Kane wasn’t interested in using one of the ATVs, opting to carry me as he had before. I keep my face pressed against his shoulder, wishing we could’ve done anything but this; the speed we are going at is making me nauseous. I changed into warmer clothing before we left but the chill air hurts as it hits my skin. Luckily, it only takes a few minutes for us to arrive.

As he slows, I begin to pull away, not wanting to have any more contact than necessary. I recognize the house as we stop; it's the one I saw across the lake with Harry.

We are on the water-facing side, which is two stories of plate glass. The sliding doors on the lower level are open. From them, there's a gravel path down the gentle slope to a dock with a small motorboat anchored there.

Kane carries me into the house, setting me down in the living room. It's a large open space, with most of the couches and plush armchairs facing out to the water. Off to one side is a large round table with seating for eight. The space is bright and clean, everything in white, light blue, and ash wood making it feel summery even in the autumn chill.

I lean against the back of a plush couch and look around the rest of the space. Beyond the dinner table is an archway that leads into the kitchen. I can't see much of it from here but I'm betting it's as luxurious as the rest of what I'm seeing.

Across from the sliding doors is a hallway. I shift forward and crane my neck to look down it. Straight ahead is a large front door and to the left and right of it are doorways - the one on the right probably leading back to the kitchen. There’s also a staircase just before the door to the kitchen.

It's not anywhere near as large as the packhouse but it's nicer than anywhere I’ve ever stayed.

"There are three bedrooms upstairs. I'll show you," Kane’s voice breaks the quiet, startling me. He reaches down to slip an arm under my knees but I stop him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I want to walk." I don't want to be close to him or anyone else right now. He respects my request and steps over to my right side, holding out his elbow and allowing me to use him as my crutch.

"I'll bring all your things later today," he murmurs. I guess he can tell how much it pains me to need to rely on him like this.

We take the stairs one step at a time and end up on a square landing. Directly in front of us is a door. To the right and left are two more, each leading to a different bedroom. Kane will be here as well so I don’t want to be in the middle one. I turn and lead us to the one on the left.

He opens the door for me and I am floored by how beautiful the space is. The western wall is a sheet of glass that looks out over the water.

On the opposite wall is a set of sliding glass doors. Through them, I can see a walk-in closet with more space than I could ever use. Beyond that is another set of sliding doors, these ones frosted and leading into the bathroom.

The room itself is simple. There's a giant bed in the center and a small desk and chair against the glass. The soft blues and greens make the space seem like an extension of the forest and lake just beyond.

As with the packhouse, I don't see a phone or TV.

"Is it to your liking?" Kane asks, his voice soft like he’s afraid of scaring me again.

I nod and he walks me over to the bed. When we reach it, I finally let go of him. I crawl into it, dragging myself up to the pile of pillows at the top, and then flop face-first into the softness.

I’ve barely spoken to him since we left his bedroom at the packhouse. I’m not mad at him - I just have nothing to say.

"You can take the bandages off whenever you want. The wounds are closed." From the direction and closeness of his voice, I can tell he's still standing at the edge of the bed but, I make no effort to acknowledge him.

After an awkward silence, he finally gets the message and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

I hadn't expected anything this nice when he told me I was being sent away. I thought it would be some ramshackle cabin in the woods, not one of the guest houses Harry had told me about. I guess it's supposed to be a kind gesture from Alpha but it means nothing to me. It’s just another place in this forest that I can't escape from.

I don't remember falling asleep but when I wake, the sun has set and the room is illuminated only by the lights on the back porch and the path to the dock.

It's just bright enough that when I sit up, I can make out the shape of my crutch and prosthetic propped against the wall by the door. Next to them is a packed duffle bag, a large brown coat resting on top.

Without anything nearby to help me, I end up sliding down on the floor and scooting over to my things. Inside the bag are the clothes I've been given, the clothes I was kidnapped in, and the sweatshirt Kane had given me a few days prior, though that seems like a lifetime ago.

I grab a pair of underwear and his sweatshirt and pull myself up using the crutch.

The bathroom has both a tub and a shower stall. Not wanting to try to climb in, I opt for the stall. Removing the bandages is easy. I was sure they would stick to my skin but they fall to the floor without much resistance. In the full-length mirror, I twist to look and see twin sets of puckered lines running down the length of both my thighs. The lines are thick but clean, demonstrating just how sharp Anil’s claws were.

But these look like injuries from months prior, not a few nights ago. The magical spit I’d gotten before for the bruises on my face is the most likely culprit of this abnormal healing speed but I don't want to think about who licked up and down my thighs.

A quick shower makes me feel slightly more human and as I crawl back into the bed, wearing the clothing I'd pulled out, I make a promise to myself. I’m not going to get swept up in the craziness around me anymore. I am going to be smart and clear-headed and figure out how to get out of here alive.

Even after sleeping most of the day, I fall asleep again almost as soon as I am under the covers.

I look over just in time to see my sister stuff a handful of french fries into her mouth with a gleeful smile.

I snort and look back at the road. "If you choke and die, I'm not pulling over," I say with mock seriousness.

I can hear the offense in her tone but her words are lost to the potatoes protruding from her mouth.

"I swear to the Lord on high, if you spew potatoes all over my new car, I'm going to push you out and I won't even stop. I'll just slow down."

She chews vigorously and swallows hard. "You're a lot meaner when Mom's not here."

I glance back over at her and stick out my tongue. She does the same before reaching for my phone to change the song on Spotify.

My gaze flicks between the road and what she’s doing, trying to see what song she chose before mentally slapping myself for not focusing on the road. Granted we are kind of in the middle of nowhere but that’s not an excuse, especially this time of year. This is the first time my Mom had let me drive Nia and myself to visit Dad.

It’s a three-hour drive to Rhode Island but she has done it every month without fail for the past 10 years so Nia and I could have some semblance of a relationship with our dad.

Now that I've gotten my car as a college graduation present, courtesy of my dad trying to make up for years of absentee parenting, I've convinced Mom to let me do it. It has always seemed a bit unfair that she’s put in all that effort - I don’t think dad has ever made the trip.

Technically, I don't need to go anymore and haven't needed to since I turned 18, but Mia loves going together and I feel like I'll be letting her down if I stop. I guess it’s lucky for both of us that I've decided to stay local.

My phone rings, cutting off the song, and Nia answers it. Connected to the car’s Bluetooth, a voice blares through the stereo before I reach over to turn it down.

“Hey, Dad. Yeah, we can hear you.”

He sounds excited. “Great, great. You guys aren’t going to believe it. I didn’t think it would be cold enough but the lake has completely frozen over.”

I can feel the excitement radiating off of Nia as she bounces up and down and asks giddily, “Can we go ice skating?”

Dad laughs and replies, “That’s the plan. I’m going to rent us some skates. What size are you guys?”

I rattle off the numbers and he says he’ll have everything ready for when we arrive and then hangs up. I smile to myself as the music comes back on. This is a pretty typical Dad thing to do - he’s always been good at the grand gestures. He’s a nice guy, there’s no denying that. He and mom both said they just couldn’t make each other happy anymore, not that either had done something. Then again, isn't that what all parents say.

But, Dad seems to genuinely want to do things that make Nia happy. I think he sometimes overcompensates by trying to be the fun dad, but neither of them is complaining so I just go along with it.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, letting my thoughts drift until I realize Nia has purposely put on a song I hate. She is staring at the side of my face, waiting for me to notice.

"Mmm oh yeah, terrible song. Betrayal." I try to sound hurt but she just huffs and goes back to looking out the window, still eating her fries but at a more respectable pace.

I look over at her and can’t help but smile. Her wavy brown hair is up in pigtails with the girliest, sparkliest scrunchies known to man. The only thing we have in common is our hair. The rest of her looks just like our mom, tan and willowy, with bright blue eyes and the cutest button nose.

I have a silly, minor obsession with how cute both of their noses are. I chuckle and think about how it’s been a while since I’ve annoyed her by tweaking her nose. I reach over while her back is still turned to me, hoping to catch her by surprise.

At that moment, I prove all of my mother's concerns correct as a truck driving the opposite way hits a patch of black ice, swerves into oncoming traffic, and hits my little four-door sedan at full speed.

My eyes fly open as I rip away the covers and gulp in lungfuls of air. The cold night air hits my sweat-soaked skin, and I realize someone has a hand on both of my shoulders, gently shaking me.

“Ama? It’s okay. You’re having a nightmare. It’s okay.”

Even in the dark, I can make out the shape of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the delicate curve of his mouth. His hair is loose and falls over his shoulders like an inky cloak.

As I look at him, my body begins to tremble. The final image plays over and over in my mind’s eye - the side of the truck right before the impact.

Kane sighs and pulls me towards him. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and I’m wedged against his side as he holds me firmly.

“It was a dream Ama. You don’t need to say anything. You don’t need to talk about it. But, it’s not happening, not now at least.” He tucks my head under his chin, his arms loosely around me.

His warmth and his embrace are so comforting that I can’t help but relax into him. He holds me, not doing anything but keeping me pressed into him for a long time. He doesn’t ask any questions or stroke me, which I’m sure would bring up bad memories from my night with Anil. As I begin to calm down, I realize that I’m grateful to not be alone with my thoughts.

When I finally feel like I can breathe normally again, I gently push away from him and he lets go without any resistance. I scoot back on the bed enough to be able to look at him.

“Thank you,” my voice cracks, throat sore. I look down and realize that all I’m wearing are panties and his sweatshirt. I quickly tuck my legs under the covers.

He nods in acknowledgment and when he shifts on the bed I wonder if he’s going to leave. I begin to panic, not wanting to be alone again, not wanting to sleep. The promise I’d made to myself before falling asleep is thrown to the wind.

But he doesn't leave. Instead, he turns and slides back until he is beside me, sitting up with his back against the headboard.

“Would you finally like that story before your nap?” He asks, referencing our conversation earlier in his room.

I snort, the tiniest of smiles quirking my lips up. “Yeah, okay.”

“I thought a lot about what you said before, about only seeing things from your own perspective. There’s a story I'd like to share with you and I want to tell it right, so it will take a while. Is that alright?”

I don’t want to say that I’d rather he talk all night than leave me alone, so instead, I shrug and nod, “Sure, so long as it’s good.”

I settle in, pulling the blankets back over me, and close my eyes, ready to listen.

“It’s about a woman named Sute Owari. I’m not sure what is taught in schools these days about the Japanese coming to the U.S. I’m sure you know about the wave of Chinese immigrants who built the railroads in blood?”

It sounds like he is asking a question but I don’t know if I am meant to answer.

“Yes,” I answer slowly, trying to remember what I’d learned in my U.S. History class almost a decade ago. I turn on my side and look up at him. “In the 1800s a lot of Chinese young men came to the U.S. and ended up being worked to death on the transcontinental railroads.”

He nods curtly in confirmation. “Towards the end of the 1800s, the Chinese Exclusion Act barred any emigration from China for 10 years.” He pauses for a long moment, and I’m wondering why I am getting a history lesson as a preamble for this story, considering this was all over 100 years ago.

“The Chinese Exclusion Act kept being extended and by 1904 the extension was made indefinite. However, during the same time, a significantly smaller number of Japanese came over. Like the Chinese before them, the Japanese were segregated into Japanese communities within larger urban communities. The Japanese were not afforded equal rights or equal opportunities.”

His voice has grown softer, more introspective, and I wonder why this all seems to mean a lot to him personally. I close my eyes again, waiting.

“But even so, they were still able to come over until the Immigration Act of 1924 which blocked Japanese immigration completely. Shortly before it was passed, in 1919, a beautiful young woman was married off to a man who had only ever seen a picture of her. Her family said it was what was best for her. It was her chance to go to the Americas. They thought that she would come upon economic prosperity, and would send back money to them in Japan. She was fourteen when she arrived on a pier looking for the twenty-something-year-old in the picture she held, only to be met by a man more than thirty years her senior.” Kane goes silent again and I crack an eye open, wondering if he’s drifted off.

I’m about to ask if he would rather not tell me about this when he shakes his head and sighs. “No, I don’t think that was the right way to start. Let me start at the very beginning instead.”