I’m behind him, in true Liam form he proves that he’s always aware and in control, turning just enough to pull me in front of him. In a blink, I’m against the cold window, and when his powerful thighs encase mine, I’m overwhelmed in the best of ways by his raw masculinity.

“Why are you awake?” he demands, his dark hair rumpled, his fingers snug at my waist, holding me in place, my anchor when the world spins beneath my feet.

“Because you’re awake, and it worried me. Is Chad—”

“I haven’t talked to him since you did, but I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a survivor, just like his sister.” He strokes the hair from my eyes, his piercing gaze glinting in the moonlight, penetrating the shadows of the barely lit room. “You had another nightmare.”

“Yes. How did you know that? I haven’t had one in weeks.”

“It’s in your eyes.”

“Dr. Murphy says they’re about control. You know that.”

“And being back in the city makes you feel we don’t have it.”

I think about the nightmare, and shake my head. “I think it was the funeral. A waking nightmare that created a sleeping one.”

“It would be unreasonable to expect anything else, but I’d hoped maybe we’d overcome that before you went to sleep.”

“It wasn’t on my mind at all when I went to sleep.” My fingers curl in the dark, springy hair on his chest. “Why are you awake at four in the morning?”

“Thinking about you.”

“Me?”

“I want you to feel safe, and I know that’s going to take time.”

“I’ll be fine if you’re fine, Liam. That nightmare wasn’t just about Chad or my past. It was about you. It was a warning. You have to get out of this.”

His fingers flex on my waist. “I’m not going anywhere, Amy.”

“No,” I say, hating what I know has to happen. “I am. I’m the connecting dot between you, Chad, and the cylinder. If I’m not in the equation, you can escape this and put it behind you.”

He wraps his fingers around the back of my neck and pulls me closer. “You’re in every equation for me, baby—now and forever. What happened to starting our life together and creating new traditions?”

“I want those things because you make me selfish. You’re the Prince Charming every girl wants, but in a fairy tale, the prince doesn’t die. That nightmare reminded me that my life is no fairy tale. You can die. They will kill you to get that cylinder if they think you’re in the way. And you will be, Liam, because that’s who you are. You won’t let good lose the war with evil.” I think of what I’d felt last night, how I’d wondered who would protect him when he was protecting me, and I know now where my mind was going. “I have to fight for you.”